Dear Me: "I'm so proud of you."

A Letter to Ourself: Year 1 (2023)

We did it! Our first group letter to Ourself. Seven of you submitted letters to yourselves on the topic of transitioning from 2023 into 2024, and I collaged them into this fine, weird, wise, beautiful letter to the collective “I” that we are together here in the Courtyard. Thank you to our authors (see below for the key to who’s who). It was a privilege to read your letters. Thank you for trusting me with this holy material. I’m already looking forward to Part 2 in this Letters to Ourself series.

If any of you have requests for a certain topic for our next letter, please let me know. And now, I give to you this letter, our first. Enjoy. And a blessed new year to you all.

Dear [2024-Is-Upon] Me

2023 has been miraculous, like all my previous sixty-nine years of growth have finally fallen into place and I am entirely content yet still freshly new and excited to be alive. How on Earth will we top that one, dear Soul? (1) I’m so proud of you. You stopped hiding your true self from your family, and much to your surprised delight, they responded positively. You found your voice. (2)

[However,] I’m sorry to admit [that] I like to pretend you don’t exist. I try to avert my eyes when I see you in public. I leave you on read when I see your text. Give you some kind of lame excuse why we still haven’t made plans. (3)

You unnecessarily took things personally. Your inner child continued to need the love it missed long ago. You wondered if you deserve the happiness and comfort you’re finding. (2) It’s okay to ask for what you need, even if others might not like it, or might not approve. It’s okay to not always get the approval of others. It’s okay to need things. It’s also okay to want things. It’s definitely okay to ask for help. In fact, it’s recommended. (4)

However, there’s always a moment after the exceptional. A second after the sun finally sets. Because now I’m here in the dusk of the day, waiting for the sun to rise again. Waiting for understanding to arrive. Waiting for my life to start. (3)

[So:] is recruiting your eldest son into the business going to help, or become a family dynamics minefield from Day 1, 2024? Where to start? How do we navigate this together? What if we fail? Will this ruin our relationship? (5)

It’s okay to be flawed, to sometimes be mediocre. It’s okay to just be okay. It’s okay to hold multiple truths at once. (It’s the truth). It’s okay to flail, to wobble, to slump, to contradict yourself. (4)

[And yet,] I completely and totally fell in love with myself as I welcomed all my parts, even embracing those I’d denied, shamed and avoided. Claimed an end to aggressive self-improvement—contentment NOW. (1) [Because] the longer I pretend like I’m here on my own, [and] the more I insist [that] days only contain brilliant sunrises and painted sunsets, the less responsibility I take for the space in between. I think there’s a piece in here about death denial but that’s a different letter to a different self. (3) This is not learning, not really, so much as realizing at a deeper level: death is common. (6)

Nonetheless, it is an empowering experience to believe I needed something [read: help] for years, then realize that I no longer do. I can do this. On the flip side, it leaves me feeling defeated. It hurts also on a more human level. (7)

So here I go yet again, on to another “big new thing” that may fizzle or may not (6), [and that is this:] I love my son, in all his complexity, and am very proud of his happy resilience, intellect and grace; the chill way he approaches life. Yet, I know he’s also prone to procrastination, disorganization and anxiety, manifestations of the way his brain was wired from birth. Is it too much to hope we could collaborate effortlessly, and I would not have to manage him much? (5) It wasn’t until a day or two later that it hit me—ha!—I can do that! (6)

It’s okay to make mistakes. It’s okay if help doesn’t always arrive. It’s okay to be let down. It’s okay to accept it when help does arrive, which is maybe the hardest part of all. (4) You had better embrace the challenge with humility and finesse. (5)

Naturally, [what it comes down to is this], dear Me: all we do is reflect and build on the foundation that lies beneath this miraculous Life. Followed by an ability and an intention to BE whomever we say we will be. (1) [So] as we wait for the the sun to rise again, because it always does, I need you to know I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’ve been dismissive. I’m sorry I have not honored you. (3) This failure hurts. But I won’t let this failure define me. (7) And always forgive yourself and know that you don’t really know how the Big Everything works. But maybe someday you will. But probably not. (6) It’s okay to hope, though you might want to remember to hold hope gently, like a small bird cupped between your hands; don’t squeeze the thing too tightly (and—it’s okay if you do, hope will be okay, you’ll be okay, too, sweetheart). I love you. I see you. I’m with you. I’ve got you. I’m grateful to you. (4) I’ve found the partnership I’ve yearned to have for most all my life. (1) This is going to be the best year ever. (2) I got this. 2024, let’s do this baby! (7)

Love,

Me

We made that! Thank you to the selves of Ourself:

[1: Di] [2: Randy] [3: Jacob] [4: Moriel] [5: David] [6: Carol] [7: Alex]

And thank you for your support. Your comments, shares, and patronage help me keep this fire lit and tended. Couldn’t be, wouldn’t be, doing this without you, my readers.