It’s gonna be you and me, gonna be everything you; you’ve ever dreamed

Magellan,

Elemental Pole Theory in full effect this week. I also feel a long letter coming up so go grab a glass of water or something. Maybe a snack too.

My project to you came up a few times this week. When I applied to my job the first time I wrote to my future employers that I met a boy in a bar who was leaving to travel the world so I started a letter writing campaign to keep in touch- and included a link. (Apparently that helped get me on the short list). I spoke again of my correspondence to you this past Friday, in a bar at a table surrounded by people I had just met. I can’t recall how it came up but we were having a discussion about art and how to be creative outside of work.

I don’t think of each one of these posts as art so much as a therapeutic way to share a bit of myself with you while I try to make sense of my life and the path that has led me to this moment.

But they are art. Life is art! We are merely bags of bones with thoughts and hopes and dreams. WE DREAM! When we are not awake our body and subconscious create a one-of-a-kind, one showing only movie just for us. And we can write! All the ineloquent ramblings and the circles I write around my emotions are something beautiful, even if those instances are fleeting and full of grammatical errors and unfortunate word choices. So there you go, Magellan. You have no idea what beast you’ve unleashed. And thank you, Mag. I don’t know if you find value in these words but over here, once a week I feel like I get to be my true, unfiltered self for just a little while with you.

So this was a week. They are all weeks, it seems. Whataweeks. I feel like the more the world goes to shit the more my life starts to come together. Balance is a funny, funny thing. I think that life is rarely just plains. Them cannons and peaks are always going to present themselves as facts, whether they are truths or not. I have had some incredible conversations with new people this week. I have helped contribute to the naming of a company. I have picked up a paintbrush. I have cried almost every time I’ve read the news. I have defended all Goldfish cracker flavors as equals.

Trying not to be a weirdo. It’s hard. I’M INHERENTLY WEIRD! I think too much and am real awkward. You can’t take me anywhere. This is a whole lot of putting the cart in front of the horse and every other cliche about jumping the gun but I ask you, WHERE THE FUCK WOULD WE BE WITHOUT WISHFUL THINKING.

Trying to pay attention. To little details. I ride the 5X in the morning, and I usually am on the same bus at the same time of each morning. I’m starting to recognize the people who ride with me every day. You start to develop a loyalty to strangers. I’ve been watching all my plants too. Trying to interpret when they need more sun or water. Giving then reassuring pets. Leaving the oils from my fingertips on their leaves, as an indicator that they are mine and I theirs. We have a clover plant that we bought for a dollar at Lowe’s when we started being roommates and she is a very responsive little baby. Each morning she stretches towards the window to catch the first rays of sun, and when she’s thirsty she droops like a dehydrated dog on a scorching summer day. I also have a loyalty to plants. I took Aloeton John to work. He’s new, but he seems happy in the studio. Aloe Vera Wang appreciates being the only aloe plant at home. (AVW is bae).

I don’t know, Magellan. I’m trying my damnedest to be kind. I’m trying to exercise compassion. I’m trying to exercise (huzzah early morning runs!). I’m listening to the clues leaked by the universe. When I started these letters I didn’t know where they would lead. I hope I still have you with me, even though I follow no formal format or even stick to one point. (And fall infatuated with a new stranger each week). I have to believe that everything happens for a reason. Perhaps I met you so I could write letters and get a job with people who want to help me figure out how to be my best self. And maybe you met me to realize you were born to be a therapist. Or an editor. Or just to remind you that no matter where you are, you’re not alone and you have a friend. A friend who names her plants.

Yours,

N.

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