Dear Friend,
I'm writing to you now because you are going through the tumultuous experience of finding yourself and following your dreams. I'm not sure who you are, and you probably don't know who I am. I'm not even sure you'll find what I'm writing useful, but the chance that you will is why I am doing this.
So, this is my experience, at least, in a nutshell. Many years ago, for the entire month of November in eighth grade English, we endeavored to write our own novels or novellas. To my own surprise, upon hearing news of the assignment, I was tremendously excited. I wrote and wrote. On the final day of November, I refused to go to sleep. My novel was not complete. Pages were left blank, and journeys were left incomplete. But as I watched all 101 pages print, I could not help but feel so proud of this amazing feat. From that moment on, I knew writing was something I wanted to pursue. A relentless tugging on my heart and soul had begun.
When ninth grade came, we read poetry and wrote poetry, and I began to write on my own to my heart’s content. However, throughout my sophomore and junior years, I had barely written only two complete short stories and many more incomplete short stories that never saw daylight in fear that they were terrible. I felt my writing dry up. Every time I took to my notebook, my pen remained still and the pages blank. I was frozen and choked by feelings of anxiety as the possibility of disapproval and failing swamped my mind. As senior year neared and the search for colleges embarked, the bleak reality of my dreams settled in. I realized that the chance that I would be able to write for a living was slim and perhaps nothing more than a whimsical dream. When asked about the future, I’d say that I wanted to write, and I’d receive a cautionary suggestion that I settle for a more stable occupation. However, my mind could not compromise on something I had put so much emotional investment into. My path seemed fixed, and then, like Bilbo in the forest of Mirkwood, I was lost. Writing became less of a hobby and more a guilty pleasure that I hid in shame.
After watching a TED Talk of Elizabeth Gilbert, the writer of "Eat, Pray, Love," who, in the TED Talk, discussed the fears she had growing up, wanting to be a writer and pursuing her dream, I learned that I just have to do what I feel I was meant to do. I accepted the fact that the only one holding me back was me. It wasn’t much of a conclusion, but I began to work with it. I became hopeful again. It has taken a lot of time to get where I am now, and there are still days where I let myself get to, well, myself, and I remain within my own head, but I'm working on it. There are still many unknowns. And I’ve realized that that is okay.
That is my story. Now, it is time to live out yours. Your dreams may not be the same as mine, and you may not face the exact same trials, but regardless, dreams are difficult to come by and even more difficult to accomplish. Friend and fellow dreamer, if you take anything from this, remember that you are never alone. The thoughts that plague your genius are centuries old and infect many. Surround yourself with those who will help to carry you on your journey like Samwise Gamgee. The life of a dreamer, while isolating at times, does not mean you must carry on alone. The lives of every dreamer are also with you. Remember those who never gave up. Remember those who stood up from the rubble. If this is the only letter I write, I hope you have a nice experience. You deserve it. If things are not good now, please believe that they will be soon enough.
Love always,
Your friend.
