To My Life:

I think I love you. Most of the time. I know I love the gifts you give me: an eccentrically beautiful family; a brilliant/supportive/loyal/funny/kind/fabulous best friend; good people whom I love spreading out in so many different directions I can hardly keep up; gainful employment that I complain about, yes, but that deep down I rather enjoy; my perfect-for-me faith that has seeped so deeply into me I can't separate my understanding of myself from the doctrines it teaches; a warm queen-sized bed all to myself. Music. Shoes. Freckles. Bright toenails. Books. Color. Naturally curly hair. Laughter. Years and years before me and (most likely) years and years to go.

I didn't think at my age I'd be where I'm at. I had a timeline at 14. I've more than doubled that number since. Some of those items on my life checklist I've stuck to. Most I haven't. Some I'm still waiting on. And I'm okay with it. I've made mistakes and learned from many of them. I am still learning from some. And others I just keep making. I'm learning to be patient with myself. Usually. For everything I haven't done in exactly the way I thought I would, I've managed to take on roles I never expected. Some beautiful, some really, really torturous. But they are my faces, my facets and that makes them all the more meaningful. I've kicked up dust where I never knew I could or would. I've left my mark in the lives of children, even if they're not my own. I've loved truly without finding that elusive, possibly cliche, true love.

I've changed wardrobes, changed lines, changed loves and passions. I've come full circle, returning to myself and left other parts of myself backstage, in the past, far behind. I've listened. I've talked. I've read. I've written. Danced. Stood still. Been silly, serious, responsible, lazy, sarcastic, complicated, simple, courageous, weak. I've shouted and whispered and sung my voice away. I've laughed until I cried and cried until I laughed. I've experienced. I've lived.

I want to tell you all I still want from you, some things I want to demand. But I won't. I'm learning that sometimes accepting what you give me turns out to be far more necessary. Though I am hesitant to admit it, sometimes what you give me is even better than what I try and tell you is best.

I have a story worth telling. I own every last word in it. I thank you.

Love,
Brooke (who, lately, is feeling less and less like a rookie in her own skin)