Dear suspiciously efficient friend,
Regarding your recent statement of “fine”
I am writing on behalf of the Department of People Who Care About You. It is a small department. Currently it is me, sitting here, thinking about you. There is no budget, although I have authorized a biscuit. Our interest in your wellbeing is considerable; our administrative skills are mostly a collection of open tabs.
Our records indicate that you have been answering “How are you?” with admirable efficiency. Fine. Good. Busy. All technically words, all doing an extraordinary amount of lifting. I would like to offer you a little more space than the conversational equivalent of a thumbs-up from a moving train. Hence this invitation: a minute of the actual day, from the actual you.
The full report may include toast
You may be wondering what qualifies as news. I have prepared an exhaustive list: anything you feel like telling me. The excellent sandwich. The awkward exchange. The small thing you finally did after thinking about it for approximately one geological era. The fact that dinner was toast over the sink, eaten with the confidence of a person at a tasting menu.
I would also like the good bits. The moment you felt pleased with yourself. The unexpectedly lovely walk. The thing that made you laugh in a place where laughing was inconvenient. Friendship should include somebody hearing your tiny triumph and understanding that, actually, this one deserves the good biscuit. I have already mentioned our budget limitations, but my enthusiasm is extremely well funded.
Your day does not need to emerge from this exchange wearing a small graduation cap.
No need to iron the silver lining
You don’t have to arrive with a conclusion. If something was hard, it can simply have been hard. I am not standing by with a motivational quotation, a five-step plan, or an alarming amount of information about cold showers. Your day does not need to emerge from this exchange wearing a small graduation cap.
Tell me what you want me to know, and keep the rest to yourself. “I’m not ready to explain that bit” is useful information. So is “Can we discuss my sandwich instead?” You are the editor of this report. I’m interested in the person behind the efficient answer, including the person who is tired, delighted, cross, distracted, or currently unable to locate their own cup.
Approved methods of being yourself
Send a little video if you feel like showing your face. Leave a voice note if your face has retired for the evening. Write a few lines if words are easier that way. Sixty seconds is a friendly starting point; you can take longer. The Department has no whistle, and nobody will interrupt your story just as it reaches the interesting part.
What you share comes to me, the person who invited you. There is no group audience and no automatic circulation to a committee of concerned acquaintances. Your update can be modest, unfinished, or mostly about a dog you saw. Please use your ordinary voice. I like that one. It has spent years saying things in a way that only you would.
Our extremely relaxed attendance policy
If a day gets away from you, let it. The Department will not send a follow-up letter marked SECOND NOTICE. We lack the stationery and, more importantly, the desire. Come back when you have room. You don’t owe me a cheerful ending, a complete explanation, or a summary of every day since your last hello.
I would love to know a little more of your life while you are living it. The small details let me picture you properly: pleased about something, noticing something, navigating a day with your own particular mind. That is what this is for. You matter to me on the ordinary days, before anything becomes big enough to announce.
OUR LITTLE PROMISE
So consider this your official permission to send the unpolished version. A lovely bit, a wobbly bit, an unexpectedly excellent bit of toast. I’m glad you’re in my life, and I would like to hear how life is treating you. The biscuit remains available in spirit.
With affection, the entire Department