All These Places

Have you ever written yourself a letter to the you in a year from now?  And then given it to someone to mail after those 365 days had passed so that appeared like a surprise to your future self?  No?  Well, to be fair, I never would have done it either if it hadn’t been required.

Let me set the scene:

One year ago, I was wrapping up a leadership program in Colorado.  As a group, we had spent nine months attending seminars about integrity and community responsibility.  We were learning about ourselves and our abilities as leaders.  And on the last day, we were forced from the comfort of our group and told to take a quiet retreat and go off on our own for two hours to compose this letter to ourselves in a year.  We were on a ranch that sprawled at the base of a mountain and my classmates went in different directions.  I wasn’t wearing appropriate footwear so I sat in the backyard.  And I wrote a letter to me-in-a-year.  It was supposed to be the crafting of a plan—expectations, goals, things learned—and for a rare moment in time, I had writers block.  How was I supposed to predict the year?

Fast forward aforementioned year:

My classmates had mentioned that they had received their letters and I ran to my mailbox each day, looking for my handwriting in the addressee space, the yellow forwarding sticker showing an address in West Virginia that year-ago-me could have never predicted.  The letter didn’t show and last week I made my way to Colorado to retrieve the rest of my things; a bittersweet trip that marked the end of a life that I had known for so long

                In the garage, my things had been packed in boxes and on top of the boxes—the letter.  I left it there and joined my friend Jen in the bedroom to go through my closet.  A few minutes later I told her about the letter.

                “What did it say?” she asked.

                “I completely forget.  Let me go get it.”

                I walked back into the room with the letter, ripped it open and began to read.  And then I began to sob.

                “Wow,” said Jen when I finished.

                So what did it say you ask?

                Hey you,

                How well do you remember that day a year ago—when you sat in the surroundings that you now called home?  A day in the middle of so much busyness.  You couldn’t even be bothered to venture much further than the backyard…worried that you wouldn’t find another spot, worried that you’d be trespassing…that it would be itchy.  And then you sat slightly upwind of a chicken coop, bemoaning your decision…wondering if it was wrong, wondering if you’d regret it, wondering if it was too late to move.  And it was such a metaphor for how you led your life.  And I hope that at this time, a year later, you are working on this.  I hope that you are more present and if you aren’t, I hope you are nicer to yourself when recognizing this.  It’s clear that you are the only hindrance to you doing great things in life.  Throughout this program, you heard so many high compliments and if you could take those and really embrace those, you could take the world by storm.

                The jumpy feeling started to subside a little after about half an hour and you started to realize—I am here…and it’s where I will remain for a little bit.  Have you given yourself that benefit yet in life?

                What are my intentions as a leader?  What should have happened this year?  Acceptance, resolution.  Those are two big things.  Hopefully this past year brought some answers, brought some peace.  Nothing in your external world have to shift that dramatically…maybe it was just a shift within…to allow you to accept, appreciate and LOVE the things that are your reality.  And if you didn’t do that…the ability to let yourself slide on the rules.

Ash

                Wow is right.  Year-ago-me had no idea of the challenges that the year would bring…the dramatic shifts.  Perhaps she felt a little stirring inside, a little hint of what’s to come.  She spoke of strength, she spoke of acceptance.  She had all the tools in her toolbox even if she didn’t know she had them.  So I wish I could thank her…could wrap my arm around her as she sat near the chicken coop….to tell her that everything was going to be just fine.