07.05.2019
Dear Truly Jane,
I think we had a perfect day yesterday; which is strange because as human beings, almost nothing is perfect — nor do I think it should be. Its a strange feeling to feel as happy as we do.
I know I’m writing you these letters so that you can better get to know and hopefully orient yourself as you grow older and learn what kind of kid you were during these formative years; however, I can’t let the record go on any longer without giving you a semblance of how I feel about your mother and more importantly, how it feels to be loved by Marissa. I know you will have a mere idea of this feeling because by the time you are able to read these letters, you will have lived with us for some time and will have felt what it’s like to be loved by her; but as her lover, there is nothing greater.

At night, your mom and I often stay up late talking — much too late then we ought too, knowing we will inevitably have to wake up with your sister India Mae in a few hours and then with you around 6:30 AM. But when we talk together, it’s like the night somehow escapes us and we are of one mind; it feels like that satisfied wholeness of when you push in that last puzzle piece, but deep in your gut; or the feeling of being tucked in at night as a kid with warm bed sheets: seeing the slow wave of fabric parachute above you and then slowly feel its graceful crash climb up your body; it’s a feeling of belonging that slowly settles and then feels inescapably right.
Sometimes when I see her in the morning (after I surreptitiously turn off her alarm to sneak her in a few more minutes of shut-eye after a long night with India), I get to make you breakfast — which usually rotates from the following entrees: Honey Oatmeal, Cheesy Eggs, Messy Eggs (over-easy), Cheerios, and Chicken cereal (aka corn flakes). But sometimes when your mom walks into the room and it’s as if my soul rushes out of me.
Everyday my thoughts and action are somehow tethered to her and her well being. There is this unique emotional bond where I can even feel her emotions without her saying — which is completely bizarre considering my absent minded nature, so I consider it a genuine gift given and not an attribute cultivated.
When I am with her, I belong; the world seems to make sense — at least, everything in our little world here in the desert. It is freedom to ask any question, to reveal any memory, and not to feign any interest or social nuance; it is a knowledge that she just cleaves to learn anything more about me (even though we’ve only been married for five years; the best part is she really makes me want to tell her anything about myself. The other night I told her about a shameful experience I’ve carried with me from my youth; when I finished, she responded in a way that I can only imagine to be comparable with how it would feels to hug God himself: sincere warm relief; it felt like a weight being lifted off my shoulders by the kind hands of empathy and understanding. I’m sure you will feel this same empathetic connection with her as it naturally emanates from her like the summer warmth from an Arizona sidewalk long after the sunset.
One of the most beautiful things about being alive is just how messy the whole damn thing is; something wise I’ve learned along my own muddled path is that while some things will enticingly seem black and white, they will only prove to be a masquerade of Occam's razor; because the more you engage, think and battle with life, the more you will be able to see through its false-dichotomies and parse the two opposing colors into a vast rainbow of grays.
The trouble with gray is that gray can be daunting: gray understanding, gray relationships, and gray destinations never evoked anyone’s best carpediam; but herein this gray world lies the greatest blessing of companionship: to belong anywhere because the thought of her is everywhere; to wander delightfully confused and to do it together; to muddle through the summers and storms of everyday life and to do it together.
“…to wander delightfully confused and to do it together.”
Well that’s probably enough mush for one morning and now I didn’t get to tell you about our perfect 4th of July because I got distracted, but I’ll save that for another day. You are also seeing that these letters are now proving to be a place where I can vomit my novice life-learnings as your not-even-30-year-old-Dad. In the end, I’m just a nervous new dad wanting the best for you while also feeling so damn lucky to be on the same team as your mom.
Anyway, it’s 6:45AM and you are calling for me now. It feels like a cheesy eggs kind of a day today. I love you very dearly,
Cheers,
Your Pops
