A Different Type of Love Letter

Dear You,

Today I found myself contemplating our relationship. Do you remember the day we met? Yes, the summer of 2006. Online dating took on a whole new meaning. I watched your profile for weeks, unsure if I should take the plunge and just reach out. Were you what I really wanted and needed? I mean, you fit the checklist. I even had a friend check your profile to make sure I wasn’t overlooking some key bit of information.

I needed you. I wanted you. It was perfect. When I looked at you closely, I knew you would allow me to tap into My Story in a way I hadn’t before.

When I came to pick you up that Friday evening in July it wasn’t quite as simple as it seemed. I wasn’t just picking you up to hang out a bit and see where things would go. I was picking you up, believing you were the beginning of dreams come true. You were my first step in honoring the desires of my heart. I knew you would help me open up to becoming the woman I was meant to be.

I was nervous. Who knew if you would still be available? I was sure others were watching your profile too, impressed by your stats. But I threw caution to the wind, asked the appropriate questions and the next thing I knew it was a done deal. I was the proud owner of a Toshiba laptop computer.

I brought you home, set you up and was ready to go.

I have to tell you that for years the words and feelings connected to My Story ran together creating stories that a little Voice inside said needed to be shared. And for years I fought that feeling. The words and feelings were mine. The good were meant to be savored from time to time like homemade chocolate cupcakes. And the bad? Well, they were meant to be pushed down and away, forever locked in my heart.

But that Voice, that little Voice inside, always fought to win. Before picking you up, the Voice inside was telling me that it was time. Time to be honest with myself. The little Voice said it was time to open the door of my heart openly and honestly.

Okay Sherry, now write!

Write. OK. I decided to honor the Voice…kind of. I would tell the story of that time when I laughed so much. I would share that one time when we did that real cool thing. I would share how that one plan worked out so perfectly. I was ready to create feel-good poetry for others to enjoy. I was ready to paint pictures of this fun anecdote or that. This would be easy.

And so, blindly I typed as the words came to mind, knowing I was creating a masterpiece. When I refocused on the light beaming from your screen, I was nothing short of surprised by what I read.

What will people think when they know My Story?

What if people don’t understand My Story?

What if people judge me, think I’m crazy, because of My Story?

These questions were my reality. Not so positive. Not so sweet. Those questions were the outline for every decision, every thought.

I picked you, believing you’d pull the truth from me, accepting it as I’d always wanted it to be accepted. But I didn’t truly realize what I was getting myself into. Sharing My Story would mean answering those questions.

Unwilling to face those questions, I muted the Voice, closed the door to dreams I’d dreamed forever, and went on to create a new reality. Not so honest. Not so true. But enough to make those around me feel I was saying and doing the “right” things.

Sometimes I’d come back to you. Oh how many times over the years have I come back to you, “ready”, only to find myself giving you the same questions again and again.

But now, almost six years later, I have decided to stop fighting the Voice, realizing My Story may not be for everyone to understand. My Story may not be for everyone to embrace. But nonetheless, it is My Story.

And now, sometimes I come close to you and weep for the time lost. Sometimes I come close to you and laugh about memories created. Sometimes I come to you, kicking and screaming. But I do always come to you. And as my fingertips kiss your keys, trusting the memories are no longer my own, but portraits to be painted as abstractly or concretely as the day will allow.

And with that, my dear Toshiba laptop, which has waited patiently for my attention, I thank you for allowing me to authentically create My Story. Reminding me to honor the Voice of the writer inside that has been waiting patiently to come out.

With Love & Care,

Sherry

Sherry Samuels – Writing: The Final Frontier. Although just entering her mid thirties, Sherry has seen and experienced a great deal in this life and knows the rest of the journey, however long it may be, will be spent writing about the precious (and not so precious) moments. Enjoying everything from opportunities to strut her stuff in her rainbow-colored tutu to a lazy day with a Golden Girls marathon, Sherry really is a touch of sugar, a pinch (or three) of spice and everything (most days anyway) nice. Sherry grew up in the Midwest, has spent the last 13 years becoming a southerner and now looks forward to the potential to take on a whole new region in this great land…or another. And for now, you can find Sherry Dancing in the Rainbow on her blog.