POSSIBILITY
“Listen to the mustn’t, child. Listen to the don’ts. Listens to the shouldn’ts, the impossibles, the won’ts. Listen to the never haves, then listen close to me: anything can happen, child. Anything can be.”
Dear Hadley,
I moved a few months ago. Same neighborhood (because it feels like home, and that feels good), one block south and one block east. I step out my front door and Lake Shore drive is right there. Which means Lake Michigan is right there, too. In the absence of a yard, I'm making an effort to use Oak Street beach as if it were my own private outdoor space. I go down in my pajamas. I do not brush my hair or teeth. I bring my coffee in a ceramic mug.
It's 10am and I'm writing to you from the water's edge. My coffee sits next to me - I'm half wishing it were iced. The air is warm, the water is sparkling. It's early June and summer is starting to show her bright face. As I look out, I think of you on the other shore of this Great Lake. Miles and miles away, connected.
It's Wednesday, which is your mom's day at work and your day at Grandma and Grandpa's. Odds are good that you're outside right at this very moment. Maybe you're down by the park across from the beach at the end of their street. Maybe you're down at the beach.
Helllllloooooo over there, Had!
Today—as on others but not all—I woke up filled with a sense of what's possible. Which feels, at this very instant, like everything.
This feeling is among my favorites. Warm, stirring around inside me, pulsing through my veins. Bright and hopeful. It feels like invincibility. Or power. Or peace. I'm pretty sure it has a lot to do with getting a great night's sleep, but it feels more special than that. It feels like being fully alive.
It feels, I'm guessing, like being four.
Clouds are dragons. You are a princess, a knight, a mom. Sometimes when we talk on the phone you'll say, 'Aunt Liz, are you coming over today?' as if I live down the street. Distance is nothing. Time travel makes sense. Dreams are real.
In that beautiful growing brain of yours, logic takes a back seat to wonder. I admire that. I try to remind myself of that often —the way you and your brother and sister are, the way you guys see things, how valuable it is. As life goes on, the practicalities of daily living begin to take on a certain weight (which is not usually weight they actually carry on their own, but extra weight attributed to them by our own anxious minds), and the balance starts to shift, wonder falls out of favor.
Always, but especially as you get older: surround yourself with people who imagine. People with vision. People who believe in dreams and magic and things felt but never seen.
Sometimes I think about your brother's story. He was just a few months away from being born before any of us knew he existed. And when we found out, it seemed impossible. But there he was, tucked up under your mom's capable ribs for six months, hiding back there as he quietly grew to perfection. A boy. A baby in our family. Your eventual big brother. There the whole time, but suddenly: real.
Anything can be.
I love you infinity.
Aunt Liz
