Dear A,
During my first year of college, I took a class with the most awful T.A. in this history of teaching assistants. She was rude, and believed her opinion to be right over anything else. She often berated our class for no apparent reason, except that she seemed to like the power trip. She was eccentric, had purple hair, and a variety of odd tattoos scattered across her skin.
I do not remember a single thing I learned from Marisa during that quarter, which is likely because I learned nothing academic from her at all. But on the last day of class, someone raised their hand and asked what the tattoos she had on each of her wrists said.
I had been wondering for 10 weeks what she had permanently etched into the thin skin just below her palms. They were words in typewriter font, but it was impossible to see what they said without getting close to her, and she was someone I had no desire to be close to at all. So thank goodness someone was brave enough to ask.
Be here.
Be now.
I was a little bit disappointed with the discovery. I was expecting something much more wild or abstract or weird from someone like her. And so, as I left class that day, glad to not have to answer to Marisa ever again, I forgot all about the wrist tattoos. Until tonight.
For some strange reason, things in our lives have an odd way of resurfacing -- some kind of cyclical joke we can't see coming until it has been played. I haven't thought about Marisa in years, she was no one even remotely important to me, and yet, here I am, writing about her to you.
Be here. Be now. It's my biggest struggle.
My weakness in life is living too far in the future. I base my moves and plans on imagined milestones. I forget that what I want or what I hope for is often drastically different from what I have, and so I am constantly disappointed. I've realized that if I reside too much in how I want things to be, how they are will never be enough.
This is why I get so distraught when things with you aren't what I want. You see, it's because from the day we met I started placing you in tomorrow, and then in next month, and then in next year, and five years, and ten years. And in doing so, I missed out on the here and now. I was getting close to this discovery when we agreed on "one day at a time" but that's not the same. It's too easy to string all the days together and wind up in the same trouble I was hoping to avoid. I was on the right track, but I still had farther to go.
It was sometime last April (it was April 24th to be exact) when we first talked about "one day at a time." We were in a bunk bed in the mountains just outside of Julian. It was the first time we ever talked kind of seriously about our potential future. I played you my wedding song. We hardly slept. Natalie was upset that I missed school to be there with you. But the next day, you sent me an email and at the end of it you said, "I understand why you sand you want to take things day by day. I feel the same way. I was very moved by the way you expressed fears about what may happen with us. There is a piece of my emotional self that I felt coming back yesterday. Thank you."
And then you said:
Right now, in this moment, I love you.
For whatever reason, I lost sight of what in the months following. I forgot about the importance of the moment because I was looking too far at the days or months or years ahead. What a waste. What have I missed? What have I lost?
I'm so sorry. Forgive me. You don't deserve to be placed in a future only I can see. You don't deserve to have to live up to the expectations I've set based on what I want, not on what I have. The reality will never match the fantasy, just like Chris said, and we will all end up losing in the end. I can't promise that the future won't slip into my mind from time to time, because it's important to have some sort of plan. But I will do my best to remain present in the moment, whatever it may bring.
I will be right here. I will be right now.
Love, M
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