the root of it all
my dear one,
It’s funny how you knew so much better what was important in life than I did for so many of the intervening years. While I was chasing money, love, and validation, you were digging in the dirt for worms and begging your mom to let you go to the barn more often. You knew from such a young age the preciousness of time spent alone with your imagination, letting your creativity run wild and free. That days were best spent running and rollerblading and riding horses until your muscles ached so badly you could barely stand up - building forts in the woods and coming home with legs scratched up and dirt-blackened finger nails, completely exhilarated from the smallest accomplishments. Doing none of these things to look the best or be the best or “for your health”, but for no other reason than that it made your soul sing. Failing and failing and failing again but not even realizing that that is what you were doing, because the life was in the doing itself and not in the so-called successes. That the people you love are for loving and not for grasping onto, and the best friends you will make are the ones you meet doing the things that you love. The ones you laugh with so hard that it makes your stomach seize up and tears pour down your face.
