I’m typically not into this whole open letter thing. I think it’s bullshit. But I also think there comes a time in everyone’s lives when they feel the need to address some sort of higher being. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because we all need to believe in something bigger. We all need to feel like there’s someone or something who we can actually talk to that has the ability to make a difference, to change things. I’m inclined to think that it doesn’t make a difference, that doing things like this are about as good as talking to my reflection in a puddle. But for now, I guess I can just pretend.
So this is the part where I would usually ask you for something. I’d ask you to help me make sense of my life or to just for once let something go my way. But I’m not going to do that. I’ve written that letter plenty of times as I’m sure sixty-million other angst-ridden twenty somethings have, too. As gratifying as it would be to proclaim my laments and woes to a computer screen, I think I’ll pass. I’ll let the next generation of overly-pensive, insecure meaning-seekers take care of those letters.
Instead, I want to tell you something quite different. And that’s this;
I’m gaining on you.
That’s right. You’re not so far ahead anymore. You’re not so foggy. You’re not the cosmic blob in the sky I thought you once were. You aren’t the haze constantly clouding my head. You’re getting clearer. Just a little, but still. I can see you a little better now. I’m starting to understand.
I’m starting to understand that hearts aren’t as fragile as everyone thinks. I’m starting to understand that suffering might be the common characteristic of all humans, but if we’re really suffering, we’re having a damn good time doing it. I’m starting to understand that things happen for a reason, and things don’t. I’m starting to understand that the Rolling Stones are the greatest thing to happen to music, and that anyone who thinks otherwise is an ignorant, unenlightened blasphemer. I’m starting to understand that a lot of people actually are assholes, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m starting to understand that starting something but never finishing it is kind of fun. I’m starting to understand that I should really finish more things I start. I’m starting to understand love. I’m starting to understand dreams. I’m starting to understand that all this understanding shit is overrated.
I’m catching up. Maybe only by a few steps. But I’ll take it.
You’ll probably knock me down again. You’ll probably pull away. You always do. And that’s fine. Knock me down. Spit in my face. Kick my shins. Stomp on my heart. Fuck with my head. I can take it. And if I can’t, well, cheap liquor was created for a reason.
I’ll never know everything about you. No one will. But I can try to make the best of what I have to work with. I’ve got a few friends, a few weekends, and a whole lot of bad decisions left to make. And you better believe that when I come to the end of the line, I’ll be that much closer to you. Scrapes on my knees, a smile on my face, and Mic Jagger singing about the blues in the background, I’ll be that much closer.
So bring it. Bring everything you’ve got. I might still be lost, but I don’t really care. Being found is for suckers. I’ll stay lost for the rest of my life, getting to know you better, but never truly finding my way.
I don’t plan on writing many more letters. I’ve got living to do. But don’t be surprised if you hear again from me some day.