The Person You Changed, but Never Knew

Dear my friend,

I doubt you remember me. Probably not. In all honesty, I would never expect to cross your mind, and this letter might be the weirdest thing that's happened to you all week, or ever. But even then, likely not. I guess you can just read and label that for yourself.

We only talked a few times in college, and although most of it was small talk, we had one deep conversation. It was outside of Richards Hall, in those two metal chairs under the shade of some huge oak trees. I'd been on the way back from class, and I'm pretty sure you were coming from the cafe. At least, that's the best guess I have, because you were holding this huge brown drink with ice and foam on top of it.

We'd talked shortly a couple times before that, and to my knowledge, you were a pretty social person. Neither of us had something else to do, and it was hot, so we sat down together and ended up having a talk.

Being practically anonymous to one another, we got pretty deep about some things. Like I said, you may not remember, and I'm not trying to tie up what should be left loose, but that's what this letter is for. I'll start with the simple stuff. I think it's pretty important to the rest of where I'm going with this.

You'd began with chatting about your journey to college, a little high school experience, some icebreakers which I thought was cool. We didn't take a lot of time there in the heat, so the icebreakers melted kinda quick. I remember you told me about your boyfriend at the time, Thomas Gille or something like that? He was always nice, real easy to talk to. Not sure if that worked out or anything, but let him know how good of a person he really was if he's still around these days.

Back to our chat though, you had moved on to talking about some philosophical stuff. Like how you viewed the world, your outlook on life, your favorite traits in people, that sort of thing. Maybe it's corny to you now but I still appreciate your openness about it. My reply sucked, I kinda just went along with whatever you said, when truthfully I had a lot more to say. If you haven't caught on by now, that's kinda why I wrote this letter in the first place.

It's not the most miraculous thing I've ever done. It could very well be the dumbest, maybe somehow the best, who knows? But since that day, I've grown out of this static version of myself and I truly feel like I found my purpose, too. Not only because of you, or our conversation so randomly long ago, but through a lot of experiences that happened before and after it that I only now can say I understand.

Like when I was a little kid, and I used to build these huge plastic forts out of the big Lego pieces. I was so picky about the fort being one single color that once I got to the top, I would always run out of those colored blocks and the whole thing would be impossible to finish without putting in a new kind. But I was stubborn. So instead of continuing with the yellow, or the red, or the blue, I would break it all down and start with another color. Those forts were never finished either. Eventually I'd be called to dinner, or need to use the bathroom, and all the toys would be cleaned up.

And now that I'm grown, I still refuse to use different colored blocks sometimes. I like things to be the same, always afraid of change or turning a different direction. Afraid of having to tear down everything I've built in myself instead of adapting, when the truth is I don't have to break anything. I kind of just do that part anyway out of habit. I'm sure all of this sounds like a mess to you, but there is more to it, I promise.

I've been navigating life so wrongly until the time I decided to write this. I kept trying to be myself, but that's hard to do when 'myself' wasn't ready yet. I don't mean to drop a shell on you by no means, but there aren't many people in my life anymore to talk to about it. So here the letter is.

I was on vacation last week. I spent most of my money on being there, which I was oddly proud of, but no matter how far into the ocean sunset I looked, I didn't see any of that in me. It's weird to explain, but the feeling was just like emptiness. I was right where I wanted to be, but nothing felt like it was in the right spot. I was more than grateful to be there, but that discomfort in my heart wasn't letting go. I get it, it's a week-long vacation, I was probably just homesick, but even when I got home to my own bed, I was equally as hollow.

It's possible I'm digging way too far into it, and that none of it means anything at all, but for some reason I don't believe that. And I feel like you wouldn't either. One of the things you told me that stuck, was "Not everyone has the same purpose in life." And it's beyond true. Yours may be that dream you never chased, the person you wished you were. Heck, it could be to make that one stranger on the street smile or to save the world. Who knows?

And although I can't make any promises, I can say that I believe I have found mine. And it is vastly different from anyone else, but I guess that's the point of it all. To have those differences, those branching dreams that make this tree we call humanity. Every single one carries the weight of each other, no matter how far, and without any of them, a branch would break. A stick would snap. We would fall apart.

I like looking at it that way. It's a lot easier to write this to you, than say it while rocking in a metal chair on a hot day. To tell you how I really feel about our minds and the strength in them on paper, instead of out of my mouth that stutters a lot and needs to take a breath to continue. I won't lie and say I haven't held mine a couple times while writing, but the good thing is nobody has to see that part.

I keep straying off with my thoughts here, but to my point. That day, it began something that I'd never expected myself to even care about. A simple, unplanned conversation with somebody who was open minded enough to change my life. While I do want to say thank you, I moreover want to say keep going. I'm not sure how many coffee conversations you've had with random people on the road, and of course with your safety in mind, I hope you have more. I hope that it hasn't changed over time, and that even the smallest margin of yourself is still raw enough to try with someone new, like you did with me.

Before we talked, I'd never been able to release myself to the world. And even though I didn't that day, it gave me the slightest bit of confidence to be where I am now, years down the road, healthy and getting happier.

I'm not going to tell you who I am, which I know is awfully odd, but I feel like it's best. So maybe, throughout your life, you'll be written more thank-you letters for the things you have done, by people close to you, and you'll realize just how important you are to them. How important your time is, how important the small things you do can truly be, and how many lives one can change.

To finish this clearly unexpected message, and spare some of your time, I'd like to ask you one question that I never got to ask all those years ago. I don't expect you to write back, as you can't, but I do want you to answer it someday. You seemed to know how you felt about everything. Your opinions. How you viewed others. But what is your purpose? What are you here for, what grows your branch on the tree? What color did you pick for your Lego forts when you were little, what do you say when you are asked who you are?

When your sitting under the shade of an oak tree with someone you've only vaguely met, do you see them as a stranger? Or do you see them as yourself?

Sincerely, the person you changed, but never knew.