A Letter to Yourself

While I was in Portland, I realized that for the past several months I had not experienced pure joy in some time. In an attempt to capture that feeling, those moments of unbridled happiness I wrote a letter to myself. When I was younger, I never made myself a time capsule, but the idea was always appreciated within my imagination. The objects within carry such vast ideas and purposes. The time capsule itself seals the very moment and the entire exact replica of existence meanders through the years unchanged. The beauty in grasping time with all the complexities is transfixing.

That is what I wanted to accomplish within my letter. Once I would return to the dreary city of Ithaca, this letter would guide me to continue my trend of feeling inspired and love every day that I exist. For many months during the fall, I would wake up and just immediately feel like falling asleep again even after 12 or 14 hours of sleep. I longed for something else, a different environment, a different love, a different life. Portland ignited something within me and gave me purpose again.

It is interesting that "to be" is almost always one of the first words you learn in every language but we always have trouble doing simply that. At times, allowing ourselves to just exist and enjoy solitary moments is more challenging than anything we put ourselves through to achieve a serene state of mind.

Part of this way of existing involves living in more in a greyscale. The binaries of the absolute blacks and whites of a situation would tarnish any charmed experience. A brief romantic encounter can feel precious or delightful while at the same time inspiring great frustration. I wonder if it is healthier to simultaneously experience feelings such as being pissed and being blessed or to focus the mind on one individually.