The first step is to invest in yourself. Become your own best friend, then your own boss, then your own stockbroker. Take risks. Risk it all—be silly, do stupid things, do everything. Do it with the desperation and conviction that says you will die if you don’t. Don’t worry about fucking it all up, because you won’t. Fuck yourself up, instead. All those fragile things you were scared of losing, if they can’t weather the storm, weren’t meant to be anyway. They have no part in what’s to come.
Laugh loudly, and be impulsive, but do too those grudging chore-like things you know you ought to do. Do those daring things that rage within you like a fire of disgust and indignation. Do it all—do absolutely everything—do all the things that you know, incontrovertibly, that you have to do.
Leave everything. Leave the old you. Leave your family. Tell your friends you’ll see them later. (They’ll be happy for you.) Strike out alone, completely alone, in your quest to come to terms with this thing roaring louder and louder inside of you; this voice that commands you to live the best life possible for yourself. Set out on your own, with no noise to interfere with its voice, with no ghosts to block its vision, with only you and it inside filtering the brand new world before you.
And when you arrive, breathe it in. Awaken to the vast glorious world of oh my god, there’s so fucking much and engage with it using every fiber of your physical being. The world is made for you, my friend—it is big enough and wide enough to handle your quirkiness, your outbursts, your joy, your screams, your emotions, your running, your shouts, your tears. It will respond to all of this nicely, and you will feel phenomenal, for you are a wet sponge in need of squeezing.
Forget about what you thought you knew, damn it, because there’s living out there, and much to your surprise it’s even better than you’d ever dreamed about—more wonderful than your most elaborate fantasies—more immediate than you could’ve ever imagined—and real, so real—and so, so good. In the midst of this living, somewhere shortly after tapping the live wire, she will appear, brought forth out of nowhere, out of somewhere, by each consecutive step you’ve taken in bravery, chiseled out of thin air by your beating heart. Holy image out of time—and then everything stops.
The rest, in a way, is history, for this love is indescribable and incomparable. What begins to open up, as you continue to pay attention, is an intimate, tender, ever-growing cleft which nurtures honesty, total honesty: the cleansing of our conscience and our sins. The deliverance, in waves of penetrating realization, of our souls. As you probe how deeply down this soft fold goes, every tingling neuron in your body gets saturated with utter knowledge and achievement, each atom validated. You were totally right all along, you son of a bitch! There was a reason for every single feeling in your life before, and it was to lead you to this moment—that moment when, walking in the rain with her, you realize with heavy wordless understanding just what is happening.
And then, of course, you’ve done it—you’re there! You get your gorgeous moments at the top, your perfect moments where everything is sunshine. And maybe it will fade, because everything fades, but not before it permeates down into every part of your being, saved on the hard drive forever, the immediate next benchmark for every other thing you’ll do in your life: How far you’ve come.
And this is all I know, to be honest. This is all I’ve got. That’s better than most, I’m assuming, and perfect for me, because it was mine. But there’s more, obviously there’s more, because you’re a human being on planet earth; because you’re an eternal soul on a cosmic journey. There’s always more, and always deeper, no finish line and no end to the adventure. But this is all I know, for now—this is how far I’ve come. And that is how you fall in love, completely.
Once upon a time I wrote a love letter to you, and here I am a little later, the feelings having disappeared a while after you did, but alas, the letter was always for you. So here it is.
You’ve made me feel like a child again, like the preschooler running around in the snow, a prescribed plaid dress and tights on.
Who cares if it’s snowing?
I feel giddy, a childish girl with a silly crush, and somehow that feels okay.
For a moment I sense myself trying to make my boiling belly of butterflies simmer, but instead I take a deep breath and lighten up the fire even more.
I’ve never fancied myself as being good with words, and when I see you across the room my tongue turns knotted silly taffy in my mouth, begging to bounce across the floor to catch your attention….
but your eyes hit me like a pound of bricks and I am lost.
My throat catches and I give you the smallest piece of a smile, wishing for you to return my upcurled lips.
You look away.
Man oh man though do I feel like a puppy pining for your affection, if only for just one moment.
I shoot out my tangled tongue to break the silence of not knowing you.
That’s what I want most of all.
To know you.
To hear the voice behind the words that captivate my attention.
It’s as though I’m living in a different time, rolling through waves and waves of your world.
It doesn’t matter if I don’t understand how you master the puzzle pieces because when I read them, I am living in them too.
Your eyes are crystal blue alpine lakes and I am a wary backpacker, hot and weary from a long day.
I long to dive into your eyes, those beautiful, kind eyes that see the world and reflect it back with your precious drops of holy water.
I want to jump in head first, but I find myself paralyzed at the thought of that first cold plunge.
I’m ready to leap, to feel the sting of nerves, and to know you. Just to know you.
This is amazing and so special 🙂