Phoebe,

In many ways, I am the same person I see so clearly in you. I’m as easily charmed into laughter over the most mundane things; my wrappers have stayed tied in difficult knots; I’m quick to anger, quick to forget, to forgive; I’m constantly guilt-ridden over the smallest details; most of all, I’m still relentlessly and endlessly stubborn. 

That last, persisting quality is the reason why I’m not wasting my words trying to give you advice. 

I could tell you everything, every mistake, every wrongdoing, every regret, and yet, we both know that nothing can stop you from continuously pushing forward, thinking somehow, someway, that you could be the exception, that you could do everything exactly as you are now and it would work out differently. Four years have gone by, but I know you just as well as I know myself today. The only difference between us is that you have more concrete direction at 14, than I do now. At this point in time, I have never been more uncertain about my future. 

And yet, I’m not unhappy. For so long, I mistook having a clear path for meaning. In pursuit of a singular outcome, I lost myself in some obscure destination. Rather, Phoebe, purpose is found in numerous places; it’s an everlasting, perpetual pursuit that lasts a lifetime. You’ll find it in a room of aging newspapers, you’ll find it in the pain and insecurities you feel, you’ll find it in the smiles of people you love. 

So, even if you don’t listen to a word I say here, that’s okay. No matter what, we both know you’ll end up right where you need to be. 

Yours,

Phoebe