Tuesday, May 14, 2013

Another letter to another important person


I have a friend – my best friend, to be specific. One of many best friends, because I am lucky, though she holds the distinction of being my best friend for the longest period of time. I have a friend who is very different from me, though very much the same in some ways. Some times I think that if we hadn’t met at such a young age, or if we lived in the same city, or if we saw each other in any circumstances other than those we have to laboriously manufacture for ourselves, we wouldn’t be friends at all. And then I’m grateful that those things define the parameters of our friendship, because I like her so very much. I’m writing this because I know she’ll see it eventually and I know she’s about to go do a very hard thing. And I might alienate some of the people in her life because they are telling her very different things, but she needs to hear them again and again until they either stop being pertinent or she has them committed to memory.
Ignore your parents. I don’t mean always. Don’t ignore their advice about not racking up to much credit card debt, or which car to buy. Don’t ignore your dad’s lectures on saving for the future, because one day you’ll be his age, too. Don’t ignore what your mom says about the men in your life because she can see their motivations with a clarity you can’t. But do ignore their worry. Ignore their terror you won’t be “more successful” than them. You get to define your success, not them. They did an excellent thing, setting you up for the life you’re about to lead, but none of that means anything if you let them hang it like an anchor around your neck. I know they mean well and they just want what’s best for you. But if you don’t figure that out on your own, you’re going to resent them. They’ll be mad because they’ll insist they know what’s best, but tell them now you’d rather give them the momentary satisfaction of an “I told you so” than plague yourself with a “what if” for the rest of your life. Let them worry. But don’t let them worry you into inaction.
Ask for help. You are so very proud, and I would fix all your problems every time I get a panicked voicemail if I could. But I don’t have that kind of power, and I think that’s why you come running to me first. I don’t know why you think this, but asking for help isn’t a sign of weakness, it’s a sign of trust. It means you trust someone enough to let them see you for what you really are, which is human. You’re beautiful even when you’re so panicked that you’re calling me and texting me at the same time. You talk with a laugh in your voice, and even when you’re on the verge of tears, I can still hear it there. Your whole body vibrates when you talk about anything, including impending homelessness and failing grades, that makes it seem like you’re so alive that you’re going to jump into a higher level of humanity at any second now. Let people other than me see this. The great thing about being beautiful – and I don’t mean just physically – is that you are in the middle of a crowd of people who would love it if you crowd sourced some of your problems. I promise that for every problem you have, someone around you has the answer. Sometimes it’ll be you, and sometimes it won’t. But they won’t know to give it to you unless you let them see you need it. And they’re scared, too. They’re scared that if they offer help when you don’t need it, they’ll look stupid. So it’s up to you. No one is going to hand you anything… until you ask for it.
Choose every morning what kind of life you want. Make daily the choices that will point you in that direction. If you don’t make a conscious decision to be always who you want to be, the path of least resistance will pull you into someone you don’t like. Probably not someone you hate, but is that a risk you’re willing to take? Be with who makes you happy, do what makes you smile, and most of all, make sure that if you had to confront yourself in the past, you could honestly tell yourself you’ve improved. But you’re stubborn, and I know that you’ll think this means making the things you want to happen, happen. That’s not true, either. The only thing we can control is our reaction. To anything. You cannot force your way into the school or job you want, you cannot force someone to love you, you really cannot force much of anything. Certainly you can pursue these things, and you should, because inaction is a reaction too. But please, carry with you the clarity to know when something isn’t your fault. Continually act and react like the person you want to be, and through that habit, make it a reality.
I know I don’t have the answers. In fact, five years from now I’m sure we’ll laugh at this because it’ll be hilarious how much I thought I knew. But right now, we’re young enough not to know better, so it’ll suffice. And in five years I’ll write you a new list of things I want you to remember as you start the next hard thing. Finally, a couple more things you already know, but it won’t hurt to hear again. I love you in that totally lame way that inspires needlepoint platitudes. You can do anything, and the only thing stopping you is your own fear. You are surrounded by people who feel the exact same way, even if they don’t say it or say it as nicely. You look good in red lipstick. I love the sound of your laugh, especially when you snort. Stop hunching, you’re tall and you just have to deal with it. And when all else fails, hug the buffalo. 

No comments:

Post a Comment