Say it with your chest

And also a hug.

Sometimes (most days) we’re all caught in the wildest internal monologue. That little voice in our heads? Loud. Spiraling. Making up entire storylines where someone’s conversation with us means everything—or nothing. One moment it feels like silence equals disinterest. Maybe overanalyzing a glance that was more like…someone zoning out thinking about a to-do list.

We’re all narrating plots that haven’t even happened yet.

I remember a conversation that felt heavier than it needed to be with someone, where they paused and said to me:
”What did I say vs. what did you hear?”

And whoa. Because damn dude, how often are we all doing that? Translating tone, projecting fear, or resentment, layering our own unspoken stuff on top of someone else’s simple sentence.

We all deserve a hug for that.

For being so focused that the meaning gets lost in translation—forgetting to ask what the other person was trying to say.

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You never really know what the most important part of a conversation is. And if you’re guessing, let’s stop doing that plz.

Being plugged in all the time hasn’t helped. If anything, the swirl of updates and constant proximity to other people’s lives makes it even easier to forget that none of this—none of it—is the whole picture. We’re hit with information so often misaligned.

It’s not bad. I’m a notorious rambler. I love a good 3-part text. I respond fast. I overshare. But we are allowed to step away. Especially if you’re offended.

You’re allowed to say:
“I’m thinking of you, but I need a few days to be in my own head.”
Or: “I love you, and I’m overwhelmed.”
Or just… nothing.

Quiet is allowed. Shifting is natural. Changing your mind is human. And sending a message after two days of silence that simply says “Hi” is not a failure. It’s a re-entry.

Lately I’ve been thinking about how my parents or grandparents might’ve handled this. How yearning used to live inside long gaps. How space was once a love language. Not a tactic.

Maybe they missed people in quiet ways. Maybe they didn’t check their phones to see if someone viewed their story. Maybe they stared out windows and let themselves wonder.

I think we all still crave that—space to dream, to not know, to imagine people are doing okay out there and excited to hear about it.

Which brings me to this:
Photography.

Photos are tiny portals. They show a person, a place, a look—caught in a very specific sliver of time. Just a beautifully framed lie of sorts. A curated clarity that feels honest only because it’s been frozen in our view.

And that’s communication too, isn’t it?

A sentence is a snapshot.
An “I’m fine” can mean “I’m unraveling.”
A “miss you” might carry three years of unsaid things.
We have to ask for more frames sometimes. Zoom out. Shift the focus. Ask again.

So if you’re spiraling today, or wondering where someone stands, or trying to decode how someone didn’t understand what you needed—pause. Breathe. You’re just human, trying to connect in a world that often mistakes constant contact for closeness.

Be brave enough to say, “I’m not sure I got that right. Can we try again?”
Braver still to say, “I’m upset, but I want us to understand where we both missed the plot.” (LOL)
Soft enough to receive the real answer.

So, to all of us. The plugged in, the nervous Instagram deleters. The person wondering why someone forgot to ask you what’s up.

—I’m thinking about you.
The way we crash into each other unexpectedly and it feels like the sunrise slowly spilling pinks and oranges into sleepy clouds before the day begins.

We might not be in sync today. But we can always check in tomorrow.