Thank You For Letting Me Go

To whom it may concern,

This concerns everyone. Anyone who will listen. To everyone I’ve known before and everyone whose path will cross mine in the future. To those I’ll never know personally, but whose unwitting reading of this becomes like gum on your shoe, following you home. Like deja vu, again and again when you least expect it.

This letter serves as my formal notice of resignation from being normal, effective immediately. While my time spent living humdrum and invisible served me well for survival, I look forward to a future of being seen and doing far more than I’ve ever imagined. I would like to begin by thanking you, the status quo itself, convention. I’ve had the opportunity to learn a great deal in our 40 years together.

You’ve kept me safe. I found my security in being mundane and unseen. In hiding behind a career that served everyone but me. In dating hollow men who would never satisfy me, but looked good on paper. In dimming my light for everyone else. The walls we’ve built together are strong, but I resign from my comfort zone.

You’ve helped me to fit in. To become a chameleon, always matching myself to my surroundings. To seem typical, be one of the masses and look the part. Standing out would have made me too vulnerable. You helped me color inside the lines and follow the rules. To be nice and to smile, no matter what my needs were. To not do too well, but to not fail. I resign from mediocrity.

You helped me be selfless. Giving. Altruistic. You couldn’t see my ugly parts if you only see what I gave you. It didn’t matter if I ran on empty, as long as everyone else was ok. To know that you hurt me, but that it must have hurt you more. Oh, these aren’t tears, this is just excess support for you. To carry it for you. I resign from worrying about the comfort of others.

You’ve helped me survive. You gave me just enough to numbly walk through life. Seeing the beauty and love around me, but never feeling it. You helped me dissociate. A glass wall between me and pleasure and pain of rawness. A zombie in a human suit, living on autopilot. Woven into my DNA, the depths we’ve evolved to are far too enticing to settle. I resign from operating solely on caveman functionality, from survival mode.

I would like to personally thank my dad. He did not follow in line. A crazy diamond, he was unabashedly himself. He did not fit in this world. The gaping hole he left in my heart will never be filled, but what is emptiness anyway? Room for growth, air to breathe, or perhaps just a different form of matter that we don’t quite understand yet.

I would like to personally thank my mother. For showing me all sides of being human. For trying to fit in, but busting at the seams to be herself. For pushing me forward and for holding me back. For passing down the trauma and mystical gifts she carried for the generations before. For being a human that is being.

I would like to thank my aunties. For some days showing up as pure chaos. Changing with seasons, helping me see that life doesn’t need to be a run-of-the-mill straight line. Some days showing up to dance on tables, to inspire, to travel with, to teach. Other days showing up as my personal warriors. But mostly, for all the days they showed up.

I would also like to thank my childhood church. For instilling so much enduring guilt into every decision I’ve ever made, while still teaching me that the truth is just love. An all-encompassing agape love.

The foundation was set. My path was clear. My eyes wandered to the sea, but with feet on the ground, I worked myself to the bone. My heart opened to the sunshine, but my back was too weak to keep the sky from falling. I drifted longingly to the sound of a distant melody but chose to follow logical choices. I’ve heard the call many times before but drowned it out with the inner monologue of my fear.

I was never meant to be on this side of the looking glass. To sit and stand when I’m told. To only create if it meets the company guidelines. To only laugh when it’s appropriate. To love someone painfully dull and dominating because it’s safe. To be so aesthetically pleasing to others that I could inspire a vision board. To sit in a boardroom. To answer never-ending emails. To make sure I smile when I answer the phone because they can hear it. To fall so far into line that I forget who I am.

I would love to offer my service to ensure a smooth transition, but I’m frankly not going to. I’ve done more than enough already.

I wish all those who dimly light their lives the best. The scared, the boring, the sheep. While I deeply hope that one day you’ll break out of your shells, I accept you all as you are. I send my unconditional love to all those taking shelter in your comfort zone.

Thank you again for everything. But most importantly, thank you for letting me go.

Sincerely,

Jamie Callaghan