I’m here…you’re there.
Leaving things until the last minute isn’t really my forte. I like to think I can be spontaneous and flexible, but I also crave a certain amount of order and preparation. Tomorrow I leave a house that I’ve lived in for a year. I think it feels more dramatic than past moves because I am not simply changing places, I’m stepping into the unknown. I know where I’ll be in the next two months (Rome, Naples, Nantucket), and I know (that kind of knowing that shows up in my stomach) that I will find another house here in Cefalu in September. But I don’t have everything lined up yet.
I started organizing my move a month ago. Slowly sifting, sorting, organizing, corralling like with like, and paring down. Since I knew I’d have my dad and sister visiting during this period, I didn’t want to waste too much time with the mundane things like packing while they were here to enjoy the sights and sounds of Italy.
But since it has been about a million degrees this past week (go ahead and fact check that for me, please) there’s been a fair amount of lying around anyway. On Saturday I started getting serious about packing up. My sister and dad insisted on wanting to help, but sometimes it’s hard to give direction when you lack direction yourself. So my sis just hopped on my bed while I started sorting through closets, drawers, and clothes. Occasionally I’d ask her opinion on whether to keep a pair of jean shorts or a dress, but mostly she just sat and watched. She fell asleep as I folded up scarves, dresses, pants, and pillowcases and then woke up to help me stuff hangers into canvas bags.
My sister and I haven’t lived in the same place at the same time since I was 15 and left for boarding school. We’ve had stints of being together at home, visiting each other, or vacationing together in the past twenty years, but our lives have not unfolded together for a while. Most recently, she’s been in Hawaii. That means my seven AM is her seven PM and we’re often playing phone tag. As with many of my close friends who are across oceans, we keep our connection through messages picked up and dropped off with hours in between. I wake up to a text that will say “Sis?” and I’ll respond a whole day later (in her world), replying, “Sis?”
“I’m here. Are you there?” we ask from a distance.
“I’m here for you,” is a common phrase we use in English. It’s something I catch myself saying to friends who are far, whether they are struggling, celebrating, or just being. Sometimes I worry that it’s not enough, that it doesn’t justly convey the emotional space I want to hold. What does my being here actually do?
But then I think of my sis on my bed. Not reading, not scrolling, just kind of being there. Taking the time to be present during a relatively easy physical task, but mentally draining process. This is the physical manifestation of saying, “Hey, I’m here for you. I can’t do your work for you, but I’m taking space and time from my day and dedicating it to you. No matter how near or far, I’m sitting on the bed and I’m here for you.”
So when I ask myself if “being here” is enough, I remind myself of this small but warming gesture from my sis. As someone with people I love and care for who are often further rather than closer, I want to be able to articulate that I’m here for so many of you in times of celebration, sadness, boredom, freedom, nerves. I’m taking a moment to sit on my bed, stare at the wall, and make some space for you wherever you are in your life.
I’m here for you.
Sending you a strong cool, breeze (since it's too hot for sunshine!) and a beautiful week ahead,
Henna
PS: That photo is from seven years ago! One of the two suitcases I brought with me to Italy dedicated exclusively to notebooks and books. When I moved to Sicily I had the same two suitcases plus four boxes. Now I have at least two carloads of stuff. Send help!!!
PPS: Part of me being here for you is actually being here, so if you want to chat, you know where to find me!