3.29.23 Hers Is

Hers is a heart that is read slowly

written in calligraphy

by hand

in curated curls 

in stretched out thoughts

in letters chosen with particular intention

Hers is a mind that is beautiful 

laced with a lattice of memories

layered with wishes and whims

it is busy

and brilliant

and brave

Hers is a spirit that is golden

drenched in hope and embroidered with elements of the divine

prayers echoed

petitioned

whispered

and sealed 

Hers is a life that is lovely

parceled and planned 

detailed and deliberated over

and yet

there … 

in the innermost corner

lies a spark of adventure

a dream that is barely an inkling

but present

persistent as a firefly

bright and promising more 

than even she

had planned for herself 

3.18.23 7 Letters I Can’t Send: Dear Serendipity

“Do you think the universe fights for souls to be together? 
Some things are too strange and strong to be coincidences.” 
― Emery Allen

Dear Serendipity,

I asked my daughter who I should write to today, and without a moment’s hesitation, she said it should be you. You, the curious combination of meant-to-be mistakes and fortunate accidents. I have to admit that I have been an absolute enthusiast of your work for as long as I can recall believing in wishes. You are the personification of Fate dancing with Chance, only to be tapped on the shoulder so that Destiny could cut in. It is remarkably romantic to imagine this waltz of circumstances twirling in and between whim and what-if.

I wish I could ask you how much you get to decide. I wish you’d highlight the reels of relationships that have been affected by your charms. But then, I suppose that would spoil a bit of the subtle clandestinity of it all. As such, I guess you will have to keep your dream-come-true-drenched secrets. I imagine they are written in calligraphic scripts, dated with invisible ink and locked in a weighty silver box with tiny claw feet. Of course there is a key–but it will have been lost to Father Time for safe-keeping.

Regardless, I have a few things to thank you for … a few twinklings I know to be your handiwork:

• The one and only time I saw the northern lights
• The night I decided to go out and met the love of my life, even if I couldn’t know it at the time
• The mistakes that gave me the courage to get stronger
• The friendships I decided to pursue, even when life was pulling us apart
• The moments I happen to see a tangerine harvest moon, a blue-tailed shooting star, or a dancing parade of pink clouds

You, Serendipity, are the fairy dust of life, and oh, how I enjoy your sparkle.

3.17.23 7 Letters I Can’t Send: Dear Stars

“Not just beautiful, though–the stars are like the trees in the forest, alive and breathing. And they’re watching me.”
― Haruki Murakami

Dear Stars,

I am simply writing to tell you that I love you. I love you so much, and I have for absolutely ever. From the time I was a little girl, my mom taught me that I should give compliments when I feel them. If that is true, I should have whispered this to you or sung it to the sky a million times before.

There are so many things about you that are magical and meaningful, but I think I can sum it up quite simply. You give me the space to dream, and for a dreamer like me … the kind that requires a lot of room to spread her thoughts, and wonderings, and whims, I can’t tell you how much I adore you for it.

But the thing I love most, is the way you are the guardians of wishes. Collecting them from every corner of every hemisphere until you are swollen with a million, glowing possibilities … until you are so heavy with hope that you fall, giving the assurance of dreams coming true.

Thank you stars.

For cascading silver dust.

For the language of light.

For holding the history of the world in a billion crystal particles across the floor of heaven.

Did I mention how much I love you?

3.16.23 7 Letters I Can’t Send: Dear Future Her

“My mother is the reason that I love you … She is the reason I know what love is.” 
― L. Franqui

Dear Future Her,

You know who you are, but I don’t yet … and that is both a wonderful and curious thing to me. Sometimes I wonder if he has already met you, or seen you, or dreamed you up in his mind. I like to think about things like that. I like to imagine the intersection of where his heart finds its way to you, because it comforts me to imagine that someday, he will be completely captivated by someone who just might deserve him.

I’m sure that when I know you, I will love you–because you will love him. How could I not trust your judgement? But here’s the thing I can’t deny; I’m a little bit afraid of you.

My son is–well–he is one of the most remarkable humans I have ever known. And I guess, before I know you, before he falls for you, there are a few things I’d like you to know. The most important is this: he cares about everything and everyone. Genuinely. He carries conversation. He opens doors. He holds eye contact. He shows emotion, and affection, and strength of character by admitting his weaknesses. He challenges himself. He prays. He stays. And his sister is his best friend.

I know that whoever you are, you will be strong. It will not intimidate him; he will champion this about you. I know you will be brave; he will support your choices. I know you will be intelligent, and he will be proud of your every accomplishment–whether attempted or achieved. Here’s the thing: I just ask you to do the same.

Love him back.

Honestly.

Imperfectly.

Intentionally.

And remember that before you ever had the honor of holding his heart, he had long ago stolen mine.

3.15.23 7 Letters I Can’t Send: Dear Poetry

“Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.” – Carl Sandburg

Dear Poetry,

To put it quite simply. Thank you. Thank you for always giving me a place to sit with my thoughts. You never rush me, or force me to explain myself. You let me invite only the words I want to entertain, and give me just enough space to get cozy with them. You allow me reflection and pause. You not only inspire me … you give my voice a platform.

Somehow, you always find a way to turn my chaos and confusion into stanzas that make sense. You block and build, settle and swell. And even though sometimes you take the long route to take shape–you are always lovely and dressed just exactly right for whatever mental occasion I’ve invented.

With or without the accessory of punctuation, the confines and constructs of labels and rules, even there you are the elegant expression of every emotion a story would be too watered-down with words to tell. Thank you for your gravity … for grounding wild hearts and wandering minds. Thank you for giving my fleeting thoughts a place to land and my imagination the space to expand.

You are the last ringing note of the song of my spirit, and for that, I love you.

3.14.23 7 Letters I Can’t Send: Twelve-Year-Old Me

Dear Twelve-Year-Old Me,

Hello there dolly. (I’ll call you that, because your gram does, and I know how much you love it.) Oh, precious. Where to begin with you. I could talk to you for pages and pages. If I knew you’d get this, I’d take the time to do it … alas, you will not. Still, let’s have a go at just a couple of topics, shall we?

First off, it might not always seem like it right now (I know it doesn’t), but your life is pretty charmed. You might have big glasses before they’re cool, bangs that don’t suit you at all, and headgear to go with your braces–but you’re still one lucky girl. You have a mom and a dad who support your whimsy and wit, who encourage your curiosity, creativity, and endless questions. Let me tell you, that is more of a gift than you can possibly imagine. Remember as much as you can about home, because it will become your anchor.

You know how you like to write journals and poems and prompts? Well, it’s more than just a phase. Keep writing. And save the drama for the page. When things are meant to be, they will be. I know how much you like to fantasize and daydream about forever, but don’t miss “for now.” For now is a lot of fun, and it’s the path to knowing yourself enough to make the right decisions later.

Speaking of right decisions–no, you didn’t meet him yet, but you will in a few years. I promise. And girl … he’s worth waiting for. Think sea-green eyes and a wolfish smile with a kind heart and brilliant brain. How you might ask? I’ll let you wait on fate for that one. It’s more fun if you don’t know.

There are a couple of things you already got right though. Your best friends don’t change. She stays. He stays. And you are better for knowing both of them. Your sister (who you idolize), you will someday find feels the same way about you! Your cousin remains “your person” forever. And your love of adventure and nature will take you across the world.

So chin up little one. Embrace the awkward–it will teach you to be humble. Laugh at the mistakes–you’ll make worse ones. Love yourself now–it’ll help you love me later. And above all, be grateful. You’ve got a beautiful journey ahead.

3.13.23 7 Letters I Can’t Send: Dear Perfectionism

“But I am learning that perfection isn’t what matters. In fact, it’s the very thing that can destroy you if you let it.” 
― Emily Giffin, Something Borrowed

Dear Perfectionism,

I am going to keep this letter short, because I do not believe you warrant any of my attention, though you certainly command it often enough. That being said, you have been making yourself known more and more as of late. And so, I would like to make one thing irrevocably clear–you can’t have her.

Throughout my life, you have haunted me like a vampiric shadow–leeching the light and the joy out of even the most accomplished moments. You have dwindled in the echoes of thoughts stuck-on-repeat and it has taken me decades to push you into background noise. Then, after all that work, you have the audacity to come back again, full-force, at her.

How dare you.

To haunt me was painful, but to make her precious mind your sordid sanctuary is unforgivable. She is everything good and beautiful in this world. She is every best-intention, every kind word, every hope for a better tomorrow, and I will not stand by and watch you beguile her with poisonous promises that bind her to an ideal that doesn’t exist.

Hear me clearly, Perfectionism, because I will only say this once. She will not fall to you … because she is strong. She has the legions of Heaven behind her, and what’s more–she sure as hell won’t be fighting you alone.

3.12.23 7 Letters I Can’t Send: Dear Elliot

“. . . sometimes one feels freer speaking to a stranger than to people one knows. Why is that?
Probably because a stranger sees us the way we are, not as he wishes to think we are.” 
― Carlos Ruiz Zafón, The Shadow of the Wind

Dear Elliot,

I know that you will never receive this letter, but that didn’t make me want to send you one any less. I wanted to thank you for taking the time to talk to me the other day as we were both waiting in line for our orders. You were so polite, asking, “Excuse me?” Before then following up with the essential question, “Do you have dogs?” I think that is an excellent question, and I wish more people would kindly-interrupt one another to ask important questions like that. I was so happy to hear that you were not only excited to know their names, but also interested to know mine. There is power in a name, Elliot, and I am so grateful you shared your name with me, because I will not soon forget it. Or your smile. Or your red jacket. Or your cool glasses frames. Or the fact that you are seven (which is my favorite number, by the way).

To be honest, Elliot, I was sad to get my order so fast, because I really enjoyed talking to you. I know your parents thought I was, “being kind,” but they were wrong. I was not being kind, I was genuinely interested in your questions and enjoying your precious company. You broke my heart in the most precious way when you shook my hand goodbye, and then reached your arms out for a hug right after. THANK YOU! Thank you for taking the time to give me that essential gift.

As I left, I was wishing that I had a reason to turn around. I was SO grateful that I remembered I had picked up a smooth stone earlier in the day and put it in my pocket. I don’t normally pick up stones, but something about that one was special–like you, and it gave me just the excuse I needed to turn around and see you one more time. Thank you for receiving it as the treasure I meant for it to be. Thank you for understanding me.

I hope that no matter how many sevens you get to live in this life, you remember this seven. You remember how fundamentally important it is to keep meeting people. Keep capturing their attention with those bright, hopeful, curious eyes. Keep asking them if they have dogs, and what their names are. Keep following up handshakes with hugs (which are undeniably more important). And Elliot, dear boy, keep being you. No one could ever do it better.

All my love,

Elle