Why Simple Concepts Deserve More Attention Than Complex Ones

Be present. With us, not with your phone. Forget small talk. Talk about your dreams. Love yourself. Play. Engage with the art and creativity around you. 

These were the instructions I received hours before attending a perfectly San Franciscan event with three friends. Hosted by The Passion Company, the event showcased projects and lectures by people who found ways other than money and status to define themselves.

Though I wasn't presenting, I was nervous to attend. I felt anticipatory insecurity about how I would measure up to other attendees who had surely discovered, you know, the meaning of life and stuff. The feeling doubled when my friend and I walked through the door. 

A girl in a Renaissance gown asked for my name and checked me in. "Head over to that table with nametags on it. Write down your name and one thing you are grateful for about yourself." 

Ugh. Why can't they just ask for a name like a normal event? 

I walked to the table and stared at the blank nametag with blank thought. I knew that others would write insightful, perfectly crafted adages on their nametags. Trying to push past the creative paralysis, I racked my brain. I am grateful for my optimism, but I thought it too fluffy for such a sophisticated crowd. Falling back on ever-reliable alliteration, I went through adjectives that start with "R" like my first name. Something stuck.

Rationally optimistic. 

"Oh that's good," my friend said next to me, while she wrote hers.

Creating communities.

"Oh that is good," I said to her.

We pinned our nametags onto our shirts (pity the man who still uses stick-on nametags), then started to schmooze.

Nametags were reliable conversation starters and within moments, we were talking to a native New Yorker who was grateful for his family. "I know it sounds silly," he apologized glancing at my friend and my nametags, "but I am grateful for them! I was just talking to my sister before I walked in." 

He didn't need to apologize. In fact, I was grateful for his nametag. The one simple word "family," was immediately relatable to me. This is because the word was accompanied by a deep and universal concept. Thinking of my love for my own sibling, I instantly felt connected to this man, and more importantly, at ease at this event. I stopped worrying about the potential of mismatched intellectual planes. I was as similar to these people around me as I was different.

My nametag was much less relatable than that of "family" man. Mine couldn't create community. As I continued to walk around, I received eye-raises and Oh, that's good!'s, but the slightly complicated phrase was incapable of forming a human connection the way "family" could. 

I left the event feeling hokey, not because of others, but because of myself. 

Two weeks after the event, I was lying in bed scrolling through pictures on my phone. I came across one of my recently deceased pup. I posted it to Instagram. The moment I pressed "Share," my eyes welled with tears. 

I cried for an hour. 

Finally, a familiar tritone brought me out of it. The message was chillingly perfect: 

The next day, I received this message from another friend who recently moved away from San Francisco:

And then, at what would have been 11:30 PM her time, another friend FaceTimed me. "I might fall asleep on this call," she started, "but I just needed to see you this weekend. All weekend I just felt like talking to you. I feel like you might be sad. Are you sad?" 

These are just three of the uncountable, beautiful friendships that define my life.

As simple as it sounds, this Thanksgiving, I am thankful for my friends. The depth of these relationships goes much further than the simplicity of the word.

Though I've always had friends and though I've always loved them, this year, I've needed friends. Through the good, but also through some bad and ugly. My friends kept me standing on my two feet then pushed me forward. And through it all, each played a different but necessary role: my fan, my therapist, my parent, my tough love, my unconditional love, my inspiration, my motivation, my pillar. My raison d'être. My friends that had always just been there in the background, were now the entire foreground.

If I could go back and do it again, that nametag would read, "My friends."

Sometimes, we feel so pressured to leave an impression that we unnecessarily complicate things. Those nametags taught me that simplicity is approachable, relatable, and powerful. Simplicity makes an impact. Simplicity is authentic. 

Thank you for sharing your shoulders, your smiles, and your love. Here's sending all of that back to each of you.