Hola Mi Gente,

Welcome to my annual love letter to you. Last year I wrote to the weary, because I was weary. Truth be told, I’m still weary–that season hasn’t ended for me. But I’m learning to not live out of that space. I noticed that too late into the year last year: that my energy, my love, my creativity, my hope–it was based on my now. And you want to know how much love and energy and creativity and hope I can muster out of this space??? About as much as an ant can carry.

So my love, my creativity, my energy, my hope for you this season, is coming from a different space. From a space that acknowledges and celebrates that you and me, we were loved before we existed. And because of that, there is even more love in our existence now. Even if that existence is hard.

So a few reminders as you celebrate (or don’t) today:

• You were not created to be capable of all things. There is room for error. How exhausting if we actually did have to excel at everything we do, in order to be seen and loved and given dignity. I hope you embrace your lack of capacity, and delegate the load. That you would give yourself gentleness in the learning, or the freedom to let go of something that isn’t for you. That you would realize that the harsh voices in your head–aren’t the same voices of your people. Your people who trust you, and love you, even when you’re really bad at texting back.
• There are probably many generations that have taught you how to love. Each one a little different. Today, we have a sense of urgency to go above and beyond and be showy. And that is its own kind of beautiful. But don’t overlook the quiet ways of saying I-love-you. The standing together in hard things. The letter writing. The unseen art of doing something just the way someone likes it so that they’ll never know it wasn’t them that did it (I’m looking at you Ben, for always caring for my kitchen things in the particular way I like them cared for). I hope you can slow your love down a little. There is endurance and potency in those embers given to you by the generation before you.
• While we’re talking about slowing down, slow down enough to remember to care for yourself. I know life is wild and some seasons feel like tornados of to-do lists. I know survival mode well. But I hope you make it a habit, even in the wilderness, to take 5 minutes for yourself (and many more if you have the time). Five minutes to repeat “I can do hard things,” or “I will ask for help with what I need,” or “I will be kind to my body.” You deserve built in time to love yourself, even in the high-speed chase of living life through care-taking, activism, and grief.
• You will be disappointed by how others love you. It’s an opportunity to find your voice and ask for what you need. It’s an opportunity to give grace and talk through expectations. And in some situations, its an opportunity to walk away. I hope when this happens, you can discern what you need. Or that you have champions behind you telling you to dig into hard love, or leave toxic love behind.
• Don’t let the haters bring you down. I’m serious, y’all. If you’re a chocolate-flower-balloon kind of celebrator–enjoy every second of being loved that way, or showing someone your love. Buy all the roses and chocolates you want to buy. Light all the candles. If you literally cringe at the heart shaped balloons at the store, and your perfect Valentine’s Day is not celebrating and hiding from people, do that. Stay home, stay off social media, and rest. EITHER WAY, don’t let other people determine how you love yourself or your people. Your love is yours to give, so give it.

Love can’t exist without gratitude. In fact, it is usually gratitude that spurs us to show our love. So thank you. Thank you individually: for sharing your stories with me. For cooking with me and giving me space to enter your lives and kitchens. Thank you for letting this be my job. Thank you for every message, comment, like, and recommendation. In a year at the intersection of grief and hope, you have shown me so much love.

However your life looks right now, whether you’re on a mountain top, wandering through the desert, or in a pit: I hope you know that your are loved. Beyond what you do. Outside of your now, you are loved. In your now, you are loved. Not because of anything you could ever do. But just because in existing, you. are. worthy.

In college I started using the phrase: ” I love, love, love you.” In my text messages. After I hung out with people. There was a heavier inflection on each “love,” where I hoped to communicate and connect what I was feeling with what I meant: that you are important to me, that I love that you exist, and I don’t want you to go without knowing that I love you. And so it’s not by accident that I sign off that way on this blog.

So on this Valentine’s Day, I hope you know those three things. They’re true whenever you stop on this page. I wish I could tell you all individually. I wish I could give you all pep talks and long hugs. But I promise, others feel that way about you. And I hope they show up and let you know today and always how freaking stoked they are that you’re alive. Because I sure am.

love, love, love,

Mary-Beth Johnson

Mary-Beth is a creative, food-obsessed, Georgia transplant living Chicago. She is proudly and fiercely Latina, and more specifically Chapina. In her day to day she is a food educator to students around Chicagoland aged 3 to 80+, both virtually and in-person. She is passionate about cultivating the truth that every person has an understanding of food that deserves being brought to the table, and that time in the kitchen can be sacred, passionate, and an act of love for self and others. Outside the kitchen you can find her at the intersections of infertility, chronic illness, and a deep love for the dignity of all humans. She hopes to create a space that is holistic about the role of food in the social, political, relational, and physiological dynamics of our world.