the art of spinning
sometimes we wish it would just stop
Dear Sondra,
I’m finishing this letter from a hostel bar in Copenhagen. Something that 16-year-old me would’ve never believed I could treat so casually. I’m here for a little last-minute vacation before visiting my office’s HQ in Sweden. It’s raining, and yet, I am so happy to be deliriously tired in a foreign country, getting to partake in some of my favorite comforts like Somersby Cider.
You asked how I was— and if I’m honest, there isn’t a straight answer. I’m so many things at once, and I think sometimes that’s the most frustrating part. We grow up thinking that moments will have emotional purity. That we will feel one thing, all at once, and move on to the next. But more often, I find myself to be a web of emotions, all knotted together, each one running into the next. Bumping up against each other. These days have been like that. I’m laughing my ass off one minute and crying the next, and yet, it’s all totally okay.
I have nothing figured out, except, that I have confidence in my ability to figure it out.
I think maybe that’s the point of your twenties. Learning how to thrive through all the instability. All I can do is hope that it’s enough.
I’ve been almost exactly where you are, and what I can say is that it’s incredibly hard and endlessly exhausting. I’m still working on all that. On looking in the mirror and seeing me the way my best friends do. And if they think I’m cool or smart or pretty, I’m sure that maybe I am. I try to listen to this, instead of that voice in the back of my head. The one that says I’m a fraud. But these days, I’m learning to just care less. To say it’s okay, and walk away, and not let it stop me from anything. To just say, hey, I’m trying, and I’m going to trust my friend’s love and vision of me.
To me, this is learning to give yourself grace. Learning to find a grounding point and depend on it.
There’s this concept in ballet— when you’re doing turns, you’re taught to start “spotting.” The idea here, is that if you were to just let your head follow the spin, you’d get endlessly dizzy and never be able to turn continuously while still knowing where you’re headed. Instead, you’re taught to find a grounding point — a spot on the wall, a person in the audience — and as you spin, you keep your focus on that spot for as long as possible, whipping your head around at the last moment in order to find it again. This keeps you balanced, and keeps you going.
Most of the time, in life, this spot is my friends. Sometimes I lose sight, I get dizzy and can’t see straight, but almost always, they’ll bring my focus back — keeping me turning.
I’ll admit— there are definitely times where it is not okay.
Sometimes everything is a mess, and you don’t know which way is up, and things are so open that they seem to be closed. Sometimes all hope does feel lost, and you don’t know who to turn to, or what decision to make.
And then your best friend calls. And you talk to your mom. And that random friend drives to you because you needed a hug. And humanity seeps back in. And you actually feel a little better. Which you didn’t think was possible. The world keeps spinning and though dizzy, you think it’s kind of pretty that it all keeps moving. And that while some things are different and unsure, most of the time, people still hold you dear. And the wind still blows. And the traffic still persists.
And then you’ll find yourself, months later, in some situation like this. Running around Copenhagen with a friend from college, navigating the city without a map because you now remember which streets lead where. And everything, though heavy, will seem a bit lighter, a bit less pressing, and a bit more clear.
Is there something that’s been inspiring you lately? A thing to hold onto when everything feels like it’s spinning?
Your friend,
💙 V
