I feel my beloveds next to me.

From D.W.: I'm a generally private person. Not anti-social, necessarily, but certainly introverted. I have a small circle of close friends, but I often joke that I'm actively trying to shed them. Rachel, as anyone can attest, was completely the opposite. Her circle was enormous and ever-expanding. And if you were fortunate enough to be encircled by her friendship, no matter when it happened, she would never let you go.

Here's a couple of pieces about friendship. The first, written near the beginning of COVID lockdowns, casts her oldest friends as an enduring support group to get through the struggles. The second is a letter she wrote to her friends when she was on her way to interview for a job at Forward Movement (spoiler: she got the job). I don't know if she actually ever sent that letter. Maybe one of you can verify. But, frankly, to her it didn't matter. You were next to her that day.

Facebook. October 9th. 2020

 https://youtu.be/6NXnxTNIWkc

 This song is like a time portal for me. I’m on the band bus, one of the weird reconditioned Greyhound jobs. I’m 15 and I’m freaking out because we’re marching on AstroTurf for the first time and the thought of falling down in front of anyone, much less all our parents and like...a thousand strangers is making my stomach cartwheel and gurgle. 

But I know I’m not alone, I’m with my best friends and people I have known my whole life. And we know our parts — we have been drilling since the summer. We are as ready as we are going to be, and now we just have to do the damn thing. 

I’m sitting here on my porch, nearly 30 years (time is so freaking bonkers, y’all) older than the little girl on the bus. I feel my beloveds next to me, some of the same ones from the bus even. We’ve been working on this for more than months, my darlings. Loving our guts out, doing the next right things, going about the work of making beautiful things out of broken shit, lifting up our hearts in every way we know how so that love and compassion and kindness and sweetness and grace and mercy can be louder than all the forces of evil could ever muster—I have watched you do this. Watching you do this has kept me honest to love, to my integrity, to our connections through time and space and love itself. I know you are tired. This is hard, hard work. And it will take our whole lives to do it, and those who come after us will be at this work, too. And what a gift that is. 

You do not have to finish this work. You just have to keep doing it. But you also get to rest and dance and be joyful, because that is also working well. We are as ready as we are ever going to be. Let’s do the damn thing. 

Love your guts five-ever, 

Rachie

Unpublished iPhone Notes App. May 14th. 2014

I'm currently 35,000 feet over middle America. I'm flying to Cincinnati...on purpose. I really want to be a real writer and editor, and at 35 years old, I'm aware that the opportunities for me to reinvent careers and make sweeping changes are naturally going to be fewer and farther between. That's one of those things I've figured out about life, lately. 
 
I hope I do well on this interview. I hope I like this place, and the people who work there. I hope...and hope is a wild and holy thing, and it can also be a hard thing to know how to hold responsibly.  Mostly I just hope I don't accidentally say 'fuck' and that I can get some good sleep, tonight. Oh, and I also hope I can find a Walgreens, because I ran out of deodorant, this morning. Classic Peg... 
 
I'm not a great traveler, although I do really enjoy going places and having adventures. Plus, flying makes me really kind of nervous. I get to my gate at least 90 minutes before departure, even for domestic flights. I always take 3 Benadryl before I fly, and most of the time, I have a Bloody Mary during bev. service. If I were brave enough to ask my doctor for anti-anxiety meds, I would probably be asleep by now and not writing this post. Did I mention that flying makes me really nervous? 
 
The last time I flew to New York, I was asleep before the plane even took off. And while I may have slightly overdone my flying pre-game warm up, I can honestly say I've never had a better flight than that one I took just before my 33rd birthday. 
 
I keep remembering a conversation I had with my dad, a long time ago. Of course, he's been dead almost 17 years, so everything to do with him seems like a long time ago...but anyway.... I keep thinking about this conversation we had about once-in-a-lifetime opportunities.  I wish I could remember it more vividly, because all I can remember is Daddy telling me that not grabbing the brass ring when it flew by was categorically foolish. Brass rings don't fly around that often, and we would do well to grab it and ride and ask questions later -- that was the jist, I think. Either that or I've totally fabricated a story featuring Daddy wisdom, because this job is so great and I would do unforgivable things to be able to talk to him about this shit. I'm willing to believe either one.  Also, it seems like this conversation we had was about some something I'd been invited to do/participate in that was specifically for totally nerdy kids like me. 
 
And whether the made-up voice of my father that lives in my head said the bit about brass rings, or if he actually said it, it totally sounds like something he would have said to me. And holy shit, I wish I could hear one of his pep talks, one of the 'take no prisoners' variety that he was kind of famous for, one of the ones that made you feel like you really did have a fire lit under your ass. Plus, I honestly believed him when he said I could do something, that I could be something, that I was something.  He always knew the exact right thing to say, and exactly how to say it, and just how to make you understand how hard you were about to kick ass. 
 
It's hard to not have him in the world, in my corner. After having him be gone for almost half my life, you think I'd be used to the absence. But I'm not. I don't ever really expect to be. But there's a part of me that firmly believes that my darling dad knows everything I'm doing and is cheering loudest. I know in my heart of hearts that he sent my husband to me, because D.W. Jones loves me like crazy, and is so many shades of my darling dad, and my pops knew good and well that I was going to need someone to love me like that, to know when to push and when to squeeze, when to tell me to suck it up, or to tell me all the good things that I am and do. D.W. always knows the right thing to do, without me even having to tell him, and often before I know what the right thing is. He fundamentally understands me. And that is amazing. There are days when I ache with wanting them to know each other, to watch them shake their heads together over things I do or say. And that's hard. 
 
I'm harnessing all my energy to do this interview, complete with a proofing and editing quiz. It's a whole day-long affair, with multiple conversations with the movers and shakers of this organization. 
 
 I've pulled almost every talisman I can think of while I've been waiting for this interview to hurry the hell up and get here, i.e. several viewings of Fantastic Mr. Fox, hot bath with To Kill a Mockingbird, several Bob Dylan tracks on repeat, and lots of conversations with The Baby Jesus...and at least a pound of chocolate. Also, I made a play list of 200 songs to listen to while I was in the airport bathroom, trying to decide exactly what form my stomach rumbling was going to take. It's a good play list, and I managed to keep all my internal organs moored to their normal bearings.  
 
I wish I'd had time to get a brow/lip wax, new shoes, and a bra. Alas, the two jobs I currently have have been particularly demanding the last two weeks, so... sad face. Instead, hubs held me while I very quiet cried from just being full and wanting to just get on with the damn interview, already. Plus, it's a long trip (distance), and two nights from home, and I just hate being away from him. It's gross, but it's true. 
 
And this letter to you, my nearest and dearest, is far too long and much too self-involved...but I love and miss your faces and can't wait to see you and hug your necks and share stories. 
 
I'll keep you posted about the job. 
 
Love, 
Rachel