Weather: 54 degrees, wet after a night of rain
What I’m listening to: the low rumble of John Deere tractors outside making preparations for the opening of fishing season tomorrow
Around the Fourth of July, when social media blew up with smiling faces in matching red white and blue outfits, sparklers, celebratory food and drink, loud music, colorful, booming fireworks, and happy babies with their faces buried in watermelon, I began to wonder… where do all the sad, hurting people go on weekends like this? The friends who have just gotten laid off from a job they’d had for decades, the ones who are dying of cancer before our eyes and those of us who are helpless to stop it… is there a special corner of social media reserved for those who can’t bear to celebrate with the rest of us? Or are we relegated to silence? Is there a space for those who are broken and lonely to be honest and feel safe amidst the noise and the fanfare? Is there a place to be real and vulnerable and messy?
And then perhaps some of these hurting people are hiding in plain sight, mixed in with the smiles and the fireworks, looking and acting just like the rest of us, trying for a moment not to be broken. Trying for one fleeting second to forget the pain and exchange it for something else. There is so much more depth and breadth to life – the gritty, the mundane, the hard, hard days that are never captured in pictures or with words. What we get online is a glimpse, just a fraction of who we are.So, to those of you who are silently hurting, and to those of you who are hiding in plain sight, I made you some dessert. I wish you could sit across the table from me and tell me your story over peaches and share your grief over raspberries. I wish we could settle into shortbread and exchange tears over pillows of whipped cream.