A Letter From Self

Dear you . . .
And you too . . .

The morning was interesting to say the least. I am not well in the sense that I can feel something in my body. And I don’t know if this is a change on the way. I don’t know if the change is good or bad or sudden or slow.
But I have that feeling, like I did when I was young and waiting for a note from my teacher to hit the mailbox.
I hated that feeling, like something was coming my way.

I left on time this morning, which is easy enough but getting out of bed and leaving on time has become harder for me lately.

Maybe this is because I have thoughts of bigger beds and laying someplace else, like, say, by the side of my love who I can say is more beautiful today than the day before.
Then again, life has taught me that love grows consecutively and constantly because true love is and always will be never-ending.
True love grows.
True love outlasts and endures and true love is both living and breathing, which means just like life, true love can die if we are not careful.

Be advised the main or the operative word in this is true; as in my true love, which defies fear, and defies logic, and in my heart, I do believe that true love can cure the social illnesses and the emotional viruses that kill people on a daily basis.

I have been at this game for a long time.
I am older now, which is obvious.
I am older than ever before, of course, and I will be older tomorrow, —and so this goes, both consecutively and inevitably.
Life’s a trip.
I’ll say that much.

I stood on a platform and waited for my train this morning. 

Delayed again . . . 
But ah, the sunrise was worth seeing.

It seems I’ve been standing on platforms in one form or another for a long time. Maybe I have been doing this for as long as I can remember. If it wasn’t the platform for the train to work. maybe it was the bus stop to school.
But we are always going and moving and we are always transforming or evolving from one platform to another.
Either way, the sunrise showed up with some mist in the air. The colors in the sky along the horizon were beautiful today.

I assume there was some rain last night, which is fine with me. I liked how the petals from the tree began to shed their white flakes. I like the mornings to look like this—not cold or warm but still at a nice temperature that you can feel the breeze and have it be meaningful.

They announced the train was running behind.
Nine minutes late.
(God, I love her. I hope she can feel this, I said to myself)

I saw a flock of Canadian geese while I waited for the train. They were heading east in the sky and flying in their V-formation. I should have taken a picture since a picture is worth a thousand words.
But no.
I figured I’d send this to you in my letter.
I watched the geese fly by. Maybe this was the biggest V-formation of geese I’ve ever seen.

I’ve always wondered about the few stragglers of the flock.
You know?
These are the last ones . . .
I mean the ones who trail behind at the rear.

I wonder if this is a position of dignity, like the elders making sure the younger have no one sneaking behind them.
Or maybe this is why they say “Nice guys finish last,” because they don’t mind giving the victory to someone else.

Or is it more the fact that the ones who trail behind just can’t keep up?
Is it like me when I was little and trying to keep up with the big kids?
I tried but I had little legs.
Or maybe I was at the rear because deep down, I knew I didn’t belong and that is what scared me the most.

When you are young the last thing any young person wants is to be the one no one notices or cares about, or to be the socially vacant and the pawn or the sacrificed one who took the burn when others were cold and needed firewood.

I think about the stragglers and wonder if they fall behind because they struggle to find their speed.
I wonder if they trail farther behind and fear they’ll be forgotten or fall so far back that they’ll be lost and they’ll never find their flock again.

I think this is a projection of me, of course.
I can understand that kind of fear.
Be the pack. Be the leader.
But never be the straggler or the weak one or the sacrificial one who no one cares for but everyone needs (in case it gets cold again)

I never wanted to be weak or unwanted or try so hard to fit.
But the obvious differences about me and my personality were too glaring to have me be comfortable or feel “at home.”
The hardest, bravest and freest feeling was the time I was brave enough and string enough to walk away without every looking back.

I wonder about the goose who leads the way. I wonder about the goose up in front and the goose who forms the point of their V-formation. I wonder about their dignity and do they know the responsibility of being up there, and out front.
Or is this more about the alpha male or being the leader and on top.
Is their ego too big, even for a bird?
I know that Twain once wrote, “Man is the only animal that blushes. Or needs to.” and I understand this too.
I understand this differerntly now.

I heard a word yesterday.  Well, almost a word.
This is more of an acronym. 
FOMO
Fear of Missing Out.
Thank you for this.

I get that, by the way.
I have that. FOMO
Or better yet, I have what the DSM5 calls Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria which is intense, and unbearable pain that’s been triggered by or the perception of rejection, criticism, failure, or the idea that perhaps I am not as I am, and nor am I who I think I am.
But whatever I am; there is way too much more to this than I can fit in this letter.
So, for now, let me go on before I bore you with my letter.

I suppose I know a little about both, being the goose at the point of the V and being one of those stragglers who falls behind.
I know about the good things when it comes to being included. I know about the high times and the nights when I laughed out loud. And I know about the worries and the insecure thoughts that crept in because I worried if my position in the group was real . . .
Or was I just parttime and temporary?

I know about being excluded or left out and wondering why no one notices or seems to care.
How come no one defended me?
And why do I defend those who never deserved my attention?

I know about hearing so-called friends talk about a night out or a time that I missed, —and I know how it feels to sit home with envy on my mind, wishing I was included or liked and important enough to be valued and invited.

I suppose this letter to you is not so much a letter, but more, this is a plea or a way for me to relate and us to understand.
Or maybe I think we need to normalize this rather than just call someone sensitive.
Or rather than tell someone “Get over it,” maybe we need to humanize the fact that people are not kind and friends are not always friendly.
(Or real)
The fact is no one wants to be left behind or left out or worse, no one wants to realize that nobody cares and no one would mind if we went away or disappeared. 

I always wanted to be wanted.
I always had that uncomfortable anticipatory anxiety and that worry that perhaps I might lose my station in my circle of friends.
Or in other words, I was always afraid that someone would come along and push me out and again, I’d find myself alone or unwanted.
Excluded and uninvited.
I get that . . .

I have never been popular, per se. Then again, I never handled the spotlight very well either. My guess is I learned from poor teachers. Or better yet, I accepted lessons from the wrong teachers.
I learned more about what “not to do,” or how “not to” treat people.
Thankfully, the greatest freedom we have is the right to get up and walk away.
It took me a while
But I learned to explore that freedom

For some reason, and for whatever the reason may be, I accepted the idea that the outside opinions about me are fact.
I believed that all my fears about me are all true.
They are not.

I am not so sure if I changed because I am older or if I am older because I’ve changed
(or something like that)
I don’t know if I lost my flock or fell behind so far that I lost my place in the formation.
Or maybe there is a lesson here that I am far more important than I assumed.
Maybe the flock and the herd mentality is sick and being part of a flock means that I have placed a greater importance on being included than realizing where I belong

I do not think or believe that age or gender, or geography makes a difference when it comes to subjects of the heart.
We all have a core.
We all have thoughts and ideas.
We all have a history and a background, and I agree; everyone we meet is fighting a battle of their own.

I have more than one battle and more than one front and more than one challenge and more than one struggle.
But the one thing I have now is the understanding that I do not have more than one love.
There is only one. And she, or you, or us . . .
We know this clearly!

You know why and who you are to me.
And in the case you don’t know, then the good news is I will spend the rest of my life explaining this to you.
I will do this without complaints, and without regrets and without getting tired.
This is all I want.
But in fairness; I guess the fear is I’ll want this and I’ll dream for this and I’ll fight for this as hard as I can, but what do I do if I can’t get this.
What do I do if I can’t have you?

I saw something on a social media feed.
A young girl asked a young guy, “Did you ever love someone who you can’t have?”
The young man was good looking.
He had the universal handsome look.
He answered, “Yes.”
The girl asked him, “Then why love them if you can’t have them?”
And he answered, “Why breathe if you know you’re gonna die anyway.”
I love that answer
I suppose this is why I refuse to quit.
Even if my tasks or my dreams are impossible and my destiny is truly lonesome; I will not stop or give in or  go away, —so help me, God!”

Everyone is recovering from something.
We all have our own things. I have mine and you have yours.
We all have our own fears and worries.
Everyone has their own issues at hand. And I agree, no two things are exactly alike. No two people are exactly alike and the way I see things is different from how you see them. 
I see what I see.
You see what you see.
Sometimes we see things the same way and sometimes we don’t.
And that’s fine.

I have been me for a very long time.
Nearly 54 years.
Nearly 54 years have gone by. Nearly 54 trips around the sun. Nearly 54 anniversaries of the day I was born and nearly 54 years of ups and downs, losses and gains, highs and lows.

I stood on a platform this morning, waiting for my train, and heading to work. The sky was beautiful. Then again, so are you.
So is the way you are and yet; dare I say what I see or project from my thoughts what comes from my heart; your own beauty is hard to see when looking from the inside out
That’s why I am sending this to you
To let you know
Yes. You are the most beautiful girl in the world

I was thinking about the strength of the crowd and how good it feels to be “one of the boys!”
Or this would be “one of the girls,” to you.
Not that you care about status or the crowd.
But to me, this is true.
I was thinking about how it feels to be included. At the same time, I remember how it felt to be left out or unincluded, or worse, I know exactly what it feels like to be uninvited or sent away.

“Nobody likes you!”
What an infantile thing to say.
Also, I understand how hurtful this is to think, let alone hear.  

I have been writing about these things for a long time.
I am lost or maybe I am struggling and I am behind and no matter how I try; I just can’t keep up.

Maybe I am afraid of being lost or forgotten or worse, maybe I am afraid that I will never find my flock.
Or maybe I don’t want to miss out.
Maybe I don’t want to find out that the people around me would be fine without me.
 Maybe I felt more for them than they did for me.
And that sucks . . .

 Or maybe I am and I will always be the one who falls behind. 
Or maybe this is all wrong.

I am not part of a formation anymore.
I can say that I know who and where I want to be. But I am flockless and I moved away from the herd mentality.
I often think that I am a man without a place or a home or a land or a spot that I can call my own.

I never thought this would be me. Then again, I never thought I would be where I am and moreover, I never thought I would meet or know or come to appreciate someone as beautiful as you.

I know there are things people say that are intended to help. And I know why people say, “Don’t listen to other people,” or “Don’t let people get to you,” which is easy for them to say.

I remember being told real friends care and those who stay silent or let bad things happen are not real friends at all
I know the depth of what it means to be used as firewood, just so another person can keep warm when it got cold.

I do not talk to people the way I used to.
And I am fine with that.
I am a man in search for his happily ever after.
And you, you are someone in my heart
you are going to be the happily ever after in my life and my happiest fairytale ending.
I promise. you this
Always . . .

By the way, the trains into NYC run late a lot.
We do too.

Life does this also, but in the end, wherever we are, we are always where we are supposed to be
right. . .
on. . .
time. . .

Love always

Me—