Dear Pen Pal,
When you stop to worry, you realize how much can go wrong out there in the world, or out here in the world, I should say. The semantics highlight a common misconception, that the world is ever only out there, and that we are not always, constantly, in it. The world is a terrifying confluence of tragedies, and when the friction forces you to face the collisions, a person would do anything to not have to think about all that is happening out there, in here.
The super moon is shining through my tent, but its light isn’t quite bright enough to light up this page. I suffer often in life, a pessimist would argue that I suffer perpetually, but if I stopped suffering, what would I write to you about?...I want to say that my suffering stems from awareness, awareness of all the motivations for suffering. Awareness of love lost, of mistakes made, of lies believed, of trust broken, of dreams deferred; aware of everything all at once. Aware of the lack, unaware of the abundance. Suffering has always seemed inevitable for me, but I embrace it so that I can translate it so that others can understand why they are suffering. But if after all this time, all these words, and all of this paper, if no one understands, then no one would understand that better than me. I cannot stop you nor anyone I love from pain that is meant for them . . .
The more my trauma talks the more it reveals my hurtful habits. I feel guilty for letting go of love. What I want and what I need, in this vulnerable phase, are opposites that don’t attract. You don’t owe anyone love, nor should you offer love as an obligation. You will find yourself at odds with your intuition, forced to tell a person who would do anything for you that there is nothing they can do for you. But you have never taken for granted the little things, and so you are overly aware of all of the micro-moments you are forgoing, the moments that comprise your most potent memories. You defer without definition. I cannot accept your love and I cannot tell you why. But if you knew the answer, why would you tell the truth? A stinging, hurtful admission, a confession, an indigestible acceptance that a love that you love will transfer to another human’s heart that can and will accept it and often the arrogance of intuition will refuse to explain its strategy. You will conjecture to make sense of it. Why does it feel wrong when it feels like it was the right thing to do? But does it feel wrong? Or does it hurt?
What is right, hurts more than what is wrong. Trust your timeline. You will be forced to. There is no such thing as the right love at the wrong time. You cannot ignore the metronome of the universe, or you will be out of rhythm.
Clarity does not abruptly cease the suffering. Clarity is your diagnosis, your terminal truth. Clarity is not healing, but the impetus to heal. I must accept the unacceptable and let go of what I refuse to lose. Suffering is so easy, healing is the hard part. If suffering were strenuous, we would all be too lazy to bother. Healing is what we avoid. The idea of healing sparks a fear of change in an opposite direction, a regression, a release of an idea and an embrace of the actuality . . .
Trauma changes what is true for you . . . I wish I had more scars . . . I wish I had more scars so that no one would feel the need to pretend like they don’t have any.
The way to live without regret is alignment. Act, speak, and love in the truest ways to you in that moment. Strategy has its place in war and games but cannot dictate the soul. Imagining endless sequences of actions and reactions, cause and effect, is a useless, paralyzing practice. You never know which domino will fall next, nor first, because you aren’t the one tipping them over and no piece stays where you put it. The minute you see yourself clearly in the glass, the mirror fogs and the condensation lingers and obscures your only opportunity to see yourself for who you are. The closest we ever will get to a view of ourselves is some form of reflection, but that doesn’t mean that the world can see us clearer than we can see ourselves.
I want to write words that say something. My greatest fear is to write my final word and wonder if I ever said what I was trying to say. You don’t find peace, you create it, we know this, but we under- estimate how often we can or should create it; create it constantly, surround yourself with it, immerse yourself in it, emit it. Peace is subjective but when you feel it, even for the vaguest, faintest of moments, you will feel how you felt before all of life happened to you.
It all had to happen. And you will be you, because it did.
Love,
Ryan Anthony Dube
*Author’s Note *
When I read Paper Planes over and over again, this is the letter that speaks to my heart most directly. If I were to share just one letter from the book, I believe it would be “Everything, Everywhere, All at Once.” I wrote it at one of my lowest points, but yet there is such a tangible optimism in the words written that it brings tears to my eyes. If you are hurting, I hope this letter helps you to heal.
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