I Know

I know, that although it may not get better today, or tomorrow, or even for another year, it will get better.

Dear friend,

            Life is tough. I know, because I’ve experienced it first-hand, and as one more interminable year wraps up, I too know the feeling of simply wanting to put a nice red bow on top of it, then mailing it to some remote location, like Alaska, perhaps, or Mars. But I’m writing this letter to you to tell you to hang on. No matter how small that ledge is at the top of the cliff, or how weak your fingers are, or maybe even how tempting that perpetual nothingness is below your toes, I want you to hang on. And no, I’m not just writing this letter to save myself from the peculiar agony of losing a faceless friend who I may or may never know; instead, I’m writing this to save you. I know how it feels to have all those grades and piano recitals and homework add up to a whole mound of something, yet still feel like a fragile empty shell of a person, and I also what it’s like to look in the mirror that one morning and lack the courage to smile back at the one person who will ever truly smile upon you. I also know what it’s like to have your rain-boots fill up with your own tears, or experience that one heart-break that even chocolate can’t fix.  Because every time life seems to be offering up a ray of sunshine, but that one person who always runs or swims faster than you gets there first, and all that’s left is a half-eaten cookie, it’s not about how good that cookie tastes or even what it’s made of, but about what you are made of. And no; you aren’t made up of grades and piano recitals and homework; you’re made of something more, and that more is what sets you apart from that one person who always runs faster or swims better. I’m not writing this letter to remind you of all your failures in life- no, that’s a journey that must be taken alone- I’m writing this letter to suggest that before you put a neat little red bow on top of this year and mail it away to Alaska or Mars, you take one good look back at it. And I know I may sound like a bit of a know-it-all, what with telling you what to do and all of my “I Knows”, but that’s alright, because as long as I’m happy with who and what I am, I don’t really care what you think, and I would advise you to do the same. So if you do take my advice, and the next time you’re out caught in the rain with no umbrella you dance in it rather than wallow, or even something small, like smiling back once in a while at that image in the mirror, come next year, you’ll find that maybe you don’t really want to pack up the year, tie it up with a nice red bow and send it off. In the end, if there’s anything at all that you took from that long, jumbled rant supposedly resembling a letter, I want you to keep it. I want you to grab on to it, put it in the back pocket of your heart, and protect it. For the next time you feel like letting go and slipping into that inviting void, I want you to hold on. Because although it may not get better today, or tomorrow, or even for another year, I need you to know that it will get better.

Sincerely,

Your friend

Author's Note

Just a small letter I wrote for class the other day on finding the will to hold on. If you're going through a rough patch, I really hope this helps

Reviews

[jdr / Jennifer]

a great piece, wonderfully written- Thank you.

"the next time you’re out caught in the rain with no umbrella you dance in it rather than wallow, or even something small, like smiling back once in a while at that image in the mirror, come next year, you’ll find that maybe you don’t really want to pack up the year, tie it up with a nice red bow and send it off."