In lieu of the launch of Artemis II, the Canadian-American rocket giving all of us Earth-residents the terribly pertinent reminder of our shared microscopic humanity, I invite you to reflect on what it means to live on a floating rock and soak up all the joy while exuding it yourself.
These couple of paragraphs invite you to reap it all—you’re here once. You must be remarkably clever and get what you want. But I wish to compel you further. How can you tackle this funky existence while acting as though you owe everyone everything?
Whoa, that’s a big question. It’s heavy and stifles the air quicker than the Carolina humidity on a dewy morning this time of year. The idea that you could possibly care for anyone beyond yourself, with the innate privilege of care we award our own minds and bodies, can feel as otherworldly as a rocket currently 400,000 km from Earth.
This isn’t a call to befriend everyone around you. I don’t want you to relinquish your joy.
I want you to take that time for yourself to bask in the sun with the friends who don’t drain your battery. I want you to spend your last $7 on that overpriced drink that makes you giggle with your friends. I want you to go on that walk with your mom. I want you to be curious about everything that impacts you. This is your superpower, you see—the ability to be exceeding capacity with joy in lieu of a society that tells you to go through the motions.
In The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald says, “I like large parties. They’re so intimate. At small parties there isn’t any privacy.” This feels counterintuitive to the act of being a friend to all those around you. Being a friend feels so intentional and inorganic at times. Granted, it does take a conscious effort to show up for someone else, but alleviate yourself from constantly seeking out the perfect situation with the perfect individual whose heart was set out for you to love.
I want you to do all the things, see all the things, and feel all the things. You do not need to spend every waking hour purposefully bogged down by a chip on your shoulder to make a friend in the deepest corners of the planet. Here’s when you need to:
When you find yourself in the corner of the coffee shop, on the airplane in seat 42D, at that date function where you’re surprisingly comfortable, walking laps around the quad when the sunset is gorgeous—smile at the person there with you.
There is nothing more perfectly human than loving whoever is around you when you feel like smiling. When your skin is salty with sweat from a busy day. When you have just finished a presentation, and you’re abuzz with adrenaline. When you laugh so hard, the humor rolls down your cheeks as tears. When your muscles are exhausted and loose from moving your body.
Whenever your body reminds you of your own perfect humanity—that every niche of your body was made to feel this happy—may you pour it into the large party happening around you. On this floating rock, let’s have many large parties and forever smile at the stranger dancing next to us.