Cold Days

Dear Little One,

I often try to write you letters that will inspire you. I want you to read my words and know that the world is a good place despite its reputation, and that love is all you need, despite what commercials might tell you. But lately I’ve been having a little trouble finding ways to tell you that everything is okay because I’ve been feeling quite the opposite.

For a while I thought it would be better for me to wait until these feelings passed before I wrote you again, but I’ve recently come to the conclusion that that might be doing you a disservice.

While I do want to instill in you a positivity and compassion that the world needs more of, I don’t want you to think that it is frowned upon, or in some way wrong, to not feel happy all the time. Without hard days, good ones would mean little. Without tragedy, there wouldn’t be miracles. We are all going to have good days and bad days, and it is important that we respect both, for they are necessary in becoming who we are meant to be.

There’s a lyric in a song that’s on the radio right now that’s sat well with me over these past few months. “Your hardest days are a part of something so much more.” And while I don’t think these have been among my hardest days, they’ve been far from my easiest. There’s been a lot of change wrapped up in constant chaos and anxiety seems to have found it’s way into my blood. That being said however, I know that in the long run these days will have only made me stronger, and so I look forward. For the good days ahead will be the hot summer after a long winter, and the cold days will have given me the ability to appreciate the difference.

See you soon.

New Move, Same Me

Dear Little One,

I feel like a lot has changed since the last time I wrote you, even though not many around me may have noticed. One obvious difference however, would be that I’m now writing to you from my own room in my new house that I share with my sister and our friend Kristine. We’ve been here for a few weeks now and the transition from my parents’ house has been nearly seamless.

I thought of you the night we moved in, wondering which sky you’d be sleeping under on your first night out on your own. I myself was worried, not only for the added expenses and the newfound responsibilities, but for the sudden enthrust of freedom. The prospect of such independence after finding a pattern in such chaos was daunting to say the least.

For the first few nights I felt restless, like I should go back home and help my mom with my grandma, like maybe I abandoned her and my dad and my brother in some way. And I felt like I wasn’t doing enough in my “new” life, like I should have immediately thrown myself out in the world and made big decisions and met new people and drastically changed who I am and what I’m doing.

But after the first week came and went and settled into a firm foundation for those to come, I realized that this new step was nothing to fear. While things would be different, incredibly so in some ways, it was a step that was needed to be taken and would only continue to move me forward.

This newfound independence was nothing to get worked up about. Sure I had a variety of new ways to spend my time and allocate my being, but the move away from home did not require a move away from myself. I was happy with the person I was when I lived with my family. I felt loved and needed and unstoppable, there’s no need to lose that person; but over the last few weeks I’ve come to find that I do have a desire to share that person.

This new step does not take me away from my family but into a new family. It births me into a world I’d not previously experienced. One that I can introduce myself to and fall in love with. And while I can’t tell you that I not still a little bit scared, I can say that I’ve shifted the fear’s focus. No longer am I scared of who I should be in this new world, I’m more overwhelmed by the all the things I can be. And no matter which direction I choose to go from here, I can walk with a confident stride, knowing that who I am is perfectly good enough for the places I’ll go and the people I’ll meet, and I should seek them out with a frequent passion. I hope you’ll remember to do the same.

See you soon.

To be Loved

Dear Little One,

Growing up, I watched a lot of kinds of love grow and die. And as I went about my own life, I was introduced to many of its relatives, both honest and fake.  I found it in family, I found it in friends, I found it in church, but I longed for the day when I’d come face to face with the love that everyone is always talking about. I knew it was out there waiting for me, as it is for everyone, and that I’d just have to be patient in my search, but some days were harder than others to do so.

When I was little, I saw the love as a fairytale. It was a type of magic I couldn’t wait to get my hands on. There would be sunsets and dresses and sparkly things, birds chirping and people singing. As I got older, the picture changed. The magic was still there, but maturity morphed its boundaries and shaped its face.

It wasn’t until I reached high school that I started to wonder if it was even in the cards for me at all. I was in the heat of adolescence, reaching out for any sort of steady self-esteem, but all I seemed to find were the slippery fingers of those more perfect than I’d ever be. They looked at me with subconscious pity, assuring me love was around the corner, and I watched them walk away into the magic.

In the years that followed, my self-doubt spread like wildfire throughout my entire body. Nothing about me seemed interesting or unique or beautiful. There were days when I’d spend hours getting ready, solely because I felt as if nothing made me look good enough to deserve the kind of love I longed for.

“I’ll never look like her.”

“I’ll never have what she has.”

“I’ll never be as interesting or witty or funny.”

Eventually, I convinced myself that the magic I once dreamed of was simply not for me. It just wasn’t something I was going to have because I was never going to be good enough. That became my truth and the conversations about love with my friends were the lies. The hopes and dreams I had for the future were simply fabrications that made conversations flow. That love was for them, not me.

But that’s not true, is it?

That’s not true for anyone.

We are all worthy of the love we imagine. We just have to imagine it truthfully, for who are as individuals. Because the truth is, no one is going to be loved the same way, because we are not the same people. We can’t hope to be loved for being someone else because we are no one else but ourselves.

Amongst the lies told by my self-doubt, was the one that told me love was something I would give, but not receive. The idea of someone standing in their best dressed, asking me to marry them, was laughable. Why would someone love me? How would anyone ever fall in love with me?

These past two years, I have finally been able to find the answers.

Why would someone love me? Because I do.

How would anyone ever fall in love with me? Because I have.

The answer was there all along.

The secret to finding true love in another is first finding it in yourself.

If I can stand firmly on the rock that tells me I’m worthy of love, not only will I have the courage to seek it, but I will have the eyes to see through those who speak of it with a false tongue.

If I can build within me a foundation of self-acceptance, I will always have a home to turn to in times of struggle, and a starting block to stand on in times of heartbreak.

An honest love starts from within, so start with you.

You are the epicenter of your own love story.

See you soon.

The Voice

Dear Little One,

I try my best to write about things that can both encourage and inspire you; to help you make sense of life, if that’s even possible. I do this because I’ve found comfort in the understanding, in knowing that other people can relate to what I’m going through. It makes me feel less crazy or dramatic or stupid. And it is my hope that if you are ever to get anything out of these letters, it would be that I’m just as human as you feel you are. I feel just as lost and confused and vulnerable, and in some ways I think I always will.

Today I texted a friend, in need of some self-assurance. I’d let myself give into the doubts as of late and allowed darkness to cloud my vision. I’d allowed the voice in my head—the one that points out every solitary flaw—come to the forefront of my attention and I was having trouble ignoring it any further. When I received my friend’s reply, I got a mixture of what I wanted and what I needed. She assured me that the voice was wrong and she pointed out how I’d willingly given in at times.

We all have that voice in our head and it will always find something to say to bring us down. I try my best to do things to both ignore it and quiet it all together, but there will always be moments of weakness when it finds its way back in. When that happens I think it is necessary for us to reach out. While I believe that self worth can only be built from within yourself, that doesn’t mean it has to be built alone. Never be ashamed to ask for help or reassurance. Sometimes we need to hear the words from someone else’s mouth for them to truly sink in. Sometimes it’s the only way to differentiate between the two voices in your head.

See you soon.

Someone’s Something

Dear Little One,

If someone were to ask you who you are, what would you say?

Woah. I know, kind of a broad, crazy, way too deep to be casual, type of question.

My guess would be that your mind would react one of two ways.

1) It would list everything about yourself that you hate/think you suck at/wish were different

2) It would argue things that are pretty okay/not terrible/things that should gain you brownie points somewhere.

Funny thing is, this list would be different for everyone. And that’s not based solely on alternating lifestyles, but also the unique rankings each of our minds give to specific traits and accomplishments. We all have things that we like/dislike and things that we believe make you a successful/unsuccessful person and it’s okay for those things to vary among individuals.

That being said, a lot of modern day success seems to revolve around popularity. With the rise of social media, many people find themselves obsessed with the amount of people they are and aren’t friends. We equate our own worth with who we know and who knows us. We calculate our self-esteem based on the number of text messages we’re receiving or the plans we’re making.

We’ve created this idea that you have to be someone’s something in order to be something to someone. And the more somethings you are to the someone’s that matter, the better chance you have at being happy or successful or well liked.

Don’t buy into this. Believe me when I say that it won’t matter how many people like you or know you or want to be your friend, if you are unhappy with the person they seek. Happiness and satisfaction start with you and you alone. The you that people see and the you that people don’t. This person will not always look at you the way you want, and you won’t always love it the way you should, but know that you must accept this person honestly before anything else will matter.

You don’t have to be someone’s something to be something to someone; you just have to be someone that means something to you.

And always know that you will forever be someone that means everything to me.

See you soon.

Just Be.

Dear Little One,

Traffic is a funny thing. Have you ever thought about it? We all get so angry like it’s some separate entity, something that blocks our path like a rock or a river, but by definition, traffic is comprised of 100% us. We are what makes someone else’s journey slower just as someone else slows ours. And what’s more, we let ourselves become so frustrated and consumed by it, we will sit in our cars for hours, windows rolled up, music blaring, like we are the solitary sufferers with which no one can relate. No one could possibly understand the importance of where we are going or the burden this traffic will put on the rest of our day. We forget that we’re surrounded by people, that we’re just one of many that happened to be going in the same direction at the same time.

The other day I was on a long run for work and I was people watching while sitting amongst hundreds of others on their morning commute. I play this game where I like to guess where they came from and the little facts that make their story unique. What is their favorite junk food? When was their first kiss? Who do they miss most? These days, more often than not, I’ll find someone on their cell phone, and I’ll immediately look away. I started playing the game because I loved the honest moments I found people having with themselves. I loved the singing and dancing and the zoned out looks of internal conflicts pending resolution. These moments were raw and unapologetic because they were unhindered by the immediate presence of others. They were people allowing themselves just to be. When I find someone on their phone, it’s like looking at a mirage. The person is there, but their mind isn’t and what a crime that is to their mind.

I understand the appeal of cell phones, especially modern day smart phones. They provide us with unlimited entertainment and instantaneous connections with our peers. And I will never be able to say that I don’t spend a fair amount of my time on my phone. But I guess what’s been on my mind lately is how often people feel the need to zone out. Each time a conversation lulls or a silence extends, we reach for our phone, hoping to take our minds somewhere more interesting or more comfortable.

I’ve seen a few artists tackle this subject, commenting on our society’s growing addiction. And I know I’m not the only one that worries about our ability to physically communicate with each other. I know that technology has made it harder for me. I feel this enormous pressure to be funny and interesting at all times because those are the types of things people like.  Those are the things people seek online, and if I can’t deliver them person, than why would anyone want to spend time with me? When I’m quiet, I’m boring, or so I’ve let myself believe.

This is why I’ve started making a conscious effort to put down my phone. I’ve realized: there will never be a blip of social media important enough to ignore the moment you are currently living.

I have no idea what the future holds for technology. I have no idea what kind of cell phone you will have or if Facebook will still be around when you’re old enough to understand it, but I know everything will continue to grow. Things will be bigger and better, as they always seem to be with the passage of time. And with that being said I just ask that you remember to look up. Sit quietly when everyone else is on their phone. Look up at the clouds, take a deep breath, just be.

See you soon.

Driftwood

Dear Little One,

I’ve been reading a book called “Driftwood.” It centers around a girl who, after her father suddenly dies is given a series of letters from him that send her on a road trip up California. The letters reveal places and people from his past that he wants her to learn about and be a part of.

I was instantly drawn to this book due to my obsession with time. The letters are taking her places, perhaps exact locations, where her parents sat years before she was alive. It’s a mind blowing concept when I let myself really think about it.  Think of famous monuments or battlefields, people flock to them because being in the presence of previous greatness gives them a sense of greatness all their own. And while not all the places we go will be well known for the heroes of its past, there have still been people passing through them, going through their own experiences; their own good days, bad days, breakthroughs, breakdowns. It’s validating to think that someone may have stood exactly where you are, feeling the exact same thing. Makes the lonely moments feel a little less so.

See you soon.

The Look

Dear Little One,

There’s a park right near my work that has it all: picnic tables, a fitness apparatus, a gym, a pool. People are out and about all day, smiling and congregating around a mysterious yellow machine that no one knows how to work. In the mornings, I’m often stopped by pedestrians running across the street to get to their yoga or water aerobics classes. This afternoon I drove by the park on my way back from an errand and I saw a group of men sitting at a picnic table eating and playing cards. There were 6 of them and 4 of them were wearing cowboy hats. It wasn’t any sort of costume or mockery, it was just what they wore, what they felt comfortable in, you could feel it.

A little while later, I was back on the road and I started thinking about all the other people I’d seen today. I saw a boy who dressed in mostly black, despite the heat. His hair was greased back and his jeans were ripped. I saw a woman carrying an umbrella, wearing a sun dress and leather sandals adorned with pink flowers. I saw an elderly couple holding hands as they crossed the street, both dressed in khakis, the man wearing a button up and the woman wearing a shawl of sorts. All of these people got up today and put on the clothes that they were comfortable in, and that they thought suited them. They could have easily put on completely different clothes and I would have seen them all the same, not knowing the difference. Do you see what I mean?

We spend so much time worrying about how other people will perceive our styles or appearances, but to the outside party, you are how you present yourself. The picture I was given of these people in the passerby were the ones they crafted themselves and just look at the diversity in the images. If I can see all these people create all these looks that are so different, then how can any of us think that there is a “right” way to look? How can magazines and television shows tell you what looks good or bad when you are the one inside your own body, and that body knows what it likes and doesn’t like? All I’m saying is that we should waste less time worrying about how our look will come off to others, because they’re not the ones wearing it.

We create the picture that we show the world, so we might as well make one that we’d like to look at.

See you soon.

Yet.

Dear Little One,

I’ve been thinking a lot about the word “yet.” We all use it all the time.

I haven’t done that yet.

We’re not there yet.

I’m not who I want to be just yet.

I think that when we use this word, we should really be thinking about its connotations.

Yet can imply a time far from now, a chunk of life we planning on living when we get around to it. I haven’t been to Europe yet. It is essentially our way of saying that we have plans to do it one day, but for now, it’s only an idea. From this standpoint, it can be harmful. We don’t know when our “yet” will become a “never.” A “yet” is not a guarantee, it’s a harmless excuse to put off a dream. That being said, one should not negate the power of a “yet.” While it does imply a foolish trust in an infinite amount of life, it also indicates hope. Adding a “yet” makes something possible. It opens up a door in your mind that you previously had shut. Latching onto a yet is a—sometimes subconscious—way of telling yourself that you are able to do something; even if it’s not right now, it’s also not never.

Don’t be afraid to add a “yet”, and don’t leave it there forever.

See you soon.

The Up Next

Dear Little One,

My sister and I recently housesat for a married couple from church. They have a little dog that is high maintenance and strange but all the while loveable, and their house is creaky and cute. Each day after work I’d head over and hang out for a bit, just sitting in the silence and doing all sorts of nothing, and each night, after we had dinner with the family, Natalee and I drove over, put in a movie and snacked on whiskey and chocolate cereal.

It was strange at first. Bringing our toiletries and a day’s worth of clothes over to a stranger’s house, only to bring them back home and do it all again the next night. It was a taste of what we’ve been craving lately: a place of our own. The house was a sort of stepping stone into the up next, and it was hard to give it up that following Sunday.

Our move is inevitable, maybe even closer than I think, and it’s exciting, but I think there’s a level of fear I’ve yet to discover. Right now, I’m so caught up in the unknown, so infatuated with the idea of the up next that I’ve yet to fully embrace the weight of what I’m letting go.

My family, the original 5, we’re something special, I really believe it. There’s just a magic about the group of us that I can’t explain in words, but can wholeheartedly feel. It’s unfathomable to think of a time when we won’t be together. Won’t annoy each other in the early mornings and laugh until we cry in the late evenings.

When the time comes, I feel my feet will fall on opposite sides of the decision. One will step forward while the other stays planted. It will be one of the hardest steps I’ve ever taken, but once my feet catch up to one another, there’s no telling where they’ll go next.

See you soon