Dear Me,

Dear Me,

You’ve been waiting for this. Since you could comprehend your world, you’ve yearned to explore and go on adventures to places you couldn’t yet pronounce. You were the first one in your preschool class who memorized the seven continents, seven seas, and  the first one in your class to learn how to write about what you saw. Not being able to write the thoughts in your mind yet, at five years old, you would look around the room at the big posters with writing around the colorful pictures. “Bird”, “Park”, “Ship”. Linking ideas together, you wrote, “The blue bird at the park talked before I walked to the ship.”

You always had your mind on adventure. You were fascinated with outer-space when you were six, and you spent all of your free time on the big computer in the living room researching the planets, stars, and the things which lay beyond what we can see. 

You loved reading your children’s encyclopedias, and all of the other books mother randomly bought to put on your shelf. You lived in the adventures described, and the places far away that you were just learning the names of. Paris. Timbuktu. Beijing. St. Petersburg. You had your eyes set on adventure, and a life to be lived as a nomad. Not stuck or tied down to one place, but free. You hoped to fly from place to place, living as carefree as the birds above your young head. 

You couldn’t imagine at the time that you would live your dreams of adventure. You would fall in love with singing, and with your hometown choir, you would fly to Ireland. Tour Italy. The Dominican Republic. Canada. Around the United States.

 Your best friends live far from you, and you feel lonely in your hometown. You met your loved ones on your travels.

You don’t belong here! 

You belong to that line at the horizon which you can see from Lake Erie beach, five minutes from your home. That thin haze that you can’t clearly make out? You will live in that. It’s barely perceptible in the moment, but you’ll walk across that lake. Step by step. You’ll get scared. It’s not easy, walking on water. 

Remember that the grace of God is over you, and your heart is too full to stay still in one place. Surrender to the winds. Let them sweep your hair wildly, and lean into their pushes and pulls. You might fall in love with the detours more than the destination itself. 

So, you graduated. Congratulations, child! Your life is just about to begin. The university you’re going to is 1,295 miles away. You’re leaving your cold, lonely city in the north for adventure in the south. You’ve been waiting for this. With a smile on your face, you’ll quit your job. You’ll take more day trips and see the city you’ve spent so much time loathing. You’ll look upon it with a new sense of beauty, and a regret that you spent more time wishing to be somewhere else than breathing in the sights of your hometown. Walking the streets of downtown Cleveland, you’ll breathe in in the fragrance of the flowers placed thoughtfully on the sides of the sidewalk. The steely hue of the tall buildings around you won’t seem so cold anymore with the cold air that sticks to their exterior. You’ll smile genuinely as you see your reflection in the metal, and see the person the north has helped you to grow up as. You never truly felt connected to this place on the map, but in it you see the dreams you had and how it helped you to meet those. This city added to your dreams, and made it possible for you to yearn for a future of excitement and adventure. Something you used to feel you were robbed of. But isn’t the inspiration for greatness nearly as grand as the greatness itself? Your hometown made you strive more. Work harder. Dream past your comfort zone.

Now, you’ve packed your bags before you’ve said your goodbyes. You think it’d be easier than how it is. You go to graduation, see your friends, finish out your two weeks at work. You were convinced you weren’t loved. Your friends never truly cared about you. You thought you were just passing through this place on your way to fulfill the longings of your adventurous spirit. You didn’t anticipate the tears and the heartbreak that would come. You didn’t think you were loved, but you loved just as hard as the affection you were blinded to in your lack of self-confidence in the relationships that surrounded you. Hearing a mentor’s singing voice for perhaps the last time as your quiet sobs shake you before going to sleep. Hanging out with a friend for the last time before you must drive away. Receiving parting gifts from acquaintances you’ve barely conversed with.

You’ve lived a full life during these sweet childhood years of your hometown. It’s okay to  embrace the difficult feelings that come from parting a place and a people that meant more to you than you realized. 

As the weather will become warmer and kinder as you move down south, so those difficult feelings will one day dissipate --albeit slowly-- and the light growing in your eyes and spirit will grow brighter than you could have previously imagined since you accepted the voice of adventure and fell in to its pull upon your life. 

Now, suitcase in hand, you head to the station. You’re intentionally standing straighter than normal, and you push your hair back in order to feign confidence and ignore fear as you step onto the bus. A few members of your family and friends stand by, waving with smiles. 

They’re not crying, despite your own tears that you can’t control. They know you’ve wanted this since the time when you learned that you could get what you so desired. They’re happy for you. Life goes on. You loved here. You know how the most coveted emotion in the universe feels, and the effects it has of being far. Not romantically, of course. You’ve married your adventures long before you saw your first. Yet you know what it is to know someone and love them so well, that saying “goodbye” feels more painful than all of the scrapes and bruises you’ve acquired during your life. 

This is it. You’re done here. You step onto the bus without looking back. Finding a seat by the window, you sit down just as the bus starts to move. You look forward, at the rapid landscape coming and going. You take out your kleenex and wipe your tears, remembering the time in tenth grade you skipped psychology to talk to a dear teacher about the sufferings you went through. You sat with him in a tiny study room, and he brought you kleenex to aid your tears. You tried to hide them in your lap, but he told you to put them on the table, in the middle of a finished duct-tape roll. He doesn’t care about germs. He just wants to listen to you. To care and love you when you feel so helpless amid the chaos you felt in your life at your time. After weeping, he told you, “rest”. And you sat there, wiping away tears, feeling relieved by knowing that you are loved and cared for. On the bus, you smile at the recollection, as you put away your kleenex. The adventures are close. You are on your way, dear child.

The wheels on the bus whirrr as they bring you many miles. With a consistent speed and transferring buses multiple times, you’ll step out into complete warmth. You’ll feel a sense of belonging and completeness from the land as you notice the palm trees all around and the scattering of exotic birds. You are here now.

Dear child,

It’s time to live, now.

Sincerely, 

Yourself.