A Letter to Dreamers. Searchers. Strivers. Me.

 Dear Dreamer:

The truth is, you’re a lot like your dad. You take up a lot of room. You are a big presence, physically and emotionally. You are not delicate. You are loud. You can be unintentionally cruel. You wear your heart on your sleeve, even though you are so often told to be vulnerable. You sound like you know it all, even when you know that you really don’t. You care. You care so much. Too much.

But you are also striving to listen, to learn, to understand. You are striving to understand your privilege. The world. You are striving to understand yourself and why you’ve made so many bad choices. And you are brave AF. Maybe there’s a connection there, between bravery and bad choices. You should look into that in your free time. 

You are striving to understand why you take so much on to pay the bills and feel like you matter —like you are making a mark— but then you buy another ill-fitting shirt from China at 2 a.m., hoping it will suddenly make you feel beautiful. Make you beautiful.

Girl. You ARE beautiful. I hope that someday, you can see it, feel it, know it. You are more than the space you take up.

This is the letter you should have written to yourself two weeks ago, instead of the letter of to-do lists and shoulds that you wrote and once again didn’t live up to.

And that —this— this is why I write.

With love,

Me