I simply loved this eloquent, insightful essay! I didn't know about the caterpillar dissolving, but I see how powerful a metaphor it is. You certainly have a knack for conversing with people you are not familiar with, and the way you glean conversations to create meaningful, insightful essays is extraordinary.
All of your essay speaks to me, but I chose just one quote: "And maybe that's the most beautiful thing of all, this willingness to stay liquid, to remain open to whatever wants to emerge, even when everyone else is asking when you're going to land somewhere solid." This is so true: people don't like the in-between stages, which can be chaotic. People want to know how one reaches the end goal.
As you know, I've survived breast cancer. And as Nancy S. states below, people do expect survivors to get over it, not only physically, but emotionally. They want us to move on. I've been told that I needed to "get over it" more times than I care to admit. The problem: I don't fit into that mold. I will never get over it, and always be in the in-between stage of survivorship. I am healing, but I will never be completely healed, and I've accepted this.
Thank you for writing and sharing this. I so appreciate you!
I owe this skill to having done so much qualitative research. I can be quite introverted and relatively shy. But if I turn on research Alex, people spill their souls to me and I just listen. I'm REALLY easy to talk with. And as long as there isn't a task for me to remember to do, I'll remember just about anything. Haha!
I love that quote too. Staying liquid. Water is such a fascinating element. It can do so much for us.
Yes, I don't think you can really ever "get over" anything. Trauma will always leave a "mark" on us. We carry it with us. Even when we are "healed," it doesn't mean the scars still don't exist, we simply know how to move with the scars that are with us. There is nothing wrong with that, for that is what having a body (whether it be a physical, mental, or spiritual body) means. It is our human experience. It is the source of our strength. You will never "get over it," per se, and that is a source of strength.
This is my favorite post of yours so far... and I have loved so many. (I wanted to put this in all caps, but I didn't want you to feel like I was yelling at you. 🤣)
This is such an interesting concept about one’s life, it speaks to me in a way that the quote, “stop and smell the roses” always did. For me it’s being truly present in the everyday and the awareness of our connection to each other that is just waiting for us to see it and believe it is truly within our grasp as long as we want it. So many of us miss this deeper perception and your writing about it shines a light upon it. I haven’t had cancer but I’ve been the caretaker of people who have had it. What I go through in my own life isn’t understood by most people, so I only think about it when I reflect about myself. I have always had a sixth sense, if you will, mainly about others.
I could always look at a person’s expressions and actions and “see” exactly what they were going through and why. More times than not I have been proven right. However, for myself not so much. I feel like a mystery even to myself. Hardly ever know the real why, but feel the intense feelings many times without reason for them. Thinking about the things you spell out many times shows me that I am not thinking deep enough or perhaps not recognizing the why I feel the way I feel. Perhaps avoiding my own reality is what keeps me going. Attempting, as you put it, rather than living in it.
Thank you Alex once more for feeding my mind and heart with a goal to discover how to live in the “soup” as you coin it. Maybe soon the soup will be my comfort zone rather than my quick sand. ❤️🌺
Well, the self can be a pretty scary reality! Take it from me - I spent years avoiding him. But there were some events in my life that forced me to confront myself head-on. I think the soup metaphor is a really interesting way to "feel" into our lives. It is a different way to experience our reality, our circumstances, etc. I was really touched by this particular conversation and experience with this stranger.
Thank you, as always, for sharing my friend. We are in this together! 🩵
Yes if I didn’t touch on your experience it was my oversight. I sometimes get into deep thought after reading your posts and become self absorbed. I understood the encounter and conversation with the stranger touched you and feeling it through your words was truly felt. I’m glad you experienced that. Always your friend and “student”. ❤️💐
Please, don't take my comment as me feeling like you were avoiding my experience. Please, be deep in thought after reading my post!
You are entirely welcome to disregard my experience and focus on your own. You are invited to do so! You are welcome to experience my writing in any way that suits you. I'm always glad you're here.
"Maybe the point isn't to become something fixed, but to stay awake to whatever wants to emerge." And your writing about this helps us all be more content in our own soup. ❤
Oh wow. This is extraordinary. I'm about a million miles from this, but sometimes I might just be in it. It makes me think again of that Ronna Bloom poem: 'She is being cooked like a soup, boiled up and getting skimmed. And she has no idea if the broth is going to go dark as mahogany or pale as straw.' And also of Rilke, telling the young poet to 'live the questions.' I guess it's very human to want answers, security, knowing, understanding - and I don't think that's wrong, maybe it's just a question of balance. Soup days and Solid days.
Thank you, Susie. I really appreciate that. Yes, I can see some similarities with that Ronna Bloom poem you shared a while back! It is very human to "want answers, security, knowing, understanding." It isn't wrong at all. It is very uncomfortable not to have those things. I think comfort, though, is a double-edged sword. It isn't a perpetual state. We have to exit it at some point and go into the soup once again, whether we want to or not.
Alex! How do you remember dialogue with such specificity? I am astounded. These are fascinating snippets of conversations you have been sharing with us. I love the glimpse into this type of intimacy with strangers that you offer to us. These are the interesting stories to me--the common, everyday experiences, those "fly on the wall" type moments. You are reminding me that aliveness doesn't have to be extraordinary, doesn't have to be something spectacular or sensational.
Also--I absolutely LOVE LOVE LOVE the caterpillar soup metaphor. Butterflies have always been so meaningful to me, and I'll never forget when I first heard about how the caterpillar actually dissolves into an entirely new substance.
This is probably one of my true research gifts. If research Alex is activated, I remember some of the clearest details with great specificity. I have so many stories of the hundreds of people I've interviewed over the years that I still remember, with just random lines that are burned into my memory. I don't remember all of their "transcripts," but I remember these snippets clear as day. Crazy right?
Yes! I knew you would like this one because of that book, the name is escaping me... but I bought it, read it, LOVED IT! 🩵
Oh, yes, I know what you mean! Sometimes a very specific line will pop in my head from a conversation I had years ago, and I think, “How did I remember that so clearly?” But I don’t remember the ENTIRE conversation. That is definitely one of your many superpowers!
Yes, the book is called HOPE FOR THE FLOWERS. :) It’s one of my favorites.
I raise monarch butterflies here at the Jersey shore in the summer. Imagine the trust instilled in a caterpillar to eat, expand, and shed its exoskeleton (or skin) multiple times, as it grows larger and larger, finally entering the pupal "soup" phase. Not all caterpillars make it to this point. Some might get picked off on this journey by a predator.
The opportunity to become dissolute, in itself, is a gift. When they're ready, they hang upside down inert in a J-shape, again vulnerable to outside forces.
Safe inside the chrysalis, this is indeed the time of waiting. The caterpillar partially dissolves while special cells transform it from a multi-legged, yellow and black-striped milkweed-eating machine to a two-legged, orange and black-winged nectar lover.
Most monarchs have a life span of two weeks, except for the last generation that flies to Mexico in the fall. Their lives mirror our own in countless ways. What a great way to look at the in-between, because really, everything is in-between something else.
Thank you for adding so much substance to this! I really had no idea about this until this random guy mentioned it and then I looked it up and found out all about it. CRAZY! What a really cool process and perfect metaphor for transformation. Thank you for sharing. And I didn't know you raised monarchs. How neat!!! I love that! 🩵
There is so much to mull over in this piece. First of all, good for you for having that conversation. I rarely strike up conversations with strangers while waiting. Reading this makes me feel a bit more open to it. Maybe. No trains here, but at the airport, gosh, talk about people waiting, sometimes for hours, in their own little bubbles. Until that moment when it's time to get ready to board. Then suddenly, that shift happens. I'd never thought about it quite like that before either.
As a cancer survivor, this resonates deeply. When active treatment ends, we're supposed to be done. Taking "too long" to put all that in the rearview mirror is frowned upon. Same deal with grief. Society imples that the sooner you put "all that" behind you, the better job you're doing of handling things. Another form of rushing and getting to a finish line that doesn't actually exist.
And I love the concept of giving ourselves permission to remain unfinished, to not know, to keep becoming - to keep cooking - such relief in that. "In the slowing down" is where we actually figure stuff out anyway.
Another thought-provoking read. Thank you for writing it.
I don't always, I like to stay in my bubble. Especially post-COVID. I'm much less likely to strike up a random conversation. But, in May I really challenged myself to talk to strangers on the train about Aliveness. And here we are!
I really love what you have shared about cancer. I shared yours and Beth's substack with a dear friend of mine who is at the end part of her active treatment. I think she might find some resonance with your writing.
I haven't dealt with cancer, but I've felt the same pressure with people and my brain injury. Every wants me to be "done," moved on, and it behind me. And I'm like, ya'll, first of all, its a much longer process, a lot of the healing is invisible to you, and second of all, there is a lot of psychological stuff behind the scenes that I'm trying to move through. I'm getting to know a whole different person... with new favorite colors and favorite foods, different preferences on things, different triggers to anger, etc. I'm mourning the loss of the person I was, and I'm getting to know a new person. Let me just be here for a bit.
But, I've realized it's just their own discomfort.
Even post-COVID, I find it hard to exit my bubble. It's wonderful you decided to challenge yourself to talk to strangers. If only that man knew his impact. I wonder if you'll ever see him again at some point.
I hope your dear friend is doing alright. Active cancer treatment is hard. Life post-active treatment can be harder. I wish her well. Thank you for sharing Beth's and my Substack. So generous of you.
I didn't know about your brain injury. I knew there was "something" that happened last July. So much of healing is invisible, as are the emotional scars that remain. I totally relate about mourning the loss of the person you were. This doesn't mean we aren't grateful. Your last sentence is spot on!
Transformation demands liquefaction. But, like you explain, our culture is terrified of that phase—overly eager to get to the other side, scared to linger in the unknown. Scared to linger with ourselves, maybe, when we're bare and vulnerable and in progress. Thank you for capturing this encounter and writing about it so beautifully!
Thank you, my friend, for your lovely comment. Lingering with ourselves is terrifying. Especially when it forces us to confront reality in ways we have been avoiding. I so appreciate you for reading. 🩵
This was beautiful. I have been in the liquid phase for a while, feeling unsettled and low-key berating myself for it, but this shifted my perspective. Thank you!
Thank you for reading. I'm so glad this has shifted your perspective. It can take time for us to find our way. There are so many lessons within that phase. And those lessons are for US to learn, not for anyone else. This is our time 🩵
LOL I was just discussing this with my therapist recently. I am so in my caterpillar 🐛 soup era right now. Pushing 60. This is a great piece about accepting it instead of resisting it.
This is a brilliant piece. Good on you for taking the lesson from the Universe when it was on offer, and applying it to your own life. Coincidence of meeting some random guy at the train platform? Earth angel? I love this. Been thinking about metamorphosis lately. The Caterpiller said to the Butterfly, "You've changed." - "We're supposed to", was its reply as it took to the air.
This comes at the right time, providing instant relief. Thank you for giving me new perspective, for the permission to embrace the soup.
Hi Heidi. I'm so glad this essay found you at the right time and provided the right type of relief 🩵
The in-between moments are when we experience realness in life.
Definitely! Thanks for being here, Jimmy!
Hi Alex,
I simply loved this eloquent, insightful essay! I didn't know about the caterpillar dissolving, but I see how powerful a metaphor it is. You certainly have a knack for conversing with people you are not familiar with, and the way you glean conversations to create meaningful, insightful essays is extraordinary.
All of your essay speaks to me, but I chose just one quote: "And maybe that's the most beautiful thing of all, this willingness to stay liquid, to remain open to whatever wants to emerge, even when everyone else is asking when you're going to land somewhere solid." This is so true: people don't like the in-between stages, which can be chaotic. People want to know how one reaches the end goal.
As you know, I've survived breast cancer. And as Nancy S. states below, people do expect survivors to get over it, not only physically, but emotionally. They want us to move on. I've been told that I needed to "get over it" more times than I care to admit. The problem: I don't fit into that mold. I will never get over it, and always be in the in-between stage of survivorship. I am healing, but I will never be completely healed, and I've accepted this.
Thank you for writing and sharing this. I so appreciate you!
Thank you, Beth.
I owe this skill to having done so much qualitative research. I can be quite introverted and relatively shy. But if I turn on research Alex, people spill their souls to me and I just listen. I'm REALLY easy to talk with. And as long as there isn't a task for me to remember to do, I'll remember just about anything. Haha!
I love that quote too. Staying liquid. Water is such a fascinating element. It can do so much for us.
Yes, I don't think you can really ever "get over" anything. Trauma will always leave a "mark" on us. We carry it with us. Even when we are "healed," it doesn't mean the scars still don't exist, we simply know how to move with the scars that are with us. There is nothing wrong with that, for that is what having a body (whether it be a physical, mental, or spiritual body) means. It is our human experience. It is the source of our strength. You will never "get over it," per se, and that is a source of strength.
I appreciate you. Thank you for reading. 🩵
This is my favorite post of yours so far... and I have loved so many. (I wanted to put this in all caps, but I didn't want you to feel like I was yelling at you. 🤣)
Brilliant, my friend!! This is genius writing. 🧡
Awww, I really appreciate this, my friend. Thank you for sharing this with me. THANK YOU. Hehe. I couldn't resist.
This is such an interesting concept about one’s life, it speaks to me in a way that the quote, “stop and smell the roses” always did. For me it’s being truly present in the everyday and the awareness of our connection to each other that is just waiting for us to see it and believe it is truly within our grasp as long as we want it. So many of us miss this deeper perception and your writing about it shines a light upon it. I haven’t had cancer but I’ve been the caretaker of people who have had it. What I go through in my own life isn’t understood by most people, so I only think about it when I reflect about myself. I have always had a sixth sense, if you will, mainly about others.
I could always look at a person’s expressions and actions and “see” exactly what they were going through and why. More times than not I have been proven right. However, for myself not so much. I feel like a mystery even to myself. Hardly ever know the real why, but feel the intense feelings many times without reason for them. Thinking about the things you spell out many times shows me that I am not thinking deep enough or perhaps not recognizing the why I feel the way I feel. Perhaps avoiding my own reality is what keeps me going. Attempting, as you put it, rather than living in it.
Thank you Alex once more for feeding my mind and heart with a goal to discover how to live in the “soup” as you coin it. Maybe soon the soup will be my comfort zone rather than my quick sand. ❤️🌺
Well, the self can be a pretty scary reality! Take it from me - I spent years avoiding him. But there were some events in my life that forced me to confront myself head-on. I think the soup metaphor is a really interesting way to "feel" into our lives. It is a different way to experience our reality, our circumstances, etc. I was really touched by this particular conversation and experience with this stranger.
Thank you, as always, for sharing my friend. We are in this together! 🩵
Yes if I didn’t touch on your experience it was my oversight. I sometimes get into deep thought after reading your posts and become self absorbed. I understood the encounter and conversation with the stranger touched you and feeling it through your words was truly felt. I’m glad you experienced that. Always your friend and “student”. ❤️💐
Oh, no, not an oversight at all, my friend :)
Please, don't take my comment as me feeling like you were avoiding my experience. Please, be deep in thought after reading my post!
You are entirely welcome to disregard my experience and focus on your own. You are invited to do so! You are welcome to experience my writing in any way that suits you. I'm always glad you're here.
Truly. 🩵
I wonder if Radio-head guy knows what an impact he had on you that day?
What I marvel at is your ability to embrace these train-moment-encounters and find beautiful interactions with strangers on the regular.
Thanks for swimming in the soup with me Alex. I'm honored to call you friend.
I am honored to call you friend. I've been pushing myself to be more social with strangers. It has been... fun :)
"Maybe the point isn't to become something fixed, but to stay awake to whatever wants to emerge." And your writing about this helps us all be more content in our own soup. ❤
Thank you, Nancy. Yes, be content in your soup 🩵
Oh wow. This is extraordinary. I'm about a million miles from this, but sometimes I might just be in it. It makes me think again of that Ronna Bloom poem: 'She is being cooked like a soup, boiled up and getting skimmed. And she has no idea if the broth is going to go dark as mahogany or pale as straw.' And also of Rilke, telling the young poet to 'live the questions.' I guess it's very human to want answers, security, knowing, understanding - and I don't think that's wrong, maybe it's just a question of balance. Soup days and Solid days.
Thank you, Susie. I really appreciate that. Yes, I can see some similarities with that Ronna Bloom poem you shared a while back! It is very human to "want answers, security, knowing, understanding." It isn't wrong at all. It is very uncomfortable not to have those things. I think comfort, though, is a double-edged sword. It isn't a perpetual state. We have to exit it at some point and go into the soup once again, whether we want to or not.
Alex! How do you remember dialogue with such specificity? I am astounded. These are fascinating snippets of conversations you have been sharing with us. I love the glimpse into this type of intimacy with strangers that you offer to us. These are the interesting stories to me--the common, everyday experiences, those "fly on the wall" type moments. You are reminding me that aliveness doesn't have to be extraordinary, doesn't have to be something spectacular or sensational.
Also--I absolutely LOVE LOVE LOVE the caterpillar soup metaphor. Butterflies have always been so meaningful to me, and I'll never forget when I first heard about how the caterpillar actually dissolves into an entirely new substance.
Hi Jeannie!
This is probably one of my true research gifts. If research Alex is activated, I remember some of the clearest details with great specificity. I have so many stories of the hundreds of people I've interviewed over the years that I still remember, with just random lines that are burned into my memory. I don't remember all of their "transcripts," but I remember these snippets clear as day. Crazy right?
Yes! I knew you would like this one because of that book, the name is escaping me... but I bought it, read it, LOVED IT! 🩵
Oh, yes, I know what you mean! Sometimes a very specific line will pop in my head from a conversation I had years ago, and I think, “How did I remember that so clearly?” But I don’t remember the ENTIRE conversation. That is definitely one of your many superpowers!
Yes, the book is called HOPE FOR THE FLOWERS. :) It’s one of my favorites.
You had me at "caterpillar soup."
I raise monarch butterflies here at the Jersey shore in the summer. Imagine the trust instilled in a caterpillar to eat, expand, and shed its exoskeleton (or skin) multiple times, as it grows larger and larger, finally entering the pupal "soup" phase. Not all caterpillars make it to this point. Some might get picked off on this journey by a predator.
The opportunity to become dissolute, in itself, is a gift. When they're ready, they hang upside down inert in a J-shape, again vulnerable to outside forces.
Safe inside the chrysalis, this is indeed the time of waiting. The caterpillar partially dissolves while special cells transform it from a multi-legged, yellow and black-striped milkweed-eating machine to a two-legged, orange and black-winged nectar lover.
Most monarchs have a life span of two weeks, except for the last generation that flies to Mexico in the fall. Their lives mirror our own in countless ways. What a great way to look at the in-between, because really, everything is in-between something else.
Thank you for adding so much substance to this! I really had no idea about this until this random guy mentioned it and then I looked it up and found out all about it. CRAZY! What a really cool process and perfect metaphor for transformation. Thank you for sharing. And I didn't know you raised monarchs. How neat!!! I love that! 🩵
Hi Alex,
There is so much to mull over in this piece. First of all, good for you for having that conversation. I rarely strike up conversations with strangers while waiting. Reading this makes me feel a bit more open to it. Maybe. No trains here, but at the airport, gosh, talk about people waiting, sometimes for hours, in their own little bubbles. Until that moment when it's time to get ready to board. Then suddenly, that shift happens. I'd never thought about it quite like that before either.
As a cancer survivor, this resonates deeply. When active treatment ends, we're supposed to be done. Taking "too long" to put all that in the rearview mirror is frowned upon. Same deal with grief. Society imples that the sooner you put "all that" behind you, the better job you're doing of handling things. Another form of rushing and getting to a finish line that doesn't actually exist.
And I love the concept of giving ourselves permission to remain unfinished, to not know, to keep becoming - to keep cooking - such relief in that. "In the slowing down" is where we actually figure stuff out anyway.
Another thought-provoking read. Thank you for writing it.
I don't always, I like to stay in my bubble. Especially post-COVID. I'm much less likely to strike up a random conversation. But, in May I really challenged myself to talk to strangers on the train about Aliveness. And here we are!
I really love what you have shared about cancer. I shared yours and Beth's substack with a dear friend of mine who is at the end part of her active treatment. I think she might find some resonance with your writing.
I haven't dealt with cancer, but I've felt the same pressure with people and my brain injury. Every wants me to be "done," moved on, and it behind me. And I'm like, ya'll, first of all, its a much longer process, a lot of the healing is invisible to you, and second of all, there is a lot of psychological stuff behind the scenes that I'm trying to move through. I'm getting to know a whole different person... with new favorite colors and favorite foods, different preferences on things, different triggers to anger, etc. I'm mourning the loss of the person I was, and I'm getting to know a new person. Let me just be here for a bit.
But, I've realized it's just their own discomfort.
Even post-COVID, I find it hard to exit my bubble. It's wonderful you decided to challenge yourself to talk to strangers. If only that man knew his impact. I wonder if you'll ever see him again at some point.
I hope your dear friend is doing alright. Active cancer treatment is hard. Life post-active treatment can be harder. I wish her well. Thank you for sharing Beth's and my Substack. So generous of you.
I didn't know about your brain injury. I knew there was "something" that happened last July. So much of healing is invisible, as are the emotional scars that remain. I totally relate about mourning the loss of the person you were. This doesn't mean we aren't grateful. Your last sentence is spot on!
Transformation demands liquefaction. But, like you explain, our culture is terrified of that phase—overly eager to get to the other side, scared to linger in the unknown. Scared to linger with ourselves, maybe, when we're bare and vulnerable and in progress. Thank you for capturing this encounter and writing about it so beautifully!
Thank you, my friend, for your lovely comment. Lingering with ourselves is terrifying. Especially when it forces us to confront reality in ways we have been avoiding. I so appreciate you for reading. 🩵
This was beautiful. I have been in the liquid phase for a while, feeling unsettled and low-key berating myself for it, but this shifted my perspective. Thank you!
Thank you for reading. I'm so glad this has shifted your perspective. It can take time for us to find our way. There are so many lessons within that phase. And those lessons are for US to learn, not for anyone else. This is our time 🩵
LOL I was just discussing this with my therapist recently. I am so in my caterpillar 🐛 soup era right now. Pushing 60. This is a great piece about accepting it instead of resisting it.
Thank you for reading! I love that you are in your soup era. Enjoy the soup era. I can't wait to see what you emerge as! No rush, and enjoy 🩵
Recalculating,
anything could happen phase.
Decalculating?
...
Shapeshifting selves soup,
solid, settled, overpriced.
Simmering, still stir?
This is a brilliant piece. Good on you for taking the lesson from the Universe when it was on offer, and applying it to your own life. Coincidence of meeting some random guy at the train platform? Earth angel? I love this. Been thinking about metamorphosis lately. The Caterpiller said to the Butterfly, "You've changed." - "We're supposed to", was its reply as it took to the air.