Dear Andie,
Sorry this has taken me so long. Don’t worry about how long yours ever take you: I am here to listen (or read, as it is). Always. There is no expiration date on my curiosity or on my interest in the life of my old and new friend. But let’s stop worrying about it, okay? I’d love to hear from you in a day, but if you post any time in the next month I will be positively tickled. (But I’d really like it if we not abandon the project. Not that you would do that. Just sayin’.)
As you related to much of my letter, I relate to much of yours. If I indulge myself to be exactly who I am without thinking or without trying to make myself better, I am bitter and spiteful and quite intolerant of any weakness or softness in others. In high school I think I was a bit of a shrew, but I like to think that I have grown up a bit since then. I have realized that there is a higher calling than being clever, which was a tough thing to learn. I often held so tightly to the difference between my peers and I– in their stupidity, or their cruelty, or their insipid and puerile priorities – just because I wanted so badly to be different. I wanted to badly for there to be a reason, something to blame, for life being so difficult for me when it looks so easy for everyone else. It was a long, hard thing to overcome. I am still. Sounds like you had a progression somewhat like this, yes? I think this happens often for girls who have something to prove and the voice to prove it.
Mighty Mud Mania was totally me! My mom says she has a picture of us together there. That is so funny that you remember me as being fearless – now I guess I just more feisty and fierce than fearless. And yes, there is a building in my backyard, my dad’s garage for his business as an electrical contractor. My parents still live in that house. His name is Guy. My mom just reminded me that you had a nanny, I must have just assumed they were your mother. I remember once eating tortilla chips on the barstools in my parents’ kitchen and you said, “I was BORN to eat salsa!” My mom is still laughing. You came up occasionally when we broke out the Pace and Tostitos because of that line. I remember a locking safe or diary or something with a combination lock that we hid under a bed. I remember something about you not liking your sister, but I don’t remember your actual sister. It’s still so enlightening to me, what we remember. I hadn’t thought of Mighty Mud Mania in years until you mentioned that. Your words are exactly how I remember the preschool you: timid, silly, but sure of yourself. It’s nice to hear you’re still that way.
I am heartfeltly sorry to hear your parents are no longer together. That must have been hard for you, especially when being fourteen or fifteen is so rough anyway (at least, it was for me). I am incalculably lucky that my parents are the love of each others’ lives. They are good people, and for that I am grateful (but god, they are so annoying sometimes! ☺). I have no siblings; it is so strange to think how you might not know these very basic things about me. What seemingly obvious things don’t I know about you? To fill you in further, my two favoritest things in the worlds are books and chocolate, closely followed by travel and talking. What about you?
I guess I am lucky that I can say that not really much has changed since I was five, in my physical life. My parents still live in the same house on Cactus and the 101. I still love to read and I still love to talk. I still love art, pink, my cousins, and theatre. I still have a hard time with people my own age sometimes, I still get really nervous about nothing (like blogging). In my mind, I have been through some struggles, but as you say: they make me who I am. I never had any reason for this, I guess I am just inclined to being disproportionally melancholy. I have spent some time being lost, to be sure. But I have learned that instead of every arriving at the locale of Not Lost, it’s more like bridges between being lost. The bridges are getting longer, thankfully. Maybe I’m finally growing up. I have changed, too: I am much more forgiving than I was, much more outspoken and adventurous (though still not very, except with food). I like that line of yours: I have begun to like who I am today, scars and all. Well said. Though sometimes the scars of my struggles are more obvious than I might like, it keeps me honest. In the words of Popeye: I am who I am and that’s all that I am.
I am so much a product of where I grew up, that’s an astute and telling question. Would I love to travel so much if I grew up somewhere more exciting? Maybe. Would I be so attached to my books if I had a less boring life? Probably not. I realize now that boring is safe, and safe is good for a child. I am often frustrated by how very Wonderbread WASP I am. Couldn’t my parents have at least taken me somewhere more exotic than Payson? But again, it made me who I am: the library was my airport. What about you? As for the people, places, and events that made me who I am: I could go on for days. I’m a big fan of self-analysis, obviously. So let’s break that one up, okay?
This sounds like a good plan, to have one personal and one general topic. So for next time, here is your personal topic: What people have made you who you are? (You can leave out parents, if you want. I can assume that much.) So then you can pick the general topic? Anyway, we’ll just see where this goes. We don’t seem to be running out of things to say, huh? That’s good. I’m glad.
Just as one last silly, superficial thing: I am something of a connoisseur of quotes. Shall we trade a few, like one at the end of each letter? I’ll kick of the exchange:
“I can ask the wounded man where he is hurt, but I cannot become the wounded man. The only wounded man I can be is me.” – John Green.
You know, I’d also be delighted to hear what’s going on in your right-now life, if you want to talk about that. The form I suggested was only for if we got tongue-tied, which we don’t seem to be. I am here to get to know you, in any manner you’ll allow. I am still grateful that you allow any. Thank you, again.
Rain-in-the-middle-of-the-nightly yours,
Anna
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