To the crazy world, whom it may or may not concern (postmark: finally)

Dear my beloved and crazy world,

It is with both burning desire and fearful hesitance that I write to you.  You–the most daunting of all audiences.  You are the critic, the priest, and the stranger.  And I am but a fellow passenger on this spinning blue-green planet with little experience beyond my 21 years of life.  However, I begin this cyber endeavor with one hope in mind: that I might share the sincere, raw, and patient words that can be expressed in no other way, but through a letter.  It has always been through letters that I have best spoken my heart to others.  They have been sent on everything from puppy and Lisa Frank stationary to simple notebook paper and muffin sheets.  On the front sleeve of my first journal are the words, “paper is more patient than man.”  -Anne Frank  Although this is not paper, but rather brilliantly arranged pixels on a scrollable, clickable, and illuminated screen, I think even the blank screen has enough patience for my meandering thoughts.

I don’t know how this letter will find you.  Perhaps “well” as you move through your daily tasks like only you and your surroundings know to function.  Or maybe you are feeling a forceful push from life as it urges you forward.  You could be fighting this push in fearful frustration with time’s irreversibility.  You could have finally caught your glimpse of life’s next cleverly guided destination.  You might be so inspired that you can’t stand it…or perhaps your once-inflamed dreams have grown stale.  You could be drowning in grief or you could be floating in the residual fog of depression.  You could feel as if your mind is flying hundreds of miles above your body.  And perhaps, in that floating, you have come across Cloud 9 and you couldn’t be more darn-tootin’ dandy!  However and wherever you are in this world, I send my blessing.

In the past, I have written letters to “my future husband,” as if my words could reach through space and time to the stranger that might one day take that role.  Though my words were sincere, I wondered then if the words had less significance, being addressed to an unknown reader.  The more I wrote, the more I realized that those words held an entirely new quality, beyond those of any typical letter.  They held this mysterious purpose, unknown to both the writer and the future reader.  The mystery was no longer how the reader might receive my words, but who might receive them.  Like sending a message in a bottle, I was reaching a hand into the seemingly empty space of the world, hoping that the words might be found by another.  Maybe that’s my goal here.  I’m not lonely, romantically deprived, or even bored, but there is something in me, something that is likely reflected in you, that urges me to share these words and segments of myself with you.  If you too are an earth-dwelling human, I would guess there are at least these things we have in common:  the same need to create, need to be loved, need to feel safe, need to be forgiven, need to be purposeful, need to belong, need to be fulfilled, and need to be connected with the world in a meaningful way.  Here/there we are: with these things, our first connection is established.

I am overjoyed to bring you into my own piece of this world.  It’s small, but it might just be getting bigger.

Will write again soon,

Khara

Message in a Bottle Washed Ashore

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