Final Thoughts

A few days before I turned in a final draft of this book, I had a series of physical sensations that were . . . odd. First, I had a bad reaction to environmental allergies, which isn’t that unusual for me. Then my chest started to feel tight and constricted, and I couldn’t breathe easily or get comfortable. I just felt off. My girlfriend made me promise that if I didn’t feel better the next day, I’d go to urgent care, and I agreed.

The next day, I didn’t exactly feel better, but I could breathe, which was good enough for me. I got to work on the book—revising Chapter 8, specifically, which includes signs something may be physically wrong with a person—and was so absorbed in getting that done that I didn’t check in with my body in a meaningful way. I noticed that I felt off, but I didn’t really process it. Afternoon rolled around and I realized I wasn’t hungry for lunch (weird for me), so I finally stopped and did a mental body scan. I was still feeling pressure in my upper back; my left shoulder, neck, and jaw were hurting a lot and my fingers were tingling; and I was experiencing something like indigestion. Every Google search turned up basically the same result: These are textbook “woman having a heart attack” symptoms. It happens more than you might think to young, healthy women who don’t see it coming. Go to the doctor, you dummy.

And yet . . . I hesitated. I genuinely can’t explain why. I didn’t have a “good” reason; I just . . . didn’t want to? I had work to do and didn’t feel like stopping. I was worried about looking silly (what if it was just heartburn?), and also worried it was something serious. (If it was serious, I—rather inexplicably—did not want to know that???) I was worried about the cost. (If this had happened just two weeks earlier, when I still had barebones freelancer health insurance, I don’t think I would have gone.) If I’m being honest, the main reason I finally decided to see a doctor is because I’d promised my girlfriend the night before that I would.

After I made the short walk to the nearby clinic, I was asked a million questions and given an EKG. The doctor—who blessedly took me very seriously—ultimately said everything was normal, and that my symptoms were likely a “cascade of reactions” related to my allergy attack the night before. But, he said, if I had any shortness of breath or chest pain, any dizziness or nausea or sweating, I was to go to the ER immediately and take my EKG with me.

On my way home, I felt embarrassed—not because I wasn’t actually dying, but because I have written an entire book about showing up and yet I still, occasionally, have to be convinced not to ignore the literal pain in my literal heart.

The whole experience was, to me, exactly what showing up looks like in practice. It’s doing mundane tasks, like going to the doctor, even when you don’t want to. It’s saying, “You need to get help,” to someone you love. It’s listening to your people when they tell you it’s time to talk to a professional. It’s not pretending to be chill when you’re actually quite worried. It isn’t easy or sexy or fun; it’s often inconvenient and potentially very expensive and incredibly vulnerable. It doesn’t usually happen in ways that end with a dramatic “and that changed my life.” Sometimes, it’s just going to a boring-ass doctor’s office and answering some questions and getting some tests run and then going home. But not everything has to be super high-stakes or avert a tragedy to be worthwhile.

Each time we show up for ourselves or for someone else, it’s like we’re turning on a single bulb in a strand of Christmas lights. A bulb can be anything: a text, a hug, a pair of pajamas, a puzzle. Occasionally, we’ll get to make a grand gesture that illuminates several bulbs at once, but for the most part, showing up is done one small, quiet act by small, quiet act.

Every single day is a new opportunity to show up—to be curious, connected, soft, brave; to create a kinder, healthier, lovelier world. My wish for you is that you’ll take each chance you’re given, no matter how small. Because when more of us show up for ourselves and each other regularly, the more lights we collectively turn on, and over time, we’ll create a connected line that glows brightly, lighting the way when life gets dark.

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