epic letter to myself

Greetings from my new address.

I'm finally officially settled in Austin, Texas, inhabiting the back bedroom of my sister's beautiful bungalow. My brother in law is a much-accomplished political scientist, so the bookshelves here are overloaded with heavy works by the likes of Chomsky. There's a precocious cat wandering around; she answers simply to "Kitty," has oddly human-like emotions, and seems to think she runs this place. Eleanor, my niece, learned to sit up on her own today. She's all chunky cuteness and "ga-ga's." And Joan manages it all with grace and clarity. In other words, I'm home. I feel grounded and clear-headed for the first time in a long time.

When I turned 25, a friend of mine said to me, "You'll have it made now. 25 is when it all started to make sense, for me. You'll begin to understand that your destiny really is your own making, and that no one is going to do it for you." Well into my 25th year, I'm realizing how right she was. My latest thing is that I've squeezed out all the room I had in my gut for hesitation.

I realized that when you remove that gnawing of worrying about what others think, you enjoy all of your days and moments infinitely more. I think a lot of worry, for all of us, comes from hiding things away or wondering if others are as well. I'm moving forward unashamed of the tapestry of happenings that put me here, that made me who I am at 25, unabashedly forthright about the questions I have. I'm looking for the answers, but I'm doing it the fun way.

Too deep for a Saturday morning? Sue me.