At the start of 2018, I moved again -- for what felt like the 100th year in a row -- and, in many ways, it felt like I fell apart. I started seeking counsel at every turn, about any and all subject matter. But I noticed an alarming trend. I didn't listen to a soul. After carefully tabulating others' advice, I promptly tossed it all in the garbage and followed my own.
The letters are on Medium. You can find them all here.
An Advice Column I Write to Myself, Letter One— Q: Dear Kelly, What if I think I’m a total piece of shit?
I mean — I can shed more light on the why. For one — just because. Because I have never had great hair (it’s so thin you can see my scalp from like a mile away) and because I’m so anxious I jump when things fall to the ground and because my temper is a boiling pot of water that is always threatening to boil over. But also because I’m turning 39 and I still, still, STILL have not found a way to make a living off of the actual talents that I know I possess. Did you know that I am really funny? People have told me I should do stand-up! Did you know that I sing fairly well? But the sound of my voice coming out of my body makes me feel vulnerable, so I hide it unless I am feeling very, very, very safe — which is a state I don’t find myself in often. Did you know that I write? I’m sure you did. But I don’t send my writing to any of the places I want to. Because the places I want to are considered ‘good’ and who would I have to think myself to send them there? I would have to think of myself as good. And though I toy with the label sometimes, what I really think, deep down in the pit of my person, is that I am a piece of shit. And this belief is stopping me from my labors of love more than any other thing.
... continued here.
An Advice Column I Write to Myself, Letter Four — Q: Dear Kelly, Loving my family is killing me. How long can I love them? How long can they stay so sad?
I am one of four children. I have two brothers, both with dark skin and dark hair, and then a sister with dazzlingly white skin and bright red hair. I was a rung in the middle of the ladder, pancake-batter skin and dark hair. I didn’t look like any of them, and I really didn’t need much from any of them.
Still, I love/loved/love them.