These are the days
What I'd been searching for
It’s dark now. There’s the gentle pitter-patter of rain outdoors and our shared New Year’s playlist filling the room. My friends are cooking against a backdrop of forest green crown moldings and soft yellow overhead lighting. Others are sitting on couches, having impassioned conversations. Some sit by themselves, playing The Last of Us Part II. I sit, observing, taking it all in. I feel myself start to tear up, in awe that this is my life.
“These are the days.”
I’d been searching for this feeling for years, but didn’t know or even believe it could exist simply by being in a living room, surrounded by people you love.
For a while, I’d been on my own. When I still lived in Brooklyn, I had a tiny studio to myself. My evenings consisted of working on creative projects, reading, or watching YouTube or Netflix. Weekends, I’d wander the brownstone-lined streets in search of a pastry and a park to sit in. Occasionally, I’d see a friend. Otherwise, I was on my own.
During my solo travels, my days looked more or less the same. But something about being in a country where English isn’t the primary language put me in a deepened state of solitude. In New York, I could make out the background noise. Friends updating one another on the latest relationship drama. A passing phone call, play-by-play commentating what they were up to, as if spoken to me. These little glimpses helped me feel semi-connected even when alone. Without that, I really felt the itch for connection. To hear my own voice and know it still worked. I used Hinge and Bumble to meet up with English speakers. I rarely saw anyone more than once. Many conversations were lackluster. I kept swiping anyway.
Solitude is necessary to learn how to befriend yourself. But at a certain point, you miss something crucial. Mel said this about Luke1 on the last day of our trip:
“He has a way of amplifying the love and delight you feel for yourself.”
I could love myself in solitude. What I couldn’t do was amplify love back to myself.
Life was objectively good, but it wasn’t quite full. Overbrimming in the way I feel it to be now.
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For a while, community didn’t seem in the cards for me. When I first graduated from college and existentially crashed out, I felt largely misunderstood. No one questioned things the way I was. No one saw the world through my lens, or rather, cared enough to ask questions to understand. And so I settled for a new default. Being on my own. Relying on myself.
I had friends I felt close to, but I didn’t have a friend group to belong to. I took it as a foregone conclusion of adulthood that you move closer and closer to independence and solitude. It’s the story my parents still try to tell me even now. Some part of me believed them then, wanting to validate my experience.
In August 2024, I went to Mexico City with 20 people for the first iteration of the Village. I didn’t know anyone well apart from Mel; I hadn’t even met her in-person. I felt nervous, excited, and hopeful at what could be. I hadn’t been a part of a group this big since college, and felt more reserved while I got acclimated. But pretty quickly, I felt safe to be me. These people were warm, caring, sincere, thoughtful, and all-around delightful. I gradually felt myself emerging. At Vegan Ramen Ya, I had this huge smile plastered on my face at the prospect of food. Mel said she hadn’t seen me that expressive ever.
I decided to move to San Francisco.
When I moved to San Francisco last February, I finally began inhabiting the life I’d been looking forward to. I realized that it wasn’t a life as a full-time coach. It was a life of friendship and intimacy, just as I’d experienced in Mexico City. My search for meaning and purpose sputtered out. While important, they didn’t bring me nearly as much joy and peace as the simplicity of belonging to people who love you. My friends love me not because I do purposeful work, but because I’m me. They showed me the unconditional love that, deep down, I still hadn’t fully given to myself.
It’s one thing to love yourself, and another to be loved again and again by others. The most essential need that must be met daily is “Am I loved?”
When I’m with my friends watching Culinary Class Wars, trekking to SŌHN to get matcha, or grabbing dinner before watching Marty Supreme, I have my answer.
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During my travels, I found places I loved, but not home. Here in San Francisco, my soul finally feels at peace. It’s able to rest in the home I’ve found with my friends. I don’t have to search for it. It often shows up unannounced with a smile right at my door.
I think of those late nights with Parth when we were still roommates at Fractal. Veiled by darkness, lying on my mattress with our feet up on the walls. Talking about our romantic mishaps and heartbreak. Our hopes for the future. He was right.
“These are the days.”
Love love love so grateful for you Dennis!!
ahh love this and these days!!