The wanting is the hardest part
A Christmas email about the things we want (other than more soft pants).
If this somehow landed in your life and you’re not a subscriber: thank you, welcome, and I would love for you to stick around. Permission Granted is a newsletter about all the ways we find our way (or don’t) and “wellness” in the most general sense of the word.
Hello, hi.
Merry Christmas, if that’s what you celebrate. Welcome to the last week of 2020, which — has anyone told you? — was A Very Odd Year indeed. And so, I’m sending you an email at an odd time. Christmas morning is not when “marketing experts” would “recommend” you email if you “want anyone to read your newsletter” but somehow, it feels right this year. So thank you for being right here, with me, today.
There’s a decent chance you aren’t where you thought you would be right now. That might mean physically, emotionally, relationally, professionally, or ~cosmically~. (All of the above?) This has been a phase of our lives that has stopped us in our tracks. We have been asked to do the work of caring for each other and propping up our broken systems while going through all of it ourselves. We have been tasked with our most profound internal work while external forces knock relentlessly at the door. We have felt helpless against the pain of the world and of the people in our lives. We have sat miles, blocks, feet away from those we love and seen them suffer, unable to give a hug. And while it is crucial to feel all the feelings this has brought and give them space, it is also okay to want more.
Even during all of this, even this year, even now — permission granted to want more.
The hardest things to say out loud are the things that tie us together. And yet, we don’t talk about our wants because we feel vulnerable and greedy. We feel like we don’t deserve them. We are terrified of failure, especially if others might see it. We worry that the world is watching without realizing how little we judge what we see. We feel shame because voicing our wants means showing the truth about what we don’t have. We are all convinced we are living a charade, one admission away from everything falling apart.
We bury our wants under layers of conditioning. We obscure them with our desire to seem practical and reasonable. We confuse wants with goals and put them into lists to be checked off instead of building them cozy nests where we can visit them. Our wants are precious, but they are not fragile.
Our wants can be the fires that keep us going, but only if we let them be.
Figuring out what it is that we really, truly want in the deepest sense isn’t simple. For the past six months, I’ve tumbled these thoughts around in my brain: What Do I Want? What do I want from my work? What do I want to be remembered for and am I doing it? As a woman, as a partner, as a human, what are the things that I know I want even if it will be a struggle, a roller coaster, a *genuine potential failure*?
What do I want so deeply that it takes my breath away to even think of speaking it out loud? Is it so simple I forget to say it? Is it so scary that I don’t want to look at it? I don’t have the answers (yet!). I don’t even know if I’ve gotten to the heart of my wants. But I’m forcing myself to talk about all of it a whole lot more than I’m comfortable with. And that, my friends, helps.
The wants we don’t talk about are the ones that someone else needs to hear.
This world will continue to break our hearts. So since we’re sticking around, we might as well tell each other what we’re here for. A few weeks ago, I asked this on my Instagram: what do you really want? And on a day marked by giving and receiving, this is me shouting from the rooftops all these things. We are not alone in these wants. You are not alone in these wants. From you, from us:
We want it to feel good when we run. We want our businesses to work. We want time to read. We want haircuts and pedicures, even if that feels small. We want reliable income. We want financial security. We want to write something that is worthy of an Oscar. We want to fall in love. We want to love our parents again. We want to forgive our families. We want to forgive ourselves. We want our family to live closer to us (but not too close). We want to feel at peace. We want to feel purpose. We want to stop hating our stomachs, our thighs, our arms. We want to stop hating ourselves. We want a job. We want to take a break. We want to start a family. We want babies. We want rest. We want to make music that makes us proud. We want to raise our children near the ocean. We want to build things that have purpose. We want to taste sucess. We want to have the baby we miscarried back. We want to believe in something bigger. We want to experience romantic love. We want financial freedom. We want to meet our life partners. We want to be loved. We want to make a living doing what we love. We want to be angry, and then not angry anymore. We want to talk about hard stuff. We want to get sober. We want to treat our bodies better. We want to see our friends and hug our loved ones. We want to be healthy. We want to feel accepted. We want to be happy. We want to be happy.
Goddamnit, I want all of those things for you. Thank you. I hear you. I hear these things. I see myself in this list. I am guessing that you do too. None of these are too big or too small. Not everything is possible, and the wanting may never go away, but having these feelings is completely allowed. None of these are asking too much. Again, loud enough for everyone in the back:
None of these wants — not a single one — is more than you deserve.
Simply by living you are risking it all, every single day. I’m so proud of you for that. When things aren’t going the way you wanted or planned (lol, planning), welcome to humanity, baby. Tell me about it. I mean that. Actually tell me (or someone else) about it. I don’t mean post about it on Instagram and try to make it sounds just a few notches better than it is. I mean actually reach out and let your vulnerability make you and whoever is on the other end of the line uncomfortable. And when someone honors you by sharing their unmet wants, hear this without immediately creating a solution for them. We have to force ourselves not to give advice just to fill space. The magic of the connection is in the listening. We are muddling through things we didn’t want to have to deal with, and even when we are alone in our circumstance, we are together in this club of being alive. Yes, I hear you. You want more. I’m so sorry. I am here.
As I wrote about earlier this month (yes this is a plug for the paid tier), The Pandemic has been a thief of small talk. It has also been a thief of medium talk and casual talk, yelling over loud music in a bar talk and whispering a joke during a performance talk (not that I would ever do that). We have cycled through zoom fatigue and phone call novelty to a sliver of hope for outdoor walk-n-talks, back to the quiet. This year has shown me so much about the importance of listening. It has shown me the pain that so many people feel when they are not heard. The actions that we take to become better citizens and humans have impact, but none of them mean anything if we’re not listening to the stories that brought us to this place.
Listen to each other. Listen to yourself.
Find a moment today to create a space — this can be in your mind or on a page or something you put in a corner of your bedroom, whatever works! — for the things you want, even the the ones you haven’t met yet. They’re there. They’re growing and changing and evolving, just like you. Create this space. Make it the literal opposite of a to do list. It’s not To Do. It is To Live. Thank it for existing. Make a date to visit it again soon. How’s that for a new holiday ritual?
We may spend our lifetimes chasing these wants, and if that is so, then what a gift it is to get to be in pursuit of something so big and amazing. I hear you. I miss you. I love you. Merry Christmas.
Take good care of yourself. All days, especially today.
xo,
Molly
P.S. I will be here next week for everyone! But if you want to come along our regular weekly ride, you can always upgrade (what a brilliant last minute gift! Just $5/month to support Permission Granted!).
And if there is someone you want to reach out to today, maybe this is a nice way to do it.