Updated: Mar 10, 2025
Lent 2025 Day 4: Birthday Day Drinking
"Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor: If either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up." – Ecclesiastes 4:9-10
What I’ve learned during some of the darkest moments in my life is that the ones you least expect are often the ones who show up when you need someone the most.
Yesterday was my housemate Marcia's birthday, and we celebrated with breakfast and a Friday morning Bloody Mary. There aren’t many people you can call up at the last minute and say, "Let’s get breakfast," but because we live together and our schedules allow for this kind of spontaneity, there we were—drinking vodka at 9 a.m., with tomato juice and pieces of cheese (which makes it slightly more acceptable). But this isn’t about the drinks.
Marcia and I have known each other for almost fifteen years. We met through work and advocacy—I think we were fighting for Marriage Equality at the time. She was an ally back then, but today, she’s more of a comrade—willing to put herself on the line for a cause she truly believes in. For about ten years, we were more acquaintances than friends, polite and personable. But as our circles intertwined, we saw each other more at events and social gatherings. It wasn’t until 2019—just before the Rona changed the world—that we became close.
There’s something about mutual tragedy that forces you into vulnerability. We were both going through painful breakups, and as the saying goes, misery loves company. What I learned is that two fiercely independent people struggle with vulnerability—until life forces them to let their guards down.
I remember the hilarious awkwardness of trying to comfort her when we were both wrecked by the loss of a relationship. Should I hug her? A reassuring hand on the shoulder? We were both navigating uncharted waters. But once you cross a certain barrier, you stop seeing just the image of strength someone projects—you see the human underneath it all, struggling to hold everything together.
I will forever be grateful for her. She showed up when I needed someone to cry to, complain to, and send drunken texts to while I was on the other side of the world watching my mother die. She was a voice of reason when I was drowning in grief, struggling to find motivation, questioning my passion for life, work, and my own purpose. And when my world turned upside down and I started law school, she offered me a place to stay—giving me stability when everything else felt unstable.
She has been one of my biggest supporters, harshest critics, and best friends. I am thankful for her every day.
A Lenten Reflection on Friendship:
Lent isn’t just about giving things up—it’s about reflecting on what truly matters, recognizing the people who have lifted us up, and committing to being better for those who love us.
The verse from Ecclesiastes reminds us that we aren’t meant to go through life alone. We all fall. We all break. And when we do, the people who show up—the ones who offer a home, a hand, a drink, a moment of laughter in the midst of pain—those people are sacred.
This Lent, I’m reflecting on who has shown up for me and how I can be a better friend in return. Because in the end, it’s not the ones who say all the right things—it’s the ones who show up, again and again, without needing to be asked.
So, Happy Birthday, Marcia! Congratulations on another trip around the sun. She has also deemed that she will be called "Prime" until her next birthday. Make it so.
Updated: Mar 8, 2025
When the World is Ending, Who Do You Want Beside You?
"Ah, it's been a year now
Think I've figured out how
How to think about you without it rippin' my heart out..."
JP Saxe & Julia Michaels ask in "If The World Was Ending" whether their ex would come over if everything was falling apart. It’s a romanticized, tragic “last chance” kind of love.
And honestly? I’ve thought about that question before. If the world was ending, would I want her to come over?
Absolutely not.
She didn’t respect me, my boundaries, or my heart when it mattered. Why would I want her to be the last person I saw? Why would I invite back someone who emotionally manipulated me into thinking I was the problem? Someone who—when I was at my lowest, grieving the loss of my mother—couldn’t even muster an ounce of decency, compassion, or respect?
That’s not love. That’s not even basic humanity.
She was never capable of offering me the care I deserved. I see that now. And yet, for too long, I still held onto the pain she left me with, turning it over in my mind like I could somehow make sense of it.
But here’s the thing: Some things don’t deserve to be revisited.
We romanticize what broke us. We glorify co-dependency, narcissistic cycles, and relationships that crushed us—just because the good moments felt intense. But were they really that good? Or was it just all we knew at the time?
Because sometimes, we don’t just grieve people—we grieve the idea of them. The potential we saw in them. The love we thought we had. But romanticizing an unhealthy relationship doesn’t make it love. Love isn’t about holding onto someone who didn’t hold onto you. Love isn’t about mistaking intensity for intimacy, chaos for chemistry, or co-dependency for connection.
"I know, you know, we know
You weren't down for forever and it's fine
I know, you know, we know
We weren't meant for each other and it's fine..."
And that’s the truth. Some people just aren’t meant for each other. And that’s fine. But what’s not fine is revisiting the places that broke us, reopening wounds that have barely healed, or believing that being treated badly was somehow proof of passion. It wasn’t. It was just proof that I deserved better.
Lent is about releasing what no longer serves you. It’s about recognizing the places where we’ve been stuck and choosing to move forward instead. And I have moved forward. I don’t hold space for resentment anymore—I don’t need it. I don’t wish them misery or happiness. I wish them distance. Because the only people I want beside me when the world is ending are the ones who have always treated my heart with care. The ones who have loved me well.
Grief and healing look different for everyone. I’ve carried my share of loss, but I’ve also learned how to honor my grief without letting it define me. I’ve learned that closure doesn’t come from someone else—it comes from deciding that you no longer need answers from people who were never going to give you the truth.
So no, I wouldn’t want that ex to come over if the world was ending. Because when the world feels like it’s falling apart, you want the people who hold you together.
And I already have those people—my family, my friends, the ones who have always taken care of my heart. And for that, I am endlessly grateful.
"When people show you who they are, believe them." – Maya Angelou
Lenten Reflection
As I move through these 40 days of reflection, I’m letting go of the things—and the people—that no longer have a place in my heart. Because healing isn’t just about moving on. It’s about moving forward.
And I am.
So, no. I don’t want her to come over if the world is ending. I want the people who have always chosen me. And I thank them for that, every single day.
Be well, stay safe, and take care of your heart.
Updated: Mar 8, 2025
"A friend loves at all times, and a brother [sister] is born for a time of adversity." – Proverbs 17:17
Friendship isn’t just about the years—it’s about the moments, the memories, and the ways someone shows up for you again and again. When I think about the kind of friend everyone deserves, I think of Coleen Mande. I will never forget the day we became best friends. We were in 4th grade, I was a weird kid, and two stupid boys stole my shoes right off my feet and threw them into the boys’ bathroom. As a kid, the idea of breaking the rules to get them back felt impossible, the binary was strong, I probably cried. But Coleen? She saw what happened and, like a little superhero, recruited another boy to go in and retrieve them for me. Shoes saved, dignity (mostly) restored. That moment set the tone for our friendship. She’s always been someone who steps up, someone who helps, someone who cares.
We became inseparable, bonded by a shared, slightly twisted sense of humor. We spent summers as kids riding bikes, drinking from garden hoses, and getting into just the right amount of trouble. We stayed close through elementary, middle, and high school, even as our interests started to diverge. She started liking boys, I pretended to like boys. We both played cello in the orchestra, but where she stuck with it, I veered toward sports—rackets, balls, running track. Sometimes, I wish I had kept playing instruments alongside her instead of chasing athletics and competition. There was something special about making music, about the way it connects you to the world and to yourself.
But through it all, Colleen remained the same—kind, giving, hilarious, with a heart so full of love and generosity. She is the type of person who makes the world better simply by being in it. She was one of the first people I told I was gay, and her response? A simple, 'I know,' followed by the same unwavering friendship. No hesitation, no weirdness—just love.
Life took us in different directions, but our friendship never faded. Some people come and go, but then there are the rare, beautiful souls who remain—who grow with you, who laugh with you through the decades, who remind you that real friendship doesn’t require daily check-ins, just a steady heart.
Lent is a time of reflection, and today, I reflect with gratitude. For the friendships that shaped me, the ones that lasted, and the ones that remind me of the best parts of life. Coleen, you are a gift. And I am endlessly grateful for you.
