Day #3: Letter To Your Parents

If I'm honest, there is only a small window of time in my childhood where I saw you two as a unit. I learned too early that you were two separate people, with two separate lives.

For as long as I  can remember, I have loved you in different languages.

Dad,

I remember all too vividly my first few weeks at my new high school in Florida. I shrank in your absence. It was then that I realized just how much influence you had in shaping my self-esteem and building my confidence. I had always been your little girl. Mom still tells the story of how you wouldn’t let anyone hold me as a baby. There were no special exceptions for family or close friends. “You can look at her from right there,” is what she says you’d say.

As I grew, I became your buddy. You took me everywhere. Believe or not, I was so proud to be known as Mr. Holbert’s daughter.

But here, all of this was null and void. I wasn’t anyone’s little girl. Here, I was on my own.

I missed you more than words, matter of fact I only spoke when spoken to. I’d never known so much uncertainty and instability. Our new relationship consisted of Sunday evening phone calls and summer visits.

My first summer back home you arranged for me to have my wisdom teeth taken out. You took such good care of me. I didn’t even know you knew how. Mom was always the one I cried for when I was sick. I guess we both learned something new that day.

I love the carefree spirit that returned to me as soon as I was back home. All I had to worry about was what my friends and I were doing later that night. I had no doubt that you’d take care of everything else.

Six years later, after enduring the biggest heartbreak of my young adult life, I came back home indefinitely. To be taken care of. To heal. While you were unaware of  the circumstances that brought me home, you made me smile and laugh, just like you always had.

You would leave a box of my favorite candy with a smiley face drawn on the front. We spent weekends going on bike rides, watching too many movies and eating chili dogs from Gene’s.

Thank you for loving me and letting me be a kid. I know that letting go isn’t easy.

Love,

Tiff

Mom,

We never bonded more than the years of just you and I living in the sunshine together. I couldn’t fathom up and leaving you when it was time for me to go to college. Thankfully, USF was right down the street.

We took care of each other. Every night after classes and coaching, you’d find me sleeping on the couch with unfinished homework on my lap. You nagged me to sleep and save my homework for the morning. I nagged you to eat something other than just a bowl of cereal before bed.

We enjoyed the beach on the weekends and extravagant lunches after church on Sundays. After all, it was just the two of us.

But, we’ve had a rocky relationship as mothers and daughters often do. You got the brunt of my anger and pain once it finally surfaced--because you were there. I can only thank you for enduring that, and forgiving me once I finally came to my senses.

When I decided to leave the nest, I broke your heart. I’m sorry. I’ve become all to familiar with the loneliness you must have felt with too many hours to fill each day and no one to share your time.

But you came through it. I’m incredibly proud of your strength and resilience as a woman. If you came through it, I will too. I am my mother’s daughter.

I’ve found myself needing you now more than ever. I call just to be comforted by your voice, to ask why my coffee is never as perfect as yours, or what color Maalox to buy when I’ve got an upset stomach.

Your visits are too few and far between. I never want you to leave. I’m looking forward to my visit in June. You’ll spoil me like you always do, and I’ll let you because I miss you like crazy.

Love,

Your baby

Letter #2: Letter To Your Crush

Dear Jackson,

The first time I saw you I was just waking from a nap that lasted a little too long. My eyes fell upon your face, that beautiful face, and I couldn't help but stare. You were gone after a few short minutes, leaving me wondering who you were and when I'd have the chance to see you again.

I never napped again on a Thursday night, instead I restlessly hoped for your return. Much to my delight, you stood before me once again. I grew to anticipate seeing your face on Thursday nights along with the others. It became my ritual to watch you quietly, hanging on your every word.

I've always had a thing for guys like you. I just can't shake it, and trust me I've tried. You're hard working, kind-hearted, charming and oh-so-gorgeous. What's not to love?

I'm pretty sure I'm not your type, I'd peg you as a tall, skinny blonde-loving kind of guy. I am certainly not that girl, but I'm also pretty sure you'd love me.

What do you say, let's see more of each other?

xoxo,

Tiffany

Letter #1: A Letter to Your Best Friend

Dear Shayna,  

I’ve only carried only a few true friends with me into adulthood, but you were the first and for that you hold a special place in my heart. 

I remember the first day I saw you. You were sandwiched between your parents on the pulpit at Sherman Street. Before the end of their set, you picked up the microphone and sang “I Am”. I wanted to dislike you because I was 13 and insecure and you were effortlessly beautiful, charming and talented. While I can’t remember our first conversation, I also can’t remember a day after that one that we weren’t the best of friends. Where there was one, there was always the other.

You came into my life at an interesting time. My world was falling apart and I was holding a smile, hoping it would be enough to make it all go away. It wasn’t. But thankfully you were there. Day after day, phone call after phone call. You made the smile real, often times turning it to pee your pants laughter. 

A little over a year after we met, my parent’s finalized their ugly divorce and I was on a plane to Florida. The hardest part about leaving home was leaving you. From 1,000 miles away, I used a borrowed, pre-paid cell phone to sneak chats with you from my closet at the end of the each day.

The next time I came home for the summer, you were already in Maryland after being accepted into a top-notch performing arts high school. Already chasing down your dreams. Before long, we were living our own separate lives again. Our relationship consisted of yearly visits at the NIYC convention and random phone calls. 

Nevertheless, we remained close enough to hold a conversation for hours, sharing our secrets. You have always been safe. Around you, I open my mouth without hesitation. 

On a whim, I decided to take you up on an offer to visit you in New York City while we were both enjoying (or enduring) our last year of college, you at The Juilliard School and me at good ole’ Ball State University. 

The hour bus ride back to the city was the most awkward we’d ever shared. We literally spent the time trying to figure how many years it had been since we’d last seen each other. I can’t remember the answer to that, only that it was too many. After some Spanish food and a few of Harry’s margaritas things got back to normal. Although some re-acquainting was in order.  Your voice had a more serious tone; you were living on your own in the City, doing laundry and cooking. You were a grown up. 

The memories I have of that week are among my fondest. I still laugh out loud when I think of ripping my pants in Central Park, the disappointment I felt when you told me you didn’t eat hot dogs as we passed Gray’s Papaya, the happy hours spent in serious (albeit tipsy) conversation at Harry’s and the night before I went home, when I sat down on the floor and let you cut my hair. All of it. 

I returned home the next morning, overjoyed to be reunited with my best friend. I’m proud to know you, blessed to love you and grateful to call you friend. 




Now, if we could just fix this long distance thing...



I love you forever, 


Tiffany

A New Challenge

I've neglected this blog lately for two reasons: 1. I've been pouring all of my writing energy into the Invictus Writers book project (which I'll tell you more about later) and 2. I've found it much harder to write my truth in public now that I'm a member of the real world.

I've been told that I'm a very private person, and I would agree that I am. I realize the irony of that as I write a very public blog post on my ever so personal blog. But, I'm a writer by nature and have been since before the life of this blog and the other social networking sites where I choose to my life in public.

It all seemed much less intimidating when I started, a college kid shuffling around on campus with 22,000 other kids. But fast forward to 6 months post-college and I'm a professional (though I can't bring myself to say that in real life), surrounded by clients, colleagues, bosses, endless responsibilities and overwhelming pressure. Needless to say I've found myself retreating back into my little shell.

But, I've been lurking as always because the blogosphere is still my home. When my friend Ashley or @SmashFizzle (her Twitter handle since we've never met in person), started 30 Days of Letters I gushed with excitement. And when my brilliant former classmate and friend, Megan, joined in I knew I couldn't resist. Another friend, Sierra, said that if I'd do it, she would too.

And so it begins again, my first challenge since the 90-in-90. Starting tomorrow I'll be writing 30 letters for 30 days in the company of some amazing women.

It feels kind of Ya-Ya sisterhood-ish. In a good way. My letters will be posted here, but be sure to keep up with Ashley, Megan, and Sierra as well.

30 Days of Letters

Day 1 — Your Best Friend
Day 2 — Your Crush
Day 3 — Your parents
Day 4 — Your sibling (or closest relative)
Day 5 — Your dreams
Day 6 — A stranger
Day 7 — Your Ex-boyfriend/girlfriend/love/crush
Day 8 — Your favorite internet friend
Day 9 — Someone you wish you could meet
Day 10 — Someone you don’t talk to as much as you’d like to
Day 11 — A Deceased person you wish you could talk to
Day 12 — The person you hate most/caused you a lot of pain
Day 13 — Someone you wish could forgive you
Day 14 — Someone you’ve drifted away from
Day 15 — The person you miss the most
Day 16 — Someone that’s not in your state/country
Day 17 — Someone from your childhood
Day 18 — The person that you wish you could be
Day 19 — Someone that pesters your mind. Good or bad
Day 20 — The one that broke your heart the hardest
Day 21 — Someone you judged by their first impression
Day 22 — Someone you want to give a second chance to
Day 23 — The last person you kissed
Day 24 — The person that gave you your favorite memory
Day 25 — The person you know that is going through the worst of times
Day 26 — The last person you made a pinky promise to
Day 27 — The friendliest person you knew for only one day
Day 28 — Someone that changed your life
Day 29 — The person that you want tell everything to, but too afraid to
Day 30 — Your reflection in the mirror

Until Then

It’s painfully still in this downtown apartment. Hours pass before I blink and wonder what’s next.  I’m comforted by the sound of cars whizzing by and airplanes roaring overhead as the smell of smoke rises from the jazz lounge on the first floor.

It’s just enough to remind me that I’m not as alone as I feel up here, away from the small town homeliness I’m trying to forget.  

I had myself convinced that this place would be everything I needed to shape the life that I wanted. It all made perfect sense just a few short months ago. I’d be a young professional in the city with a PR/advertising gig by day to pay the bills while the nights spent writing in the coffeehouse on the corner would keep my soul alive.  I’d become friends with the single strangers in the quaint little cafés on Saturday afternoons. I’d be busy. I’d be full. I’d be content.

But.

It’s empty. All of it.  And harder to fill than I ever could have imagined.

I’ve had trouble finding the words lately. The feelings. I know they’re there, but I can’t reach them.

Until then, it’s just me, the sounds and the stillness. 

When It All Stays The Same

Sometimes it feels like a punishment.

This aloneness that follows me everywhere I go. From one side of the country to the other, from adolescence to young adulthood.

The story remains the same.   

The long weekends of silence once the busyness of life has slowed.  The phone that doesn’t ring, the knock that doesn’t come.

And so I stay locked away inside myself.

I spend more time in this apartment than I should, fixing carefully crafted meals for one and turning into bed early; an attempt to escape the crushing loneliness that has permeated this space.

 I lie down and dream that maybe tomorrow there will be someone who wants to stick around for a while. There’s got to be someone.  

I told myself long ago, there will either be a time when it all changes, or it’ll all stay the same. It seems that the latter is true. Maybe this is the thorn in my flesh, the ache that I’ll be reminded of daily in the midst of joyful moments and contentedness.

And because I can’t spend my life waiting, I go looking for those moments in places where it feels ok to be alone. These have always been my favorite, the bookstores, cafés and darkened movie theaters, where I can busy myself without a companion.

Today, while my dinner was simmering in the Crock Pot, I lunched in a place that’s frequented by friends and lovers. Alone.

I forewent the security blanket that is my laptop. But I did bring along a hearty novel, just in case.

I swooped in and took the only table for two left. The place was packed; the chatter and laughter of friends and young families surrounded me.

I ordered quickly and opened the book, hiding my face until my plate came. When it did I looked up to thank my waiter and spotted at the very back of the restaurant an older man, with a long salt and pepper ponytail resting on his neck. He held a book in front of his face, looking around at the flip of each page.

I caught his eye for only a second, which was long enough to get me wondering whether this was his joyful moment, or the end of a long string of mornings waking up alone. 

Once More, With Feeling

August 21, 2010

I turned 23 today. And it was a little disappointing as birthdays and other so-called monumental occasions tend to be. As there is often the absence of some feeling we were desperately hoping to feel again or for the very first time. 

For some reason, I thought spending my time here in Tampa would feel less lonely, but the loneliness is within—that’s always been the problem.

However, after eight days away I’m refreshed enough to go back to Indiana with a new attitude to accompany my new job.  A new start to a new life, hopefully something a little more like what I’ve always imagined.

Soon, I’ll have my own place. Somewhere that feels like my home again. It’s been too long.

There are so many changes on the road ahead. I’m overwhelmed by the thought of it all.  I spent my whole summer trying to get ahead and now I’ve got to catch up to where I’ve gotten.

How it’s all going to happen—I’m not sure. But it’s got to.

All of it.

The weight has got to come off. It will require all of my strength and discipline, considering the circumstances. I’ve got no other choice when I think of it every day and feel ashamed of my body. It’s time. I’m secretly hoping the physical changes will attract the man I’m waiting for. Whomever he is. 

That, without a doubt, violates some self-love law, but it’s my truth.

There are other grown-up things to deal with—skeletons to evict, dreams to chase, loves to let go. You know, the gut-wrenching things that are impossible to prepare for.

I told a friend the other day that I’m almost happy. A little more than yesterday and even more tomorrow, I hope. Maybe it’s a natural progression, something I’ll work my way into when the time is right.

Or  maybe it’s one of those feelings.