Writing towards Wisdom

For my elders, mentors, teachers, and guides

A friend’s hands, taken by another friend

To my loves,

I want to write letters again. I want to tap into the intentionality and patience that comes with such a painstaking process. I can feel the costs of the accesibility of communication on my heart. When I step away from my phone, my body begins to shrink into itself, insisting that because I can neither see nor hear my loved ones that they must no longer exist. How am I supposed to hold the pain of the thousands that my home is built on when I fail to hold the love that I can reach out and touch.

Some of my interest in history grows from the need to learn how to bridge those gaps, to learn how to hold eons of life and carry it all with me in every breath. This pursuit is a defining one in my life, whether looking backwards hundreds of years or looking outwards at the present.

My convictions are planted as a bulb, in soil that shifts in quality as my life fills or empties of love. They grow at times rapidly, developing new resonances and logics that allow them to expand and fill the space that they are pointed towards. At other times, they wilt and weaken, forced to slow and shrink by whatever forces rise into their path. Sometimes this is something small and simple, sometimes it is something monunental and world-shattering. The progression shifts in pace and shape as these things come and go. The flowers blossom when the love is undeniable. The petals curl outwards as my soul is filled with the affirmation and togetherness that comes only from the clarity of those who can also feel the roots. I know the fruits will come later. These flowers may not even bear fruit yet, but it is only in their blossoming that the chance can even exist. Were I to refuse to blossom, had I stayed within the fragile comfort that preceded these growths, the beauty that comes with them would not exist. This beauty is not a solitary creation. No flower blooms alone, all of them are nurtured and pollinated by a constellation of other luminous beings whose love builds infinitely colorful tapestries.

I think a lot about how different it would be if he was still here. Sometimes I think that thought exercise is the only way to really grieve. What would I share with him, what would I laugh with him about? Would I even talk to him frequently? He died so soon after I got to college that I never even got to live in that world. The clean break that creates often makes me sick. There was already such a separation, losing him just fit right into that. Disgusting. I miss him. I see something that I know he loved mentioned and my heart lurches at the impulse to share it with him. One of the hardest parts is knowing that I think about him more in grief than I would have in life. I don’t even know if that’s a failing of mine. I think the freedom to forget, to drift, to disconnect, is a great joy of life. Part of the tragedy is that I cannot drift away and come back to him. He’s just gone. Trapped at one age. Trapped at one moment. Trapped as a memory. Thinking about him now helps to free him from those prisons. Love you forever Iain.

I think aging is one of the most inscrutable examples of the impenetrability of others’ inner beings. Gulfs in age reveal the intractable differences between all of us. It’s impossible to comprehend the infinite ways in which we all differ. To be born at such wide differences in time just throws this into stark relief. Even the differences of a single day can sometimes boggle the mind. Think of how rich and vast a single day is. Now think of how rich and vast an entire year is. It is these differences that make our connections rich and vast. There are so many choices, both those we make for ourselves and those that have been made for us, that shape the people we are always becoming. Age is one of those choices made for us, but it is such a simple and universal element of all human life that I cannot stop thinking about it. To be fair, there’s a lot I can’t stop thinking about.

I grew a beard last summer, and it meant a lot of things. It meant that I took far too long to invest in working beard grooming equipment and spent like all of August eating my own mustache every time I ate anything. It also meant that nearly all of my coworkers thought I was 5-10 years older than I am. I still don’t know that I’ve figured out how to feel about that. Most of the time I take it as an affirmation of some wisdom that I give the impression of. I certainly take it as a compliment when friends in organizing spaces tell me they thought I was a grad student. I take some of this as a sign of some absurdity and arbitrarity to age, but age is also one of the most materially consistent traits that we use. Aging is not linear, but the way we measure time is. We can discuss the construction of time, but the way we measure it is at least consistent.

I’m not sure what it means to be older than someone. I’m older than my best friend. I’m not sure if that really means anything in isolation. That’s a non-statement, nothing means anything “in isolation”. The magic of differences in age is the same thing that makes every human connection magic. It is the differences and the ways we fit together that make our connections worthwhile. I may bring a year more of life on earth to our friendship, but they bring so many things I cannot imagine alone.

I think that’s why respect is such a key pillar of a good mentoring relationship. Every person brings something to a relationship, even ones with vast gulfs of age. My mind is drawn to the importance of parents respecting their children, because even as a child may not be able to intellectually challenge you, their perspective on the world is one of the most magical and enriching things you will ever have the privilege to witness. The parents who do not respect their children deny themselves so much humanity, so much beauty, and so much love.

I am so deeply grateful to those older than me who have made space in their lives for me. I have learned so much from them, and I hope that I have taught them things too. I learn so much from every person I come into contact with, and I hope to build my life as a lesson to everyone I touch. I am a constellation. I hope you find god in these stars.