Two weeks ago, on a rainy Saturday, I curled up in a chair and wrote letters. Quite a few in fact. I wrote one for Korea and one for Carolina. I wrote one for Afghanistan and one for Colorado, Idaho and Washington. There is a nice stack for Oregon and even one for Alaska. They are all sealed and sitting on my desk. I keep telling myself that I've just been too busy to drop them in the mail, but today I realized that was a lie.
I thumb through the pile and trace the carefully written names. I don't have to break the seals and re-read the letters to know the thoughts I penned. I shared a few secrets, braved a few dreams, and whispered a few hellos and even a couple goodbyes. But the words I wanted to share have been shattered, nullified, outdated over these last two weeks. I am amazed at what has changed over what feels like just a few short days.
The sun was out and it seemed like a waste of a last remaining day, not to walk. So I braved a walk with the dog down to Blockbuster. The plan was to go dancing tonight, free lessons at one of the churches, and I figured the more the merrier. But as I flipped through the names, to send a quick invite, my enthusiasm fell. It seems that all the names are for people who don't live near by. For people who don't understand the sheer joy and the utter pain of living in Alaska. So I closed my phone, raised my chin, and took to barking at the dog instead.
You see, it is hard to be here, but here is my home. And yes I left part of my heart with you, but in some strange way I've found the peace I have been searching for.
I tried to share what I'm going through. I've tried to explain why I shift like sand. I knew I couldn't say it out loud, so I tried to write it. And now, now my words have sat for two weeks collecting dust on my desk, while life continued. And those words, so thoughtfully and painfully written, are now outdated. And it makes me so sad that perfectly wonderful cards have been wasted on my words, and you'll never see them.
My words will never be read.
It would be too hard for either of us. Too misunderstood.
But I tried.
That's what counts right? The trying, not the failing.