dear chelsea,
in the weeks leading up to your birthday you start to think about this letter. phrases form and words bob to the surface of the vast splashing chaos that is your mind these days. you dust off the mental typewriter and ping plunk click out a few ideas. does it even matter? does anybody read this any more? yet, it's something you look forward to. and so, you continue.
there are so many things going on at any given moment that the stress, worry, joy, discontent, gratitude have just become one in the same. white noise is the soundtrack to your life. you had a baby. a son. he has brought with him light and sweetness. and in the same breath exhaustion, depression, deafening anxiety. how can both be true? everything is tangled. you understand more now than you ever have. how can both be true? it's a strange place to sit in. to look at what you don't know and make a place for it. and wait. wait until it becomes clear or unimportant.
you are 32 and it feels very good. you are 32 and it seems impossible. there is something hilarious in the bizarre fact that the world has kept turning and there is a generation of people who do not understand where you came from. it's like a secret you share with your contemporaries and you all get a good laugh out of "the kids these days."
you are happy and unhappy. you are lonely and content. you are healthy and in pain. you love words yet sometimes think in emoji's. you are just the looniest, girl!
the beauty of it all is that the more you accept these contradictions in yourself, the easier it is to accept them in others. and that's something.
happy birthday, go watch and/or eat something. let's go with "and."
love,
chels
p.s. you have a massive crush on jeff. his greying temples are like {heart eye emoji}.
