[sometimes I like writing letters to myself and pretending someone else wrote them - someone who is older, and wiser, and knows what to say to make things okay. Someone who can look past all the mercurial thoughts and emotions and make sense of them and make them work for her, instead of against her. If I had someone like that, she would say something like this]
Dear Emily:
I don't know the right words to say this, to start it off in some poetic fashion that will blow your mind, so I'll just say this: you're only 22.
I don't know what you're rushing for, and you don't know either, so just stop. Stop panicking over nothing, stop needlessly filling your hours worrying. This all sounds so cliche but just do it. You're only 22, it's okay to not know exactly where your life is going. If there's anything God teaches us it's that He works in unexpected ways, so trust in that. Stop hacking your way through brambles with a hatchet, crying angry tears because you can't make things work the way you want. Maybe there's a reason for that. Maybe you need to accept that.
It's good to want more. It's good to push, to try harder. You can always be better, but that's not a personal affront to you. It's not supposed to make you miserable. You can't be everything all the time. You can't be the girl in the other office who talks so eloquently, who dresses well every day, who's getting married next year. You aren't her, so stop wishing you are. Stop trying to be other people; you're too old for this game.
You're too old for that, but too young to feel old. Take some yoga classes or something, shit. Try something different if what you're doing isn't working for you. But stop beating yourself up too. Of all the things not working - that's the biggest. I read a poem once, one that said that there is no expected pace for inner learning. That what we need to learn comes when we need it.
Just remember that. You're only 22.
It is the very, very BEST day of the week, you guys. A day with a lot of promise and excitement! Because tomorrow is SATURDAY! Which is the second best day, in my humble opinion. And it's going to be a very big weekend, with lots of planning for future-y type things. It needs to be five o'clock, like, right now.
One: Dear Lily - you have a face that only a mother could love. Lucky I like you.
Two: Dear self - facemask more often. Duck lips, less often.
Three: Dear A - I love you. You don't even know. I love that everyone who comes into my office sees that note on my white board and smiles.
Four: Dear Texxy - same to you. And afternoon porch naps.
Dear Inna - thank you for letting my take pictures of you and your beautiful boy. I hope I can be half the mother you are, someday. And thanks for feeding me, two days in a row. You know I will never, ever, turn down free food.
Dear five o'clock: LET'S GOOOOO!
So, it's Friday again. And how that happened when I feel like I just woke up Monday morning, already angry at the week ahead ... well, I don't know. But thank you, Friday, for getting here so darn fast!
Dear A - I don't know how many times I'm going to say that I love you here, but add one more to that number. I can't wait for you to graduate so we can figure out our next steps together. Oh, and we need to watch more soccer games together with your crazy friends. What is it about sitting with the loudest people in the stands that's both embarrassing and exhilarating?
Dear Campus Safety officer who gave me a ticket at Ursinus - Please. I gave you my life savings and my first kidney and my paychecks for the next however many years. You think I'm going to pay you because I parked in a staff spot after hours? Ha. What're you going to do - hunt me down an hour away?
Dear Texxy - You are the freaking cutest dog I've ever seen, not even kidding. Maybe it's because I've never had a dog before, but coming home to your little face and you trying to knock me over every day, well, it's the coolest thing ever.
Dear work - Okay, so New Orleans in two weeks. Hugest industry conference in the world, and it's my first time going. I got this? I got this.
Dear people of the blog world - Does Biotin actually work? Ever since I died the ever-loving bajezus out of my hair this summer, things haven't been looking so hot.
Dear self - 8 am is entirely too early to start throwing around words like "fortuitous," especially when your boss is already exhausted looking. Not everyone appreciates your obnoxious SAT vocab.
Happy Friday guys :)
