A letter to my Sister

Hey Little Sis,

So Mum said you and Mr. Potatohead broke up.  So obviously if mom knows something I too know it within a matter of hours.  Just kidding, I called her to tell her that Asahi went to the beach and has been pooping out sand all day, and she casually mentioned it.  See mom, I told you I’d be discrete.  *Ahem.*  I feel like I need to bequeath some brotherly wisdom to you.  So here goes:

We are baggage.
And I don’t mean that in some emo metaphor about how we carry around our past with us.  Literally, we are baggage.  We’re made out of hard unyielding suitcases and soft squishable duffel bags.  Being together with someone is making all that baggage fit into one finite shared space.  Some things are soft like duffel bags, able to stretch and squish and fit into the cracks.  Kayla wanted a cat.  We got a cat.  Kayla likes listening to Kpop whenever we drive.  We listen to Kpop when we drive.  These are not choices I would’ve made for myself, but choices I can live with and have grown to enjoy.

But there are hard inflexible surfaces as well; shells and frames and ribs that cannot be compromised, things that shouldn’t be bent or folded because it weakens and cracks the integrity of who we are.   Family, Career, my love of dogs and my long luxurious hair…  these all need to fit together too.  Love is compromise.  But at the same time it isn’t.  It’s not changing or throwing things away, it’s fitting your luggage where nothing breaks on the journey together.

I feel like you’ve been squeezed into an uncomfortable shape of who you thought you wanted to be.  And maybe you’ve been in that position, with a craned neck and tucked knees for so long that maybe you’ve forgotten your natural shape.   Have you ever seen the video of the happy cows?  Where they were kept in the barn all winter and then they get to see grass for the first time in months and they’re stretching and dancing and jumping.  That’s you.  Minus the impending sense of doom of being led off to the slaughterhouse of course.  Stretch out and figure out where all your luggage sits without someone else’s shit in the way.  Honestly, it’s a really good feeling.

You deserve the best.  Now I don’t mean Joseph Gordon Levitt best.  Because I’m pretty sure that guy is married.  Or gay.  Or both.  But the best of someone else, where their best is enough.  Y’know?  If you keep drinking from the same cup and you’re still thirsty… it’s not the cups fault.  You can’t be mad at the cup for being shallow and unsatisfying.  You just need to find a bigger cup.   I’m writing this as I’m sitting at the bar of my restaurant, and I’m drinking a beer.  Which is why I think the metaphor shifted from suitcases to liquids.  Which, side note, can you still only bring three ounces of liquid with you on board?  In which case, yes– you definitely need a big cup.

I love Kayla’s parents because they’re just like Mom n’ Dad.  Kayla’s mom sends us home with food almost every week.  She buys toys for Hibiki and Asahi just because she can.  Kayla’s dad did my taxes and is offering to buy us lawn equipment because he knows that’s my latest project– to fix up our lawn.  They’re not something to contend with or an obstacle to overcome– they’re two more supporting players in our growing relationship.  The only time I stress out about Kayla’s parents is because I don’t want to let them down or disappoint them (mom n’ dad are stuck with me so I can relax there).  But it makes such a difference having in-laws you can be yourself around.  And I want you to find that.  It feels so good not to have to put on emotional armor just to go to a family holiday party.  Because if you marry this person, you will see their people a lot.  Sure I drink less and am uber-polite but I’m still essentially me.  And for some reason, her family likes me.

Mr. Potatohead is a good guy.  And I feel like he’s done his best.  And that says something. When someone does their best you can either lower your standards or keep shopping for cups.  Otherwise you’ll squish like a duffel bag or crack like a suitcase. Or be thirsty.  I forget where I was going with this.

Anyhow, I love you.
Hit me up for anything and everything,