
Dear Mom,
Most of the time I wish there was a manual to this life. The same way I'm sure raising me, you wished there was a manual. Is this the way it is supposed to be? The way every misstep of mine might have felt like a failure of yours. Raising a child I would imagine being a series of acceptance of your child's failures in a quest to teach right from wrong, good from bad, success from failure.
Most nights I'm so sad it's embarrassing. I think about a past life that failed. I think about what was supposed to be. I think about the way failure is a miserable part of this everyday life. I don't talk to you or anyone about these nights. I stare off into them instead. I hope they surface in my work instead. I let go of them instead. Occasionally they consume me... Creating distance. Creating insecurity. But most importantly... creating what this beautiful life really is.
The most important thing you taught me is how to love with a real genuine care for people. The kind of caring that has nothing to do with what another person can do for me... The selfless kind. The sacrificial kind. The unsexy kind. The kind of love that sees no separation. I have to tell you, it hasn't been easy being this selfless with my love. Deciding who to give it to, how much, and when... But again, it's what makes this beautiful life what it is. Mom, I want you to know I have no fear of these failures. I do most of what I do to hopefully bring a smile and sometimes a tear to your face because that's really living.
I want to thank you for this beautiful life, with all its failures, missteps, and selfless love... It's me. And I want you to be proud of that. Because what's me is you and I get to share that with the world. And I know not many do. I love you.
Occasionally from a distance,
Jake
P.S. If I have any style at all it's because of you.