The person that you wish you could be
(more)
Dear me,
Most days I am you. Sure, you have a little tweak here or there, cut down on the stress level, the caffeine habit, the eating candy for dinner. You are braver at talking to boys you find attractive, and less nervous about saying the wrong thing when trying to respond to the latest political outrage.
But most days, you are me.
I don’t consider saying this to mean that I think I’m perfect or have no room to grow, only that I don’t know what direction that growth will be and I don’t think that there’s a destination involved. I think the general “who I am” has been the same since I was a teenager but certain things have shifted, hardened, softened, twisted. And will keep doing so.
But I am happy most days, and strong. I am loved and more importantly, loving. I have work and friends and a home and a dog.
When I look forward it is not to being a different person—which is why I have a hard time differentiating myself-as-subject of this letter from myself-as-object of it. I look forward to seeing who will come into my life and shape and change me (as so many amazing people have in the last couple of years) and who will still be with me. I want to see what I can accomplish, what changes I can make, what communities I can be part of.
But I don’t wish that I was “a better person.” I’ve always been good at empathizing with others—it’s why I started and then gave up the psychology degree. I think I’ve finally learned to have some empathy for myself. To accept what I feel and not judge myself for it. Even to defend it. (And I do mean what I feel—I’ve been defending what I think since I was a kid and my dad would challenge me on things. Having parents who are at once supportive and radically politically different from oneself is great for that.)
So writing this letter? It’s hard. It’s not so far from the one to do last, to myself in the mirror, except most of the flaws are shaved off but then, oh, there’s nothing left to write about.
-me.
