Dear _____,

You know, as I sit down to to write you this letter, I am once again thinking about how these words are for me just as much as they are for you. At this point, I know I must sound like a broken record – this isn’t the first time I’ve written to you about this. It’s something I find myself coming back to quite often, the thought that I don’t always know why I write these. Whether it’s fueled by the hope that they reach someone or to give me some peace of mind is unknown to me. Maybe it’s a mix of both plus everything else unsaid (or unwritten, or yet to be written down – something like that). Perhaps it’s none of the above. Regardless, here they are.

Because does something need to have purpose to be meaningful, to have value? I think we make our own meaning, create our own value, based on what opportunities end up coming our way. Most days, I wake up and wonder what will become of me as the hours pass by, what will each minute bring and how will I be shaped by them. While this feels like a very personal experience, I know that I’m likely not alone in this sensation, that life asks us all to re-evaluate and consider where we’re going and who we’ll be. It helps to imagine that we aren’t alone in that feeling, that search for what will fill our hours. Because it’s something we all have to do, one way or another.

No matter where we’re at, we keep doing it, this funny little thing called life. We keep getting up, we keep moving forward, we keep on writing these letters – because we find some meaning in the mere act of doing these things. Because it brings us joy and comfort. Because it causes our hearts to flutter. Because it allows us to maybe feel something outside of ourselves, for once. Because maybe it just feels like we’re actually doing something with ourselves that we can be proud of. Whichever your reason may be, that reason can be enough.

I’m rambling again, so please forgive me. I guess this is meant to say a bunch of things that I haven’t really figured out myself yet. Maybe in all of these pages and in this soup of words and letters, you can find something that speaks to you. Maybe I fill these spaces to leave something behind, to make something from nothing. Maybe all it ever is and will be is someone reaching out with the hope to be heard and move people with whatever this is. And maybe it’s merely to prove to myself that I can do something subjectively worthwhile, even if these letters to unread.

Whatever it is we choose to do – you, me, anyone – we make our own meaning from it, draw our own value from it. Maybe that’s all it takes to keep at it.

Originally written 03-10-2025

Accompanying music: Elk – Acoustic by TTNG