I have been thinking a lot lately. I always think a lot. Anyway, I feel intrinsically myself for the first time in a very, very long time. There is much I would like to share with you and much I would like to make you understand. But I have come to the realization that it isn't possible to do so. Even trying exhausts me. I hope that you are proud of me, even though there isn't much tangible to be proud of.
I have been meaning to email you but it's always intimidating because I set a lofty goal for myself. I will formulate an entire, organized, articulate email in my head while I am driving to school or in my Pilates class. When it comes time to actually type it I can't conjure up the same images. I want you to see what is in my head, if only for a moment.
Lately, I have a reoccurring image of a staircase floating in the ocean. I have been tenuously climbing this staircase for many years as it rocks with the waves and currents. Now I look down and see that I am stepping off of the staircase. I made it to the top and am leaving it behind. It floats in the ocean. A tall, awkward staircase. The waves clap against the boards.
I am the happiest I have ever been in my adult life. I still feel anxiety, doubt, waves of sadness, lonlieness, heartache, and general malaise. But I own those. It's part of me and my experience. It does not own me. It's no longer what is in control. I'm glad I have done what I have done. I was going through the motion of adventure without fully embracing all aspects of it. Now, I feel confident. I'm ready. That much I know. Ready for what? That is the question. I have no idea. Ha!
I am healthy, strong, fortunate, niave, and stubborn. No one defines me. No one will ever really know the whole of me. The best thing is to live to one's own standards. Live for yourself. Not that attachments shouldn't be made. But the present shouldn't consist of everything you need to do in order to secure your future. The present isn't the future. That future is a mirage if you approach life that way.
I don't if this is the email is intended for you. Maybe it's more for myself. Maybe I am tired of trying to communicate something definite to you, only to feel as if you do not hear me or am missing my point. I am sure you feel the same when talking to me. Perhaps, you understand more than you let on. Perhaps you feel more than you convey. Where is the outlet? Where is the stage? I feel like you look around and only see negatives. You live in an idealistic world that does not exist. I can blur the edges, a trick of my mind. I can turn my head the other way. It's harder for me than it seems to be for my peers but we adapt. I learn to adapt. I can't change the circumstances, I can only change me. I don't know how things should be, I just know how they are. Where is your place? How can you claim it's the life you lead now? How can you say that is what you have carved for yourself? If it's what you say, your dogs, house, and river trail then why when you speak it's of what lies on the other side, over the borders? The cat crap castle neighbors, the arrogant bikers that rip apart your carefully crafted trail, the corrupt police, etc..?
Do you see yourself in me? Am I braver than you? Am I doing what you wish you could? Do you see my childlike innocence.. My freckled giggles? Or do you see all the mistakes I have made. Are my stumbles what defines me in your eyes? Are you so adept at seeing the negatives that is all you see in me anymore?
Do you wish me more practical with steady, sturdy hands put to good use. Or do you see me as an artist of life..a crafter of a storyline?
Do you wish I was smarter? Do you wish I knew what I wanted. Are you waiting to think that I will? Or will you be satisfied if I spend my life trying to find it?
When you die how will I feel your presence? In what will you chose to show your soul? My mother is clever, a sweet angel disguised in the breeze or a butterfly. She is warmth caught in ray of sunshine. She is the sound of laughter on a Sunday morning. She showed me her goodness in life, and therefore it still exists even after death. Where is your goodness? Where is your light? Will I only hear your social commentary? You assessment of the failure of institutions? Why won't you give me some light, something I can hold on to?
We've become so distant now that I can't even send this to you.
Love,
Rayna
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