Hey Kid,

I was just thinking about your papa’s love letters to me. There aren’t many because that’s not his preferred method, but he writes them sometimes because he knew how much it means to me. Yep. That’s your papa. He’s the best!

It made me think. Love letters aren’t just for life partners. They’re for all different types of love relationships. Okay, stop it. I can just hear you saying it. “Mom, stop being weird.” I know, I know. But come on, you have to expect it by now. I’m weird. I lean into it, which makes it feel that much weirder. You’ll understand when you’re older. Hopefully.

I’m getting off-topic. So, yes. This is my love letter to you. I am so proud of you. I have been since the day you were born, and I will be in all future moments.

For instance, today you stood up to three teenagers at a play area. You had already eaten your lunch, and you and another girl were playing in that one blocked-off square that we sometimes go to. It’s the one in Central Beaverton off of like, main street, or whatever it’s called and Farmington? Anyway, the other girl had just turned four on August 19th. You’d just turned six on the 16th, so you had a nice little connection.

I’m getting off-track again. So, you and this girl were playing together, and three teenagers were messing around on the seesaw. They came over to commandeer the floormatpuzzlething that you two were playing with, and you stood your ground with your back straight and told them you and the other girl were playing with it. You said it assertively. You weren’t whiny or rude. They got a little flustered being talked to that way by a six year-old (go you!) and made a few comments. I looked at them, but didn’t say anything. You’d already said enough! They turned around and left you two alone.

Well, that’s just one of many proud moments. Your papa and I have talked with you about advocating for yourself. One day, you decided you were going to practice your “strong voice”. You had learned about it in school, and you were going to use it from that day on. Your teacher brought up that you’d been a little embarrassed to speak up in class or advocate for yourself, and so we double-downed working on that at home.

Now, you feel confident using it when you need to. Kid, you are amazing. (Yes, I’m going to talk us up a little bit here. Papa and I are working hard and giving you our very best as often as we can. I hope you do for the people you love, too.) Oh, look! I’ve already given you advice in what is supposed to be a love letter (annoying, right?). I might as well keep going!

Alright. So, everyone searches for happiness and, to a certain extent, the meaning of life, right? Don’t worry. I’ll keep myself from waxing philosophically on that statement. As humans, we spend a good part of our childhood and teenage years learning from others, right? Not only are you learning how to read right now (yes!!) and about careers and addition, but you’re also learning behaviors and norms and ways to communicate with your peers. You learn by assimilation, fortunately and unfortunately.

Then, you become an adult with a fully developed frontal lobe, and it’s hard to kick off the insecurities and uncertainties that come with that assimilation. Which traits are unique and beloved? Which interests are part of the zeitgeist? How vulnerable do you let yourself get in relationships? We have so many questions, but we don’t all find someone who becomes our spiritual mentor. I don’t mean a guru. I mean, an older adult that you look up to and learn from, an elder.

At this point in life, all you know is assimilation, and if you’re not careful, that’s all you’ll ever know. You won’t know who you are at the core of your being, and you won’t know happiness. It isn’t until you push yourself hard in one specific passion that only you can choose. Maybe you’ll push your creativity through one of the arts, or you’ll push your body’s limits through athletics, or you’ll push your brain through scientific research. Heck, you may even push your spiritual limits through a religion or philosophy. You might even do all of those things. I don’t know.

The key is that you pick something and that you do your best. You don’t have to be the best. You have to achieve your own personal best. You don’t want to be a slave to comparison or an addict. You don’t want to push in unhealthy ways. You gain that empowerment and that self-awareness, and then you have a sense of self, of place, of community. You find meaning in your life, and you’re happy. I hope with all of my heart that you find this contentment.

Here’s what’s funny to me. None of what I’ve written will stick with you. You may instantly forget it, or more likely, disregard it as the ramblings of an old, out-of-touch woman. It certainly won’t stick, not until you’ve learned it on your own.

So, why do I even bother writing to you in the first place? That’s a good question. I write it because it’s part of my love for you, and so it must be recorded. Selfishly, I hope you reread this love letter later, after I’m gone, and it brings you joy or happy memories. I hope I honor the privilege I’ve felt being your mama.

You have changed my perspective for the better. I’ve became more aware of myself as an introverted teacher. At times, I still struggle with leaving my former and any potential students. I loved teaching and learning with them. I loved it a whole lot, but it took a whole lot out of me emotionally and socially, too. My introversion and sensitivity both took a hit.

However, with this new perspective, I’m coming to terms with the decision I made to stop classroom teaching so that I can pursue teaching future generations in a new way, one that I hope continues to have a long-lasting impact.

That’s enough of that. I love you to the sun and back infinite times!

With all of my heart,

Mama