Here's a thing I learned today, on the day my yoga teacher promised me "high vibrations" would make something exciting happen: When death is on the line, nothing really matters. The Bachelorette doesn't matter and dresses don't matter and nothing matters except everybody you've ever loved. All that really matters is watching your kid graduate or walk down the isle and how many days you spent with your family before you couldn't do that anymore.
You have to realize that -- you have to realize what's important before death is on the line and you're then required to realize it in the scariest, saddest way possible, but it doesn't even matter that I'm saying that to you right now, because you won't realize until you have to. That's the way it works.
What I'm saying is that sometimes, when someone says, "Drive out here and do sidewalk chalk with me," that isn't what they're really saying. They're saying, "Listen, we're going through this thing, and you're not going to come down here and talk to me about it, you're going to come down here and just be with me because we haven't done that enough in the last year, and you matter to me."
Tread lightly.
All my love,
Addy
I used to think you got to choose who you loved. Aside from your family, of course, because with your family, God just gives them to you and you have to love them, no matter what. But I thought that everybody else who came prancing through your life was a choice. I thought you got to say things like, "Eh, you're not that funny; I don't love you," or "I just don't think you're very interesting, so I don't love you," or "You are beautiful. I love you." But that isn't the way it works.
God just gives you people and you have to love them. No matter how much you try not to or just try and deny it, you can't. That's just not the way it works.
And your life is so full of people, some of them you love, some of them you less love, but you didn't get to decide that. That wasn't your choice, because you didn't mean to love that boy with the nice feet who sings out of the side of his mouth and shrugs his shoulders lot. Quite frankly, you said, "But he sucks!" and God said, "Too bad. Love him anyway." And you didn't mean to love blonde hair and blue eyes and new glasses, but she was so beautiful three years ago, and when she put things on paper, you didn't want to throw them away, and you've never stopped loving her, even when you denied it.
And he wields sarcasm like a lethal weapon; he can be a little daft sometimes, and you didn't mean to love him, but hats look nice on him, and his house always smells the same way, and two Decembers ago, in a thrift store, he proved he knew something about Emily Dickinson. There are times when you've looked at him and thought that you've literally never loved someone so much, which is crazy, but that's a real thing, you think.
And as much as you try to control who you love and who you less love, that's just not the way it works. God gave you Avery and Kaitlyn and Matt and Kyle and Benjamin and Morgan and Emily and Autumn and the rest of the gang and you never tried not to love them, but you never really made a conscious to love them. It just happened. That's just the way it works.
You don't get to choose who you love. That's how it works around here.
Passion fruit.
All my love,
Addy
Loving someone doesn't mean you have to love everything they do every second of life. Being best friends with someone doesn't mean that you have to want to talk to them every second and that you can't ever be annoyed with them or sometimes hate the people they associate with. Being a family isn't about never disagreeing or making mistakes.
It's about something so much bigger. Well, actually, I take that back. It's about something smaller.
It's about the way they smell; it's about recognizing that smell and knowing that when you smell it, you're home and you're safe and you've made it. It's about the way they shape the letter "u" and how you'd recognize that handwriting anywhere. It's about that smirk they wear when they are composing some sort of witty retort to what you're saying long before you've finished saying it. It's about hats. It's about misty-eyed laugher. It's about their fear of thunderstorms. It's about the dinner discussions. It's about Mondays. It's about cyber-stalking; it's about real-life stalking. It's about Legally Blonde the Musical. It's about how they have so many books that they can't even sleep on their own bed. It's about fake emails and bunheads and The Boy Book. It's about shouting "Drop dead!" too much. It's about singing "First Day of My Life" in a big crowd of people. It's about having secrets. It's about helping clean up the messes you've made together. It's about hair ruffles.
It's about the way they shape their words and the way your hearts beat together like a song and knowing that even though they might bother you sometimes or make you feel immensely jealous or incredibly small, that that doesn't matter at all.
XXX.
All my love,
Addy
