A Reflection on Love Letters

When 2023 became 2024, I was in the middle of a profoundly painful season of change. It was awful—but at no point was I alone in it. This was by design. My friends and loved ones showed up to surround me with support and care when I needed it most. At the time, only some of those loved ones knew that they were saving my life. 

Grief requires tremendous endurance. In those months, I was deeply uncertain about my ability to carry the grief I’d been handed. It was far too tempting to simply set it down. The problem is that grief cannot be separated from the larger project of being alive. The only way to put down one is to give up the other.

But I didn’t have to carry the grief alone. Because of the help I received from my community, I managed to transport my burden across those months, and I came out on the other side of the calendar alive.

I can tell you precisely where I was when I realized everything was different for me. A friend of mine—a very dear sibling of my soul—took a little road trip with me up the California coast. We were on the way to meet up with some pals, and we took an RV through some of the most beautiful places on earth, and we stopped to eat oysters over the bay. With the wind in my face and hot butter on my tongue, I turned to her and said “I love being alive.” 

She stared at me for a moment before telling me she couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard me say that. The wild thing was, I meant it. I’d made it through the grief, and I’d found a new version of myself—one that truly, actually wanted to be alive on purpose. 

We cried and we laughed and we marveled at the way a few months of terrible pain can lead to a brand new kind of life. As we walked back to our RV I said: This moment of looking out at the water and thinking I want to live doesn’t belong to me. Other people have had this experience. What has it been like for them? I want to know.

The oysters we ate that day had come with a side of garlic fries in a compostable takeout container. I wrote a list of names on the lid of that container. As we started to drive, I said to my friend: I’m going to call it Love Letters: Reasons to Be Alive. 

Over the next couple of months, I sat down with one of the greatest artists and community organizers in the game, Shing Yin Khor, and got advice on how to launch and fulfill a physical magazine. I solicited cover art from Shing, as well as from Lucy Bellwood, Liana Kangas, and Trung Le Nguyen. I contacted the absolutely genius Kate Burgener to handle the layouts and design of the magazine. I ran a Kickstarter campaign that was quickly and enthusiastically backed by so many of you it made my head spin. I set about making plans with production assistant Josh Storey and copyeditor Lydia Rogue, who carried this project on their backs.

And I dug deep to find the mettle to reach out to everyone whose name I’d written on that box of garlic fries. I am incredibly shy, and reaching out to ask people to write essays or be interviewed for Stone Soup is always very scary. But I steeled myself, and I sent the emails and made the phone calls. I found the courage to ask people to tell me about the lives they've lived, and the things that have made them pursue this enormous project of being alive.

Imagine my shock and good fortune when they said yes.

There were some who wrote about the power of enduring connection. Helena Fitzgerald wrote about being in the next room while the party downstairs continues, and what it means to allow what we love to exist without us. Shing Yin Khor wrote about how little guys connect us across time and space through art. Hailey Piper wrote about fixing things at home and being united with others who have made the same repairs over and over.

Others explored the physical experiences of being alive – odes to embodiment. Chuck Tingle wrote about bath bombs and the ritual of rest. Suyi Davies Okungbowa wrote about the sound of a soccer ball being kicked. Eden Royce wrote about papershell pecans.

Some wrote about the wounds they’ve survived, and the struggles that shape them. Amal El-Mohtar wrote about birdwatching and the pain of a lost friendship. Mark Oshiro wrote about the incredible motivating power of spite. Maggie Tokuda-Hall wrote about youth activism in the face of censorship. 

And then there were those who wrote about what it is to live alongside profound pain. Lucy Bellwood, the artist who created the cover for issue 3, wrote about planting wildflowers in a season of caregiving and grief. Annalee Newitz wrote about espresso and complex loss.

Still others wrote about the expansive world we get to share. Gillian Morshedi wrote about California poppies. Liana Kangas, the artist who created the cover for issue 2, wrote about the thrill of collecting. Jade Song wrote about restlessness, escape, and sending postcards. Premee Mohamed wrote about the sea, and discovering a free and independent life. 

There were also essays that dove deep into the soul of being alive. Meg Elison wrote about witnessing and experiencing the kindness of strangers. Bo Bolander wrote about Blind Willie Nelson, who wrote Dark was the Night – a song we sent to space. Peter S. Beagle wrote one of the most beautiful, tender, heartbreaking tributes to lifelong love I have ever witnessed: His reflections on knowing Nell.

And then there were mine. I wrote about a little clay bowl, and changing a tire, and sweeping the kitchen while others are working. I wrote about getting a piercing in a foreign country and holding a small crab. I wrote about hot sauce and eating oysters over the bay.

Those of us who wrote for this project are participating in that enormous, complicated, impossible project. Being alive on purpose. It’s worth it. There is so much life, and so much to live for, and we are so fortunate to get to do it together. 

So I'll end the series on this:

Dear Life,
Thank you for everything.
I love you more than anything.
I can't wait to see what's next for us.

- gailey

Love Letters: Reasons to Be Alive has been a yearlong essay series in which we acknowledge, celebrate, and examine the objects and experiences that keep us going, even through the hardest of times. The series is free to read, for everyone, forever.

If you'd like to support the work of the team that makes this series and keeps Stone Soup running, you can subscribe here for as little as $1 per month, or you can drop a one-time donation into the tip jar.

In the meantime, remember: Do what you can. Care for yourself and the people around you. Believe that the world can be better than it is now. Never give up.

Sarah Gailey - Editor
Josh Storey - Production Assistant | Lydia Rogue - Copyeditor
Shing Yin Khor - Project Advisor | Kate Burgener - Production Designer