A letter for my daughter, and other believers:
Growing up is a journey from one strange country to another. As soon as you start to feel you know your way around one place, it’s time to cross the bridge to a new and different place, a place where you don’t know any of the people, you don’t speak the language, and none of the landmarks look familiar. It can be kind of scary, putting your feet on that bridge to leave an old, familiar place, especially if you’re not quite sure you’re ready to leave at all.
You’ve been crossing these bridges from one part of your life to the next since the day you were born. The others, so far, have been relatively easy, and because they happened when you were so young, you may not remember those crossings as having been frightening. But I remember your first crossings vividly: the first time you toddled across the floor without me helping you; the first time you sped off down the street on your bike, hair flying out behind you like a banner triumphant; the first time you slept away from home, and I checked your room three times just to remind myself of the scent of your hair lingering on your pillow. Those crossings may not have been painful for you, but I remember their bittersweetness well.
Yes, your life has already been full of many crossings from one part of your life to another, and you are only just beginning your travels. There will be many more bridges you will cross as you grow and change and grow up, and I suspect that you are getting ready to cross another bridge now. In my mind, it is one of the scariest to cross, not only because it’s usually one of the first ones you’re old enough to see coming and recognize it for what it is, but also because it’s probably the biggest bridge you’ve yet had to cross.
One of the scary things about crossing this bridge, or any bridge, is the feeling that you’re leaving behind a part of your life, something familiar and comforting and reassuring, and that once you cross that bridge, you can never revisit that place again. There is some truth to that fear, as there is often some truth to many fears: after all, you have never again returned to drinking your meals from a bottle, nor have you asked your dad to replace the training wheels on your bike. Sometimes, when we cross a bridge, it is true, we don’t ever go back to the place or the person we were before.
I suspect that it is that particular fear that is making this next bridge for you look so big and intimidating. You are getting ready to cross a bridge from being still a child, to being something else, something “other”, now: not quite a teenager, but no longer a child, either. Some people like to use the word “tween”, but as a general principle, I think that that word is too trendy and lighthearted to describe something that is the beginning of a time of incredible change.
I bet you’re afraid that, when you cross that bridge, there are things about your life as a child that you will never get to experience again. I can’t lie to you—you would find out the truth on your own anyway, and hate me for having done so. So I will be honest with you: There are parts of your childhood that soon, will slip away from you—the same way the baby bottles, the walkers, and the training wheels did. Saying goodbye to some of those things can be sad, and at the same time, kind of scary, too. But before you get yourself too worked up, consider these questions: Do you miss your bottle? Do you wish you still had training wheels? Or do you relish now the taste of chocolate forbidden to you as a toddler, the feel of the wind whipping through your hair as you speed down the hill on your bike, the anticipation of someday wearing high heels and makeup and finally getting your own cell phone? You are not so much saying goodbye to things of childhood, as trading them in for new experiences that can be utterly delightful, even while being frightening and exhilarating and fulfilling and intimidating all at once.
But just because you don’t use a bottle or training wheels anymore, doesn’t mean that you never did; those things of childhood will stay with you always, as cherished memories and souvenirs of the journey you are undertaking now. Some of those recollections will make you smile, some you will remember with a grimace, but they will always be a part of who you are and they are the things that have made you who you are now and who you will become on the next part of your journey.
But I also want to reassure you that, while some things you will, indeed, leave behind forever when you cross this next bridge, there are others that you may carry with you, and it is that about which I wanted to write to you most. There has been much talk of late about fairies and Santa and the Easter Bunny, and about who does or doesn’t believe in them anymore.
I think that what a person chooses to believe or not believe is a totally personal thing; it’s nobody’s business if you believe that there is a frost fairy who decorated the wetlands for your brothers’ birthdays last year, or if you believe that there are still places in the world where the sky speaks to us in words made of clouds or that the stars are sparkling a message written just for you.
Personally, I think that what that shows is that you have a vivid, and beautiful, and deep imagination, and that is a true gift. Not everyone understands that kind of gift, but I can tell you one person who did: Albert Einstein. He is considered by many to have been one of the smartest men who ever lived, and would you like to know what he had to say on the subject? Pay attention now, it’s important: “Imagination is more important than knowledge”.
Without imagination, there would be no books worth reading, no inventions worth creating, no paintings worth painting, no beauty, no miracles, no songs, in this world. A world without imagination is a world that is not worth living in, in my humble opinion.
Some of your friends will sprint to the bridge you are approaching so cautiously; they will fling their childhood memories and beliefs behind them and never look back with a moment’s regret. They will leap into the interests, hobbies, and cares of older and older ages with each bridge they cross, until one day, they will find they have reached the end of their journey, and all they have left to show for it is a lot of bridges crossed. Others may choose to cross at a slower pace, but eventually, everyone reaches the other side, because the road on which we travel is generally a one-way street; there is no going back.
But just because you cross the bridge, dear girl, does not mean you have to leave all the things of your childhood behind. I hope, in fact, that you do not. There is still such joy to be found in rolling around in huge piles of fragrant autumn leaves; in the sharp crack of the icy edge of a puddle as it snaps under a stomping boot; there are still mysteries to be explored and messages to be deciphered in the clouds above our heads. I hope that, while you’re crossing this bridge, you remember that just because you’re getting older, it does not mean that you have to surrender yourself to a lack of imagination and wonder.
You’ve seen what happens to those who have crossed the bridges and surrendered their passports to the lost shores of their youth: their faces are gray, their eyes are dull, and their minds plod along in deep and narrow ruts worn smooth by the routes they endlessly tread each day. They have aged before their time, losing all capacity for wonder or astonishment.
The thing about those bridges, dear, is that you do have to cross them. We all do. They come for us, whether we’re ready or not, forcing us into ever larger sizes of shoes and clothing, thrusting us into more serious studies, and presenting us with ever more complicated choices and responsibilities. The bridges will come, and yes, you will leave some childish things behind forever, but I want you to know something very important: I will be here for you as you cross those bridges, each step of the way. If you want to run faster, I will try to relax my grip on your hand a little to let you go as fast as you want to go. If you are frightened, I will hold your hand a little tighter, and we will cross to the next part of your life together.
Together, we will cross this bridge you’re contemplating now, and God willing, many others—together. Just know that you don’t have to leave everything behind—there are some things of childhood that are too precious to surrender to age, and I, for one, have made the choice, having crossed many bridges myself at this stage in my life, never to surrender the wonder and the joy of thinking about such childhood things as fairies and unicorns and witches living in the wood. How dull would life be without them?
You’re going to cross a new bridge soon now; sooner perhaps than either you or I had anticipated, and maybe your friends will cross it with never a look back, but if you want to look back from time to time as you cross, I will understand. Together, we will romp in the leaves, and splash in the puddles, and search for the sprites and fairies playing hide-and-seek with the fireflies in the back yard. Just because others choose not to see them does not mean they are not there. Then, together, we will walk firmly and confidently into the adventure that awaits you on the other side. Because, to be sure, that is what awaits you: your next adventure. This bridge is only the beginning.
Book Launch Today: Three of the most exciting words a writer can hear, and boy, am I excited!
a tremendously difficult experience my family went through with my elderly dad last year. As I so often do when I’m struggling to make sense of something going on in my world, I wrote about it. Often, those types of writing are more my “therapy” than anything I would ever intend to see the light of a public day–they’re just too personal. Writing about what happened was the easy part, the cathartic part; making the decision to share it publicly was downright terrifying. I’m a fiction writer, after all; making up stories about fictional characters is what I do, so sharing something so real about people I love so much feels incredibly frightening to me. But because I feel so strongly about the positive impact sharing our stories could have on other people facing many of these same issues, I knew that I wanted to share mine as a part of this incredible book.
Well, it’s official: I’ve submitted the first draft of my thesis for review, and the process was just as much of a pain in the ass as I’d heard it would be.
