There are times that I don’t feel like writing you a letter. These are usually the times when I don’t like who I am, or where my head’s at. My goal with these letters is sometimes to teach, other times to inspire. Sometimes I just want to entertain or make you chuckle, but I realize that when you revisit these, when the time is right, or perhaps after I’m gone, you’ll probably value insight and truth over anything else. It’s what I would have wanted if my mother had written letters to me when she was alive. It’s what the people who talk to me about the letters I write say that they wish they had from their parents. No one mentions wanting good grammar, structure, or even coherence. They just want to see inside the heads of the ones who raised them, for better or worse.
Tonight is one of those nights that I don’t feel like writing. So should I anyway? Do I let you into a headspace that isn’t me at my best, or one that I’m not proud of? Is it constructive? I don’t want you to ever think that any of my reactions, struggles, angers or demons are your fault- and I’m not sure that you having access to those things in the form of a permanent letter that captures me in a temporary state represents any more truth than the times when I am able to produce a message for you that has been measured and meditated on.
Maybe you knowing about this struggle is enough. Sometimes the things that you don’t see, or know, or read, are just as important as the things that you do. I believe a fool gives full vent to his anger. I believe it wise to suppress the cynical byproducts of a bad day spent on this planet. I feel this way because I’ve gone down this road with people before- people I love decidedly less than my own precious children. Honesty isn’t always the best policy, especially because feelings aren’t always honest.
I want to be honest with you, and right know I’m willing to honestly admit that I’m not sure the best way to do that. Just know that my pride in you and love for you aren’t as seasonal as my moods.