Letter 14 • Nothing felt wrong at first
Nothing felt wrong at first. So I was surprised at how this became the worst Christmas ever.
To lose the security of a parent’s love—especially as a grown person, an adult with children of our own—makes you feel like a child all over again—a lost young soul.
Remember Walk This Way by Run DMC? When that song landed, it was a groundbreaking moment in ’80s pop culture. It even found its way to our quaint southern Virginia suburb. Making us want to walk and talk this way…. It was an olive branch between rap and rock, white and black, the projects and the suburbs. That kind of connection feels rare now. Fragile.
But music still finds a way in, just not always in the best way.
There’s this children’s song, a jingle that every kid alive knows. The song is designed to insinuate itself into the minds of children and parents everywhere.
That’s what's most unsettling — how easily it slipped into daily life, how comfort and familiarity made it feel harmless, how repetition made it feel true.
It’s strange what rises to the surface when you’re not paying close attention and just going with the flow.
A few days before Christmas, something else crept in. Quiet at first. Nothing appeared to be wrong. Just the same routines, repeated—but now in a more dangerous way.
Looking for spiritual guidance on Instagram.
Peeking at the “other” news because you had to see it to believe it.
Working, then retiring, being put out to pasture—only to watch the news from sunrise to sunset.
Seeking connection, acknowledgement, respect.
The Great Reawakening was descending upon us, and everyone was so caught up in their own lost causes that they either didn’t see it coming or became the coming. Not considering if clicking gave evil permission to infiltrate your life.
Remember the Choose Your Own Adventure books? You never seem to choose the right path, so you keep starting again. No Happily Ever After for you. No victorious win. You just die, over and over again, only to determine this book sucks.
Life doesn’t give you much warning when it starts to feel like that.
The pain. The disappointments. The frustrations. They stack quietly. And when they do, you start looking elsewhere for answers. Screens help. Until they don’t.
What was left of our family, we tried to keep together. After years of Instacart and Uber rides, it became clear how little some of us knew about surviving without them. How thin the safety nets really were.
Our hometown, Richmond, VA, was having a heart attack. A citywide coronary that halted the flow of traffic. One mission remained: save what was left and return to Brooklyn, NY.
The issue is this: large groups of people have collectively banded together and lost their minds. An idea spread from one person to the next. A thought. A belief. A switch.
That’s what it felt like.
Someone flipped a switch.
In moments like this, you start to wonder how one is supposed to trust the time-honored safeguards of the old world. The familiar routes. The ways you’ve always gotten from one place to another. What once carried you through now hesitates, slows, or stops altogether.
We won’t pretend we made the right choices. We couldn’t save them all. But we saved what we could, making it back home in time to celebrate the birth of the begotten.
We’re not sure what happens next.
We just know this letter needed to be written.
And now it’s in your hands.
The Fairchild Family
—well, who’s left anyway.
This letter was inspired by the book Wake Up and Open Your Eyes by Clay McLeod Chapman
A few lines slipped directly from its pages:
The song, Walk This Way by RUN DMC, was a groundbreaking moment in 80’s pop culture, an olive branch between rap and rock.
To lose the security of a parent’s love—especially as a grown human, an adult, a parent—makes you feel like a child all over again—a lost young soul. (Not exact script, but close enough)
There’s this children’s song, a jingle that every kid alive knows. The song is designed to insinuate itself into the minds of children and parents everywhere.
Looking for spiritual guidance on Instagram.
Peeking at the “other” news because you had to see it to believe it.
Working, then retiring, being put out to pasture—only to watch the news from sunrise to sunset.
Not considering if clicking gave evil permission to infiltrate your life
You never seem to choose the right path, so you keep starting again. No Happily Ever After for you. No victorious win. You just die, over and over again, only to determine this book sucks.
A citywide coronary that halted the flow of traffic.
…trust the time-honored safeguards of the old world.
That’s what it feels like. Someone flipped a switch.
Short Content Brew
This is the kind of book that pulls you in from the very beginning, holds on tight, and doesn’t fully release you—even at the end. It’s gut-wrenching and eye-opening, the kind of horror that doesn’t rely on jump scares so much as recognition.
Reading this book feels like walking through a haunted house you didn’t realize you trusted. You proceed with caution, but you keep going—because you already watch the news, don’t you? And somehow that feels less scary. More familiar. More believable.
This story is a reminder to be mindful of where—and to whom—you relinquish your trust.
Proceed with caution.
The Cup We’d Share
This isn’t a cup for comfort.
It’s a cup for waking up.
Something sharp enough to cut through the noise. Something that keeps you alert when everything around you insists it’s fine.
A brew for the moment you realize comfort has a cost.
A Sip of Reawakening
Tea Blend: Hot Buttered Rum Herbal Tea
(Rooibos + Apple + Caramel + Smoky Notes)
Flavor Note: Smooth, sweet, and familiar — a cup that feels comforting until you notice what lingers beneath the warmth.
Reflection: What have you been swallowing because it felt easier than questioning it?
Why This Letter?
This felt like an odd letter to share after a two-week holiday break. I mean—we just celebrated Christmas, for heaven’s sake.
But just like the holiday itself has slowly turned into commercial chaos, this book felt like a reminder of how easily we can get swept up in trends, technology, false connections, and manufactured realities. How quickly comfort can turn into distraction. How easy it is to confuse noise for truth.
I came across Wake Up and Open Your Eyes in a random comment section, of all places. It stopped me mid-scroll. Not a genre I usually reach for, but I’ve been expanding my reading palette lately—so there’s that. Although I will not be having what they’re having. (Hard pass. 😂)
Still, the story lingered.
As many of us start thinking about what we want to carry into the new year—or what we’re ready to leave behind—this letter felt worth slipping through the pages. A quiet nudge to be mindful of where we place our trust, what we allow to influence us, and how easily familiarity can disguise itself as safety.
That’s the sip I’ll leave you with today.
Thanks for reading—until the next letter.
P.S. If this letter made you pause or look twice, feel free to pass it along. Or leave a note in the comments—I always love hearing what lingers.
