I take a sip and split into four versions of myself...

Age 7, Nana & Papa's

A cacophony of voices coming from the dining room: an uncle doing impressions, then a crescendo of laughter. Thick burgundy glass goblets and lipstick-marked teacups strewn about the crumb-covered, gravy-dotted tablecloth. The labored whir of an overworked dishwasher and the hushed whispers of generations of women stationed in the kitchen. Efficiently stacking, washing, drying, and putting away the dishes from the dinner for 30 like they're packing doughnuts off the line for a fundraiser. 

Mounds of crumpled wrapping paper spilling out of slouched black garbage bags. Ornaments sliding off the soft-needled branches of a too-big tree clinging to lifetime milestones in the form of glinting baubles. Opened gifts piled neatly in various corners of the house, each family claiming territory for their spoils as if practicing for the game of Risk that will occur later in the night. The carpet wet from snowboots that ventured outside to move a car that was blocking someone in, carry more firewood up to the house, or return the picnic bench used for extra seating to its home on the patio. 

Kids in matching Christmas outfits showing off new toys to each other. Leftovers slid into Tupperware with missing lids and shoved into a packed fridge, balanced on top of each or divvied up in doggy bags.  

Red-cheeked and stockinged feet in the back room of my grandparents' house. Eyes heavy as my stomach after a Christmas feast. Drifting to sleep on the thick shoulder or broad chest beside me. The fire crackling and the Christmas Story marathon playing on the TV. 

Fussy babies being stretched and stuffed into winter jackets as a soft voice says, "Come on, kids. It's time to get going." Cinching eyes tight against the inevitable. Pretending to sleep to preserve this moment, to extend this night just a little further. 

Age 14, Ellie’s

Sleepovers in the basement with the wood-burning stove. Lessons from the one "experienced" girl in the group about what to do when a boy puts his arm around you ("Lean into it."). Braiding hair and rubbing feet. Eating raw chocolate chip cookie dough from the tube and drinking vanilla-flavored "cappuccino" from a powder packet. 

Confessing crushes and impossible dreams, many of which would become realized: A Rockette, an architect, a podiatrist, and writer among us. The girl with the steady boyfriend in grade 6 married with kids by the end of college and working in a bridal boutique. The details of the others' lives now lost to time, one of the many casualties of adulthood, like maiden names traded for new identities. Making up inside jokes and pledging our allegiance to each other. Convinced we would all be friends forever.

Age 22, Ireland

Slow-sipping tea in front of a fireplace in the great room of a Dutch woman's house. Driving conversation against the backdrop of obvious yawns, attempting to delay the discomfort of the camper van waiting for me outside.  

I'm here for three months exchanging farmwork and childcare for a place to stay in this, my ancestral land. My companion is a hard-to-understand and always-giggling German woman with dark-framed glasses and straw-yellow dreadlocks also here trading work for adventure. 

We brush our teeth and use the bathroom one last time before filling up old-fashioned water bottles from the kettle to warm our beds enough for our bodies to welcome sleep. 

I wake up shivering and needing to pee. A nearby rooster crowing for the not-so-distant dawn as I will myself out of bed, feeling for the aluminum door handle, trying not to rock my roommate awake with my motions. 

The moon an unfamiliar cast of blue. The smell of burning peat rising from the chimneys of thatched roofs on houses that look like a child's drawing of a house. The sting of the damp November air nipping at my bare bottom as I lean against the van to pee, probably not unlike the discomfort my great-great-so-and-so's felt before they left home to quiet that niggling feeling and chase the promise of a life beyond this. 

Age 25, San Francisco

Hands stiff with the cold of a windy San Francisco day. Three hours into a 6-hour shift standing on a street corner and asking people for their time and their money. "A minute for the homeless?" "Nice coat! Want to help some homeless people today?" 

Tactics failing, energy flagging, and a cloud of desperation descending. A clipboard with seven names and only a handful of dollars next to them. I don't get paid for the day's work if I don't bring in the target of $150 in donations, and I've been on a cold streak. 

Rejection after rejection pummeling my spirits. The words of a regular at the doughnut shop where I worked back home ring in my ears: "Sociology degree? Psh! You'll end up poor as the people you're tryna help!" 

Hopping from foot to foot to keep toes warm and push away thoughts of my own destitution. I just need to get warmed up again, that's all. Ducking inside a Peet's Coffee & Tea, looking at the long list of options and making my way to the front of the line. 

"What's lap-sang soo...," I ask. "Oh, lapsang souchong? That's a smoked black tea." 

"Smoked?" 

"Yeah, it tastes like a campfire in your mouth." 

"WHAT? Yeah, I'll try that." 

A few minutes later, wrapping both hands around the scalding paper cup that would transport me back and launch me forward at the same time. 

Age 37 (Now), Big Island Hawai'i 

It's Fall in Hawai'i. The early morning air is crisp, cool; the sun has not yet infused it. I'm sitting down to write at my desk with a steaming cup of tea. I have just published my first book, but the work is not done. I have the sense it's just beginning. I'm laying a new foundation at the nascent stage of this next chapter of my life.  

I've grown a lot since the last time I tasted campfire in a cup. I am lightyears ahead of where I was in many ways, yet I'm at the same stage: approaching the start of something new. The great unknown. Trying. Moving. Asking for help. Unsure what will come next. 

But at this moment, I'm sitting with myself, warming myself by the fire in my cup and stoking the flame in my heart. And trusting that, like it has every time before, this will all work out.

P.S.sstt…

As most of you know by now, I wrote a book! It’s live and available to buy on Amazon in paperback, hardcover, and Kindle.

If you’ve already bought/read the book, please consider writing a review on Amazon so that people who need it most can find it.

This is a huge milestone in my healing process and my professional career, and having your support buoys my spirits and pushes me to keep going. Thank you!

Credits

Planet Hearth by Calibre.

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit rachaelmaier.substack.com