Dear Coffee friends.
I wanted to write you a tiny beautiful perfect story, to offer to you all as a thank you. A story I’ve not told elsewhere.
But I don’t know one. So I’ll tell you this one.
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A friend is hurting. We’re hundreds of miles apart.
They will go about their day. And I’ll tell people in a hospital what I would tell my friend.
But then, sometimes, I write. And sometimes, the words I write from the conversations I have with the people nearby end up in posts and newsletters and books that can sit with my friends.
The way I can be present is by writing.
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Sometimes people say, “I appreciate your words.” I think, “I’m grateful they are helpful. But I’m over here trying to figure out the next ones.” Because we all are driven.
I forget that words can linger and land and illuminate. I get wrapped up in scanning and skimming and scrolling and I forget.
The support from people who "buy me a coffee" is a little about actual coffee (and software and websites.) But it’s also about me offering you words as I drink coffee, and you reading these words as you drink coffee.
Me saying what I can and you letting me know it’s helpful.
What your support does, so you know, is reminds me that writing is a kind of presence. Listening is, of course. Sitting with you is, of course. But writing carefully also can be.
Thanks for helping me remember that. And sitting with me on our two sides of the coffee cups.
Jon