This is beautiful. You are beautiful.

The connection we have just created is simple, but beautiful. I'm emailing you a poem. Email was invented about 50 years ago. And poetry – who knows? Beautiful.

`Somehow, it seems the net result of loss is still more love.`

#001 / 07.26.22

I wrote my first poem in 2nd grade. It was titled "If You Give a Dog a Bone" and was selected to be published in the school newsletter.

I was ecstatic.

Right now, while writing this, I'm realizing the irony in that title. Over the rest of my time in school I developed a deep relationship with writing. If I was narrating the story of my life, I'd call the first act, "If You Give a Kid Some Validation."

During middle school I became obsessed with hip-hop music; I began writing my own lyrics and silly parodies to popular songs.

I took English and American Poetry classes in high school from a teacher that changed my life — Mrs. Fangmann. She challenged me to create in unfamiliar ways and lit a creative fire within my soul. This fire burned words and printer ink as fuel.

Later in high school, I joined a band and continued writing music in college. Of all the forms of writing I tried my hand at, music brought my imagination to life in a whole new way.

But once I "grew up," the writing stopped almost entirely. Songwriting, poetry, silly parodies... it all became less important — less useful — when I graduated college and started working real jobs. I would jot down the occasional line of lyrics, but my passion for it was gone.

Fast-forward to 2021, seven years after college graduation. Last year I experienced an abrupt change that shook my world. I lost a huge part of my life and what had become a major piece of my identity (I'll tell you about it sometime).

My natural instinct was to write. The discomfort forced me to reckon with myself by filling notebooks and every notes app on my phone with my thoughts. The writing habit had returned stronger than ever before.

Over the next year, writing led to an abundance of new and rekindled friendships, community, and now here, to your inbox. Most importantly though, that loss resulted in love. I learned to show myself love in ways I didn't know were possible. My love for writing (especially poetry) was rekindled. And I'm so thankful for the love shown to me by others during that time.

Loss is one of the most painful experiences of the human condition. Death, divorce, religious deconstruction, miscarriages, unexpected transitions and changes (hell, even some expected ones), it all sucks — and almost always involves perpetual grieving. BUT, through the experience of my own loss and observing the loss of others, I've learned that after every loss comes love — even more love than existed before the loss.

Again, beautiful.

Even now, I can see loss on the horizon. It’s guaranteed to suck, but I will keep writing because I know that somehow, on the other side lies more love.

Before I let you go, a quick reflection: What are the healthy (or unhealthy) ways you process loss? How have you experienced love after loss? Pause and answer this for yourself. If you feel like sharing you can reply to this email. (I'll give you my answer if you ask!)

Thank you for joining me.

See you next Tuesday,

Benny

P.S. — Shout out to Tobin for the feedback on this issue.

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Keep up with all my poetry here.

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