Today’s letter was not coming. A day such as this, had never happened before. For the last 520 Fridays, every week, without a miss, a letter would always come through for you. Today was different. It was as if it was trying to get me to notice the silence. The quiet. I'm sitting here just waiting to write. Maybe this is what was needed today. You see, the only reason I have had the courage to write this letter for the last ten years, was because I never thought I was the one writing it. I was just the transcriber. It was God. The universe. The energy. The force. Everything but me. And today after 520 Fridays the letter didn’t show up. I was left here alone, sitting. Looking for the words. Thinking to myself, what if it doesn’t show up. What will I send? So after sitting here for hours I just started writing about this moment. Right here. After all, it has always been about what is. Hasn’t it? And trusting that. Not questioning if it is enough. It is what it is. Have I ever told you that at the cemetery where my husband is buried, right across from him is a headstone that says it is what it is. In big letters. So every time I would visit I had to read it. It was right there staring at me. At first I would get mad. Angry. How fitting. In a cemetery. It is what it is. I must have read it a thousand times. At some point I started to agree. I had to. What else was left for me to do. It was what it was. So wherever you are, if you are feeling that you don’t have what you need, do what I did today. I took what was here and trusted that it was enough. We do what we can, with what we have. That has always served me well, especially during the hardest days of my life. (Click to tweet!) Put one foot in front of the other. And one more thing. Even if all I got today was to tell you how much I care, and how much you mean to me I would have sent it with just those words. And it would have been enough. With all I have, and everything I am, Christina P.S. This week’s conversation is with Dr Amit Goswami about life, death and healing. It is not to be missed. Listen here.
Read MoreHow do we find love while in quarantine? While in isolation. What happens to those who have yet to meet their first or second soulmates. They dreamed of meeting them at the library, at the bookstore, at the cafe, at the pub. At conferences, at work. They never dreamed of meeting them at home. What happens now? How do we find our way to each other when we are not supposed to be together? Nobody speaks of this kind of loss. The loss of not meeting your future love. Because you can’t run into each other. You can’t cross paths. This kind of loss can tilt the axis of the earth. Almost like a Romeo and Juliet story. Our imaginary worlds of true love are now threatened to never come true. I have not read or seen anyone referring to this kind of loss. Just because it is not the loss of a person who you have already met, it doesn't mean it is not a loss. It is the loss of the person we were supposed to meet. The love that was waiting for you, somewhere in the future. Especially for those who have already lost someone they loved. Or for those who were left by their husbands or wives. Those with broken hearts. They were looking for their new loves, everywhere. But now the everywhere that belonged to them is shut down. Closed up. The libraries are closed. The cafes too. The restaurants are gone. We have to learn a different kind of finding love. Ok, my darling, listen up. We have to start imagining new ways of meeting. I know you dreaded meeting someone online. The dreaded online dating. But what does it really mean to meet someone online? We have to redefine it. We have to see it as a vast universe of possibilities. Now you get the chance to visit with someone in Iceland if you wished, without having to visit the Blue Lagoon. You could start a relationship with someone in France, Spain, Australia. Norway. Oh my world. All these different ways someone can call you my love Mon amour. Mi amor. Min kjærlighet If I was single I would feel my heart’s joy, my eyes would open wide. And I could imagine a soulmate as far away as the furthest corners of the earth. Our souls have always been non local. Deep down this is more natural than we think it is. Listen, and remember this. We will all one day go back to visiting our local worlds. Back to the neighborhood cafes and restaurants. Meeting a partner from Iceland or New Zealand may not feel as natural as it feels right now. Seize the moment of this non local world. Imagine your future love waiting for you somewhere in a beautiful country. Go on, go online, post your selfies and tell the world about yourself. Seek to find a new love in a non local version of life. Falling in love first, with each other’s souls. After all, this is how we met each other. Non locally. Isn’t it? So...what are you waiting for. With non local love, Christina P.S. I did a two minute podcast to tell you good morning. Listen Here.
Read MoreI think it's nostalgia. That sweet feeling made out of longing. Remembering the days at the beach, in our youthfulness. Laughter echoing in the sand, staying present in everything. The younger we were, the less real the past was. The less needy we were of the future. We just naturally stayed in the moment, without knowing we were in the most unending time of our lives. I don’t grieve my youth, I grieve the ease in which I lived in my youth. And now, well now it’s not that we no longer laugh, or have new memories, it is that we don’t lose ourselves in those moments. We have forgotten how to lose ourselves. It is divine you know? The losing of oneself. Pure divinity. I remember it well. And why I love being nostalgic. The romance of remembering the details of a regular day. The routine of seeming nothingness, oh God. The luxury. My walks back from the beach in the burning sun, running home. The new friends I made on a summer’s day, while hanging next to the ocean. Never to see them again. The people who sat next to me on flights. Where we told each other everything, only to wave goodbye knowing that was the end. My wet shoes from the rain in Northern England when I would take the bus home. I was just 18. I am nostalgic of all the moments of my life where I just lived, without any wishing or dreaming, just living a regular life. Being lost in the weather, the ocean, the normalcy. Oh the normalcy. I miss that the most. (Click to tweet!) Almost as much as I miss my innocence. Now that is a perfect day. You see, this is why I love being nostalgic, it heals me. In so many ways. With so many rememberings. After all, life is the infinite cycle of learning and unlearning of the one and only truth. Letting go of one self in the midst of a normal day. The biggest gift we could ever receive. The hardest thing to hold on to. With nostalgia, Christina P.S. I did a 3 min Dear Life episode just for you. Listen here.
Read MoreThere are so many things to say about what it feels like 14 years after his loss. When it comes to loss of this kind, time is confusing. It’s almost as if his passing shoved me out of my body too. It just took me out of the direct experience of living. It placed me at a vantage point I never expected. And because we have only been given very inadequate descriptions of grief, I had to find new words to describe my own aftermath. Calling it grief was always inadequate. It is an out of body experience. It is like I live in two places. This is what happens when we lose someone we love. We get pumped out of time, out of place, out of body. But the only person who sees it, is us. We are also told that if we talk about them years down the road we must be stuck. I can laugh like a mad woman about this last part. Sure it’s complicated, but not the way they think it is. You don’t just remember the person you lost, you are with them in an unspoken way. You hold their beingness with you. It’s an inner experience that can only be described as a miracle. It’s as if they are forever yours. As some of you know, I remarried. My husband Eric and I have made an amazing life together. But this is what I want the world to understand and not forget. My way of ‘grieving’, remembering and speaking about my first husband doesn’t take away from my life here with Eric. Far from it. Human beings have complex and vast inner worlds. The basic premise of this physical reality can’t match the invisible world we belong to within ourselves. It’s not grief, its human nature to continue to love someone beyond time and space. (Click to tweet!) It’s the way we are made. It’s natural. Love is an infinite feeling. It’s the love we have inside for them that keeps trying to reach them. If I were to rename grief I would call it honor. What an honor it is to love so deeply that decades can go by and that love remains. I am going to share with you an email I sent out to my family and friends a few days after he passed. This was my beginning. Sent: Monday, 14 August 2006, 03:12:30 Dear friends, By now I have not seen Bjarne for over 3 weeks, which is by far the longest time. Needless to say sometimes I pretend he is abroad somewhere and I will be visiting soon. Denial, denial, denial. When I studied the stages of bereavement in college I used to think that the stage of denial would not really materialize in most people. How could they be in denial, the person is gone, what makes them doubt that? The following is the answer I gave to this question today. The human body cannot cope with the reality of such loss, it is so painful that it truly does not allow the knowledge to penetrate the brain. When it finally sets in, time has passed and the person has had some experience being without the loved one. A few nights ago I cried for the first time. I know it might sound strange but I was relieved in some respects. Numbness is not very comfortable to somebody who is used to feeling all the emotions possible. It really felt like a big part of me had been under anesthesia. The next day the numbness was back in full force but I think feeling the sad emotion even for a few moments was a step towards the right direction. Since Bjarne died I have managed to run as fast as I can without stopping for too long. When I have to brake for a few moments it feels quite sickening and impossible to bear. Whenever I have to make a decision my first thought still is what would he say about this. And to my surprise I am mostly certain about the answer. I still make conversation with him, in the car, cemetery, and before I go to bed. When I am alone, I feel closer to him somehow and it feels like he is with me driving even when I am just going to the store. One can never know for sure but I choose to lean towards the idea that he is around somewhere watching over the girls and me. If he could see me right now, I know that he would be proud of me. I am still standing, I can still take care of the girls, I eat, have gone out with friends, made pleasant conversation with a lot of people, been to the hairdresser, paid bills, went to the beach, slept on our bed without him, smiled and laughed, and missed him more than I could ever tell you but I am still alive. Some of the above are just simple routines for most people, but before he died I was not sure whether I would be able to accomplish any of them, but I did and I am grateful. I know it seems like I am not around much, I have tried to run away from the house often but in the last couple of days I have stayed home more and have been able to endure the pain of the familiar spaces. I hope to continue my progress with more steps forward than back and to be able to chat with you all one day soon. Thank you for reading.” And that was the beginning of a very long journey. If you are going to take one thing away from this special anniversary letter it should be this. Wherever you are on this journey don’t forget, love is infinite. And a big honor. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise. They don’t know what it’s like to live in two places at the same time. This is an honor you receive when someone you love dies. No other way around it. With honor, Christina
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