Prompt 282. What Would I Do Without You?

& a taxonomy of love by Carmen Radley

Melissa Carroll, What Would I Do Without You (2013)

Hi friend,

Today is the second anniversary of my second bone marrow transplant. It’s a little hard to believe. Since I learned of my relapse, time has lost its center—it somehow seems to both race and crawl. To reorient myself, I went back into the archives and found what I wrote in the newsletter back then. My memory from that time is faulty, thanks partly to pain meds, partly to the Gravitron of illness, where everything is spinning so quickly, it’s hard to keep up. Rereading that newsletter, I realized that not only do I remember that particular moment so clearly, but also what I wrote then exactly captures how I feel today. There’s nothing more or different I would want to say.

So I’m doing something I haven’t done before: I’m reprising a newsletter in its entirety. Below you’ll find my list of loves—the practices that keep me grounded, the loved ones who buoy me—and an essay and prompt on the many forms love can take by my dear pal and the Isolation Journals managing editor, Carmen Radley.

One last thing I want to say before sending you back in time is thank you. Over the last two years, this community has been such a source of comfort. I feel anchored by our conversations—and that’s truly what these weekly missives are: a call and response with such gorgeous reverberations. When I sent out the first journaling prompt almost four years ago, I had no idea that this project would become a lifeline for so many people. I also had no idea that it would become a lifeline for me. Your lovingkindness and encouragement are truly a sight to behold. I don’t know what I’d do without you.

Sending love,

Suleika

My List of Loves

(from February 13, 2022)

Why is it that we have such an easier time summoning love, expressing love, and receiving love when we’re facing a heightened sense of mortality—an awareness of our finitude, our impermanence?

In the last week, I’ve been overwhelmed by more love than I ever thought possible:

Love for these weird little watercolors I’ve been painting. I’m not a trained painter, and I really don’t know what I’m doing, but I love the stillness, the solitude, the experience of creating something where there was nothing just moments before. As I paint, I feel love for my friend Melissa Carroll, who turned to watercolors when she was sick, at first because the smell of oil and acrylics made her nauseated, later because she loved the happy accidents—the way watercolors continually remind you that you aren’t in control.

Love for the humans who visit me daily in this fluorescent chamber: my dad, my mom, and my brother, who are continually by my side, and the doctors and nurses and hospital workers—in particular the one who started going to get me an oat milk latte from the coffee cart when the side effects of the chemo kicked in and I could no longer eat.

Love for my new friends and old friends. Love for my dear Behida, who showed up in a little trench coat outside my hospital and began dancing with abandon on the sidewalk, waving her arms and hopping wildly, without a care who saw her or what they thought. I was so moved that even though I knew she couldn’t hear me, I couldn’t help but bang on the window and shout her name. Love for Cat and Michelle, who just a few days later showed up in the same spot with colored chalk and wrote “We love Suleika” in giant letters. That afternoon I could barely function, but my mom made me get up and go to the window to see it, and I was awash in love. I was even more moved by their second note: “Love to all.” When passing by a hospital like this, you can easily forget the thousands of people in these rooms who are gazing through their windows, wishing they were outside, part of the world unfolding there. To see love being mirrored to them—to me it was so overwhelmingly beautiful.

Love for Dr. Barker, whom I had a little reunion with during rounds. She was my transplant doctor only briefly, when my regular one was on leave, and in that short time she said I could get a dog, which led to my love affair with Oscar. Dr. Barker also treated my friend Anjali, whom I sat with in her final hours and who died on Valentine’s Day in 2013. I feel a swell of grief-love being here, missing the people I met here, remembering them long after they’ve gone.

And last but certainly not least: Love for Jon, who’s been at my bedside round the clock. Love for our follow-the-leader laps around the transplant unit, replete with escalating dance moves. Love for the lullaby he composed on his computer last night when I couldn’t sleep, and put it on loop next to my bed. (As I write this, it’s still playing.)

If at the end of my life, I can say I’ve done one thing well, it is love. I don’t mean only romantic love—lord knows I’ve made plenty of messes in that department—but all kinds of love. Often I think that Valentine’s Day flattens the meaning of love, limits the scope of it and the different shades it can take. So today we have a prompt from Carmen, my dear MVP and Isolation Journals collaborator, celebrating the breadth, depth, and height of your many glorious loves. Read on for more—

Some Items of Note—

• Each Friday in our Isolation Journals Chat, we share our small joys in a chorus of collective gratitude. This week, I wrote about how a touch of the absurd in the Grammy whirlwind helped cut through my social anxiety and gave me something to giggle about all night. Read all about it here!

• We’ve scheduled our next meeting of the Hatch, our virtual creative hour for paid subscribers (a.k.a. our favorite event of the month) for Sunday, February 18 from 1-2 pm ET. Add it to your Google calendar here!

• I’m so excited to announce another very special event for paid subscribers! On Sunday, February 25 from 1-2 pm ET, I’ll be in conversation with Susan Cain, the brilliant author of the bestselling books Quiet and Bittersweet. It’ll be on Zoom, so you don’t even have to leave home to attend, and I promise it’s going to be so very special. I hope you’ll join us!

Prompt 282. Count the Ways by Carmen Radley

I once heard someone say that nature is a substance called love, and it seemed right to think of love as pulsing creation—as the animating, driving force that propels the universe­. Later I grew suspect: I wondered if it was so broad that it rendered the word meaningless.

Another impulse is to narrow love, to break it into types, to create a taxonomy and, in doing so, to tame it. The ancient Greeks came up with such categories, many of which we still recognize today: philia for platonic affection, eros for romantic love, agape for the selfless, unconditional compassion one extends to strangers, nature, or God. (Suddenly a mighty, swirling river is split into smaller, gently flowing streams.)

When thinking about love, especially the romantic kind, I feel myself shift between polarities. It’s fleeting yet it endures, effortless and the hardest thing. I know love—have felt it deeply, all consumingly—and it’s still somehow a mystery to me. When I try to write about love, in what’s perhaps my own effort to tame it, others’ words fly to mind: Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds. Love is patient, love is kind. Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Let me count the ways.

The last is from Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s “Sonnet 43.” The speaker describes romantic love swelling to the greatest depths, breadths, and heights her soul can reach. Her love is passionate, but also gentle and pure. She prays that it’s stronger than death.

I feel compelled by this, but want to take the concept further—through eros, to philia, even to agape—and see the multitudes it can contain. How do I love? I will count the ways. Beginning with an evening walk in mid-July, bowled over by a live oak in slant golden light.

Your prompt for the week:

Create an inventory of your loves—whoever breaks you open, whatever animates your life.

If you’d like, you can post your response to today’s prompt in the comments section, in our Facebook group, or on Instagram by tagging @theisolationjournals. As a reminder, we love seeing your work inspired by the Isolation Journals, but to preserve this as a community space, we request no promotion of outside projects.

For more paid subscriber benefits, see—

• 25 Things About Me, a discussion thread from two years ago where we reprised a viral Facebook quiz and ended up with the most glorious snapshots of humanity—in all our strangeness and beauty

• Love in a Time of Cancer (Part 1), a special caregiver-focused installment of my advice column Dear Susu, where my mom and I talked about selfishness, surrender, and wisdom gained from experience

• Studio Visit: Hospital Edition, where one week out from my transplant, I talked about the value of urgency in a creative practice and gave a behind-the-scenes tour of my hospital room turned painting studio

Our Isolation Journal No. 1 and Surrender Tote

We designed a custom Isolation Journal with all our favorite features and a tote embroidered with my favorite mantra to carry it around in. Our stock is limited, so if you’d like one, click below!