I couldn’t think of a better way of reaching out to you than to try to write you a letter, in which I will attempt to capture certain moments of the past few months that seem to be shifting me away from what I find secure. I am unsure if I am scared (maybe a little, you’re welcome to reply back with your own insight after you read my letter, I would love that), or if I’m just ridiculously unfamiliar with what’s happening at the moment, but I certainly am a different person than the one I was when I first met you. The things that were moving me then, don’t seem to move me as much now. Not that they don’t matter, they do, but it feels like there’s some figuring out ahead of me and… I am sort of lost, or, let’s use a hobbit language, that seems appropriate, wandering.
I just purchased a yoga mat for the London workshop with you and I thought of you immediately. I’m not a yoga person and I am not sure if I will ever become one (I would probably love to, but I would also love to become a vegan and also many other things and I can’t see any of them happening any time soon, it’s like an ideal I wouldn’t like to aspire to, but there’s few other things I need to sort out first).
~ Since you’re coming to the country where hobbits were born, I would dare to make a parallel here; I almost feel like Frodo on his journey to the Mount Doom and I imagined you as Galadriel. I have absolutely no idea how I will really feel when we will meet, but I somehow feel that this little journey is important to me. I’m not expecting any help, or advice from you (“Elves seldom give unguarded advice, for advice is a dangerous gift, even from the wise to the wise, and all courses may run ill.”
― Gildor Inglorion), but I feel that meeting you and me making my little journey to London will mean something, although it’s impossible to say what exactly (it’s quite a long time since I felt this excited about going somewhere and it is a great thing to feel!). ~
I had a bit of a writer’s block you see. As much as I am excited about writing and I constantly draft posts and stories in my head, I wasn’t able to sit down to actually let them appear on the screen of my computer. I have gone through a short, but intense period of depression and insomnia during Christmas holiday and I had some health issues that made me feel very anxious and because they still persist, my mind is still not at peace and casts shadows on my days. But I am writing you this letter to see what it’s like to write, even when it doesn’t feel as easy as I hope it would. I want to witness myself being able to walk through this dark wood of uncertainty. For we never only walk in the light of the sun and some beauty is only found after we have crossed some darkness (and the darkness is not only found outside, some of the darkest darkness can be found inside and it’s probably this darkness that we must fight and conquer to come to terms with to become the beautiful beings we are meant to be).
~ ‘It’s like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered, full of darkness and danger they were. Sometimes you didn’t want to know the end, because how could the end be happy. How could the world go back to the way it was when there’s so much bad that had happened? But in the end it’s only a passing thing, this shadow; even darkness must pass.’ – Samwise Gamgee ~
You know, one of the questions I ask myself lately (which I would like to be answered in your Dear life section, please remind me later to submit it there, or just share this post with whoever manages it) is:
If all that you love and like doing will suddenly become impossible to do, what if things you were once doing with passion and freedom and without much effort will become very difficult, painful and scary to do? What if you would lose some important part of yourself, or forget something profound about your own being? What if you will find yourself in the middle of darkness so great that the mere idea of getting out seems so foolish, what if it’s actually unimaginable? Where to look for the strength, hope and beauty to enjoy life, can we actually enjoy life while we wander in the dark?
(I’m not saying I am in such place, but I have to confess that I experienced a short glimpse into the Sauron’s eye and it was enough to bring me to my knees. But eventually, I rose and accepted that I must carry on… )
So you see Jennifer, I haven’t forgotten about you. Every day I couldn’t write, because of my block, I was thinking of you (almost every day). I know I owe this to me, that I myself must be my own reason to write and although I chose to write you a letter, rather than coming up with a story, or an essay, I am sure you will understand. One of the most beautiful things I learnt from you is not to be afraid to connect with people who I feel connection to. To go out and seek the same kindred spirit. I think this is the true beauty of being human, to keep untangling the invisible threads of web that connects us all.
~ I always loved the way you communicated yourself out on social networks. I always loved your “Don’t be an asshole” agenda. Some people around me think you’re crazy. I have to apologise for not trying to argue with them. I don’t know whether you’re crazy or not, and I don’t care, I think I have seen what I needed to see in you and I fell in love with it. I think I loved you from the first post I read from you. (I hope I don’t need to explain this any further. I think I recognised something profound in you. I think in you I found a long lost friend.) ~
~ I think I’ll end my letter, it started to snow and it’s windy like hell. I have a few more stops on the bus till I get off and in my Osprey backpack I’m carrying four beers to enjoy later (not all four). I hope you get nicer winter in US than we get over here in UK. It’s pretty rubbish winter here if you ask me. But anyway, I hope you’re doing well and I shall see you soon. Until then … keep hunting the beauty as you always do, you’re pretty damn good at it girl!
PS: After reading one of the posts you shared (Pajama Soup; Part 1), I felt a bit ashamed for not feeling happy with what I have got. I almost wanted to ask myself “Why the fuck aren’t you happy?”, but I didn’t ask that. I guess we each carry our own cross and it’s almost impossible to judge one another (and it’s a very unwise thing to do – judging). So I sort of accepted that I am who I am and I feel what I feel. No one can be me, only I can do that. So I won’t punish myself for feeling shit about things that seem so pathetic and little now, also a bit less painful after I read about someone else’s battle. I don’t control how I feel. I can probably work on how I react to what’s happening, but it seems impossible to control feelings. Can you do that?
As this is a letter and not a post, that I want to polish until it’s perfect and shining with wisdom and beauty, I would like to dare to keep it a bit raw. If there’s one thing I always loved about you, it’s the pure rawness of your beauty, your attitude of unstoppable effort of finding a beauty in everything. Even in the most painful moments. For this, I will always respect you like no one else.