Hello. You are in the kitchen. I am in the "learning room." I am writing you a love letter. Mostly to turn you on.
What is a good love letter? I've been writing a Love Journal to you, and it's been in a legal pad. One of those tall, yellow ones. And I don't know how I feel about it. I'll admit -- it's the most...focused love journal I've written, so far. There's been a pretty consistent style to it. I've been writing you, in a lot of it.
In the past, the Love Journals I've been writing you have been...weird? Is that the right word for them? They've either been full of used-up pens and pencils, or weird basketball statistics, or some other unique set of codes
that made it less "love journal," more "love-mystery-manifesto-code-book."
Or something like that.
__________
So the mere fact that this new one resembles a love letter
is a pretty good start. I don't know if that will mean anything to you, or not. Maybe the ones that are "crazy" are even more valuable to you, since they represent that I really was willing to do whatever-felt-right, rather than trying to fit my love journals into some set of predetermined, this-is-what-love-looks-like expectations.
Or, maybe, it'll be exciting for you to get a Love Journal that actually looks like a Love Journal: something that communicates all the reasons that I'm so in love with the idea of spending the rest of my life with you.
I think that's what "love" has meant for me, since I've fallen in "love" with you. It means that when I think of my future -- no matter what version I think of -- it's a future in which you are my wife.
And I know the idea of "a wife" is inherently pretty bull-shittish. It's a weird idea, that the U.S. government should have any sort of say, as to whether or not we are "officially" in love with each other. Or "officially" committed to each other.
I've made the commitment in my mind. I've made the decision. I'm going to grow up with you. I'm going to continue to grow up with you. I'm going to watch you continue to grow up.
That's something we both believe, and understand: we aren't done growing.
We are growing older, yes. But that is still growing. There are parts of us that have sooooo much more growing to do. Some parts we haven't even birthed yet, that will end up out-growing and out-showing
some of the "strongest" parts of ourselves, today.
There is so much of us, still to be discovered. Still to be cultivated.
Still to grow.
__________
I love what these love letters represent. To me, they represent many different things -- all of which relate, in some obvious way, to the love they are meant to define, explain, and be evidence of.
They represent my willingness to be public, with my love. They represent my willingness to try my best at something (explaining my love), and not worry about whether or not I get it perfect.
It says a lot to me, that I've written these letters to you so consistently, this past year. And that I've struggled so mightily to write anything else with any consistency, my entire life.
The love you give me makes me completely ignore the fearful elements, of this "art form" (which is just "love-letter writing," in a way).
You've asked me a few times, "when are you going to post your review of Bill Burr's new special?"
And I don't have a great answer for you. Because I'm scared to. I'm scared to write. Because when I start thinking about writing, I start thinking about everything. I don't even know what I mean, by "everything." I just know that my mind starts racing a mile-a-minute, and instead of getting started, or just ... writing ...
I freak out. I panic. I overthink. I get in my head. I run a million projections, through an imaginary machine, in my mind. I account for wind, time-of-day, mood, previous strategies, potential futures, high-tide or low-tide.
I run a hundred miles. All in place. And I end up tremendously exhausted. Without ever moving forward an inch.
__________
When will I post my review of Bill Burr's "I'm Sorry You Feel That Way"?
When I remember: everything I write, is a love letter to you. Everything I do, is a love letter to you. It's ALL a part of the same love letter. It's all a part of the same, LIVING LOVE LETTER.
HOW I LIVE IS MY REAL LOVE LETTER TO YOU.
It's easy for me to forget that. My desk is cluttered. And I don't even want it to be MY desk. I want it to be a family desk. That you or SkyeWalker could come into, and use for whatever you want to use it for.
So, I fall short of that goal. I fall short of the goal of putting together the bookshelf. I fall short of the goal of earning enough money (for now). I fall short of the goal of putting all my clothes away. I fall short of the goal of preparing for my SAT tutoring classes. I fall short of the goal of e-mailing my students. I fall short of the goal of being the best basketball player in the gym (for now). I fall short. I fall short. I fall short.
And that is what my love letter is to you. More than anything else. It's the act of getting-up.
The fact that I fall, shows that I have tried to do something. For me, but also for you. I'm trying to do it, for us. So that we can have that more-interesting life together. So that we can find a better way, for us to be able to work out together. To be able to work together. To be able to have our Saturdays and Sundays, and our evenings, when we want them. So that we can get to that place. So that you can have your time, to do what you want to do with it.
So that you can become that Powerhouse, SuperNova, Native-Soul CEO
that everyone sees in you, once they see past your super-hot physical body.
(myself included;)
__________
You're teaching me to live my life in a new way. You're teaching me to love Sundays, because they're a chance to get a head start on my Mondays. I don't have to "hate" Mondays -- I can start loving them, if I just do a quarter of my Monday work on my Sunday. Then, Monday seems much easier, and it feels like the whole day is...rooting for me.
I make good money tomorrow. I teach in the morning, I come home, I run over and get lunch with you, then I head into the city, and then go teach again out in New Jersey. I'll do that, then head straight to my basketball game. I'll pack tonight, so that I'm not running around tomorrow morning. Since I'll already be packed and prepared for my classes, I'll feel comfortable -- even excited -- to go to the Y and get my shots up, tomorrow morning. Because I'll have gotten those shots up -- and worked out hard on Saturday, and played on Sunday -- I'll go into my game tomorrow feeling super-confident. And I'll have a blast, getting to play with my teammates.
Then I'll come home, and I'll get to tell you stories about it. And we'll get prepared for Tuesday. And compare notes. And keep growing.
__________
This life we have, is the love letter.
I'm ready to go say hi again. And spend some time with you. Cleaning. Getting ready for the rest of the day. And getting ready for tomorrow. Together.
Adulthood can be really, really fun. When you get paired up with the right bunkmate...it can almost feel like
(no picture -- I'm tired of dealing with paparazzi every time we go out now)
blakekathryn
gummygunk
tangentwithtanner
snowghoul
jbbartram-illu
ellievsbear
discoholicmusic
andulkaphoto
pixelskylines
prguitarman