Wednesday, January 9, 2013

A Letter to My Children

Dear Ian and Eli,

You have brought more meaning to my life than I ever could have dreamed possible. You are my love. You are my happiness. Nothing comes close to owning my heart the way the two of you do. I hope for the happiest, most incredibly fulfilling lives for the two of you. I hope you live life on your terms and know that I don't just give you permission to dream big, it's something I expect you to do. To help you realize what I want for you and your lives, here are some guidelines in no particular order:

I hope that you are the most honest person that has ever graced the planet. Nobody, and I do mean NOBODY, likes a liar. There's a 100% chance that at some point you are going to screw up, and I'm going to be mad. If you are honest with me, I'll still be ticked, but I will respect your honesty and you will still be trustworthy in my eyes. No amount of punishment is worth avoiding if it means losing the respect and trust of others.

I hope you never stop learning and never become complacent with what you know. I want you to have a burning desire to understand more every single day you open your eyes. Consider this: Dark energy makes up over 70% of the universe. Scientists don't know what it really is. If 70% of our known universe still doesn't have an explanation, there is plenty to learn in this life of yours. Still don't believe me? Walk into any university's reference library, and then tell me you don't have anything left to learn.

I hope that you find the value of experiences far, far, far outweighs the value of stuff. Stuff is just stuff. It won't make you happy. It does not define who you are. Ultimately, it means nothing. Having nice things isn't bad, but becoming materialistic is. You don't need a big new house, shiny new car, or every single electronic device to have a full life. Focusing on attaining these things will make you lose sight of what you do need to have a full life. You need places to roam, people to meet, oceans to swim in, mountains to climb, stars to gaze upon, birds to watch, friendships to nurture, food to taste, music to hear, books to read. The list goes on and on and on and...

I hope that when you are an adult and decide it's time to spread your wings you don't just teeter over to the edge of the nest and then fall off the side or even worse, retreat to the basement. (I'm telling you now this is a major no-no.) Fly out of the nest. Better yet, soar. And whether you choose to make your home right next door to your dad and I or somewhere like Timbuktu, know that we support you. We might not like our limited face-to-face time with you, but we also know that you only get once chance at life and there will be a LOT to squeeze into that short period of time. You can't waste your time pleasing us, you have to live your life for you.

I hope you realize that you, and only you, are responsible for your happiness. If something isn't working in your life, change it. If you are waiting for someone else to come along and make you happy you are wasting your time and you are putting an unnecessary burden on someone else. Take yourself to a movie if you really want to see it. Make a reservation for one at that restaurant you are dying to try. Sign up for that bookshelf building class because it's something you are interested in learning. Doing things by yourself is a great way to figure out what your passions are and what makes you truly happy.

I hope you travel to the ends of the earth. I want your passport to be so thick and full of stamps that you have to check it with your luggage because it won't fit in the overhead compartment. I hope you see the way dozens upon dozens of cultures live. I hope you adopt some customs for your own life and realize that others are best observed and not experienced personally. I hope that during your travels you gain a greater appreciation for your own life, and take the time to help better someone else's. I hope you make lasting friendships on every continent to which you travel, and I hope you lose a piece of your heart to every land in which you step foot.

I hope you find the courage to try things that scare the ever living hell out of you. Like the time your dad and I free-fell from 40 feet in the air and then swung out over a ravine on Maui. I thought I was surely going to die of a heart attack, or at the very least, pee my pants. Obviously, I didn't die, and I swear I did not pee my pants. Now, I can honestly say that I never need to do it again. The key word here is "again." I'm not looking back and saying, "I wish I would have..."

I hope that when you sit down for drinks on the first date with your future wife, and she says, "So, tell me something I don't know about you," that your mind is so full of memories and experiences that you won't have a clue where to start and words just come tumbling out of your mouth in a jumbled mess. And when the two of you decide you can't live without each other, I hope there is still a lifetime's worth of wonderful things to uncover about one another.

I hope that you come to realize the most beautiful sound on the planet is the sound of your newborn baby's cries and, later, your children's laughter. And if you decide that kids aren't in the plans for you, hopefully your dog's barking is like music to your ears instead of incredibly annoying like Prissy's. But, remember, I would really like a shot at being a Nana. :-)

I hope that you know that I don't care if you cure cancer, AIDS, diabetes, and the common cold or scatter puke sawdust at hockey games as long as you take pride in your work and do it with passion and integrity. Don't choose a career because of the money or prestige or because it just sounds good. Choose a career because it makes you wake up sad on Saturday morning because you don't get to clock in for another 48 hours. You are going to spend a LARGE portion of your adult life working. Do what you love, love what you do.

I hope you never live your life according to a rigorous plan. I've tried it; it doesn't work. Stay in the sun until you get a sunburn, play in the snow until you're numb to your elbows and knees, swim until you're so prune-y people think you must be a shar pei. Allow yourself to become so completely and utterly consumed with what you are doing that hours pass in the blink of an eye. And when the time finally does come to call it quits, don't lament about all of the things you should have been doing because, honestly, if it was that important you would have taken care of it first.

I hope you never let someone limit your potential. You are amazing people who are capable of so much. Remember that it isn't always a matter of natural talent or inherent intelligence. Most often in life it comes down to who is going to work the hardest. If you make it a point to have an exceptional work ethic, confidence in yourself, and unending perseverance, nobody will be able to stop you from getting to where you want to be. It might not be easy, but it will be worth it.

I hope you remember that the love I have for you is unconditional. Whether you are on top of the world or at your lowest-low, you can always count on me to love you no matter what. Believe me, I wouldn't have taken injections that burned like fire in my belly every single day of my pregnancy from five weeks gestation until 6 weeks postpartum if I didn't love you with all my heart, Ian. And, I damn sure wouldn't have done it a second time if I didn't love you just as much, Eli. And just so we're clear, I will throw this little factoid in your faces as a major guilt trip when you act like punks during the tween and teen years. :-)

This list definitely doesn't hold all of my hopes for you. There are so many that I could never write them all in one letter or even one hundred letters. But, I do hope that you see a theme to what I want for your life. I don't want you to wake up on your 100th birthday and think, "Wow. I've existed for a long time." I want you to wake up and say, "Wow. I've lived for a long time." And, yes, my dears, there is a HUGE difference.

My eternal love,

Mom

No comments:

Post a Comment