The Elegance of Showing Up
Tuning In and Turning Out
Spring has me thinking about how we stay connected with friends—how we show up for each other when no one’s watching. Also, what I’m really toting around near and far.
Everyone wants meaningful friendship, but in the haze of the digital age, it’s easy to lose the plot. We see a photo, a post, a reminder, and think we’ve kept up. Then we realize it’s been two years.
Spring pulls us back into focus. The light changes, people emerge, and we remember to reach out. I recently told a few close friends I was moving. I gave them the basics, downplayed the details, said I had everything under control.
They didn’t let it sit at that. They offered to help me pack. One held the keys to my storage unit. Another brought tea. They showed up with food, care, no questions asked. These are women with children, careers, mortgages, calendars booked out for weeks. And still—they made time. They cooked dinner filled with my favorite things, and somewhere between courses, I cried.
There was no performance to it. No scorekeeping. Just presence. The kind you don’t forget.
In the time since, I’ve realized many of my most grounding friendships don’t even live in New York anymore. But they call. They stay on the phone for hours. They track the big arcs and the tiny acts—the wins, spirals, new routines, old doubts. Proximity has nothing on intention.
Even my mother, a doctor of practiced self-reliance, recently admitted she’d asked a friend to accompany her for a small but emotional task. She felt sheepish afterward, surprised by how much easier it all felt—how much the simple act of not doing it alone mattered.
That’s the thing about friendship in adulthood. It can quietly recede behind families, ambitions, the myth of being fine on our own. We assume the people we love are holding it all together, same as we are. But sometimes that extra text, that offer to come by, that half-hour of undivided attention—it lands deeper than we think.
Being a good friend isn’t loud. It’s not aesthetic. It’s not something you post. It’s a kind of private, lived-in elegance. And these days, it feels like one of the only things that still makes sense.
Make a call, make time.
A few things I’m carrying around…
-When The Going Was Good by Graydon Carter
Beautifully written, and a pleasure to slip behind the gloss of Graydon’s life. There’s something reassuring in his ambivalence—about college, about certainty, about how things are supposed to go. I didn’t love college either. But like him, I fell hard for New York.
I keep one in the car, one at home, one folded into my carry-on. It’s light enough to forget, but grounding enough to change everything. A few minutes of stretching—Melissa Wood on the screen—and suddenly travel days feel easier.
Plain Goods is one of those places that quietly gets things right. The kind of store where the private label feels like a secret you want to keep, preppy, refined, and inherent. This sweater is one of those pieces—understated, but impeccable. Their “Perfetta” flats are also exactly that.
I only started taking skincare seriously about a year ago. Then things took a turn—stress, travel, the usual—and a facialist suggested this mask. I didn’t expect much. But it changed everything. Now I understand why models swear by them. Expensive, yes. Worth it, absolutely.
I run most days, and I've worn Tracksmith for years—the men's polos, the classic shorts. They feel timeless but always perform. But when I put on their featherlight sneakers, which are perfect for travel, they somehow make every mile feel easier.
I started using this app in New York, and now when I travel. It tracks the bad oils and hidden ingredients lurking in restaurant menus. It’s ruined places like Via Carota and Il Buco for me, which I didn’t expect to use canola oils instead of olive, but I’m addicted to knowing.
-Monastary Attar Floral Repair
A friend recommended this for winter skin, handing me hers to try. I’m not someone who spends much on skincare, and I think my friends judge me, but this balm was the only thing that actually healed everything. Simple, natural, and worth every penny like the mask above.
Lacoste men’s polos are a Spring staple—worn with suits, jeans, or even for a run. They consolidate packing, and somehow manage to work in every context. I prefer the men’s fit; it’s classic, comfortable, and always reliable.
This heavy cotton sweater strikes the perfect balance—nostalgic, sturdy, yet somehow fluid and soft. The fit is just right; I wear a men’s small, and it feels like it was made for me. I like the brand, the people behind it, and their sensibility too.
As always, would love to hear your thoughts: on friendship, on what you’re carrying around. Leave a comment below, or share the newsletter. 🤎
Great observation about connecting with friends. I'm trying to get back into small, short notes sent out by mail. In bright colors. Doesn't the sight of a deep fuchsia or singing yellow envelope in itself bring so much hope and joy? Glad you've got some deep friendships that have been there for you. It's not very common!
Love this post and will be calling a few friends on my commute today 🖤