Member-only story
Dear Carano,
I hope this finds you well and not too discouraged by the story of your life. I write this without expectation that you will find it. I have no expectation that you will respond, and quite frankly, it isn’t necessary. I can’t separate that I write this also for me. I also kind of have this idea that one day my son will find my writings, the good and bad of it all, and will hopefully round me out as a reasonably complex human.
I like this still image. Your armed. Your back is against the wall. You seem contemplative. Again I wonder why I am writing you. Is this you? Am I writing the idea of you? There is hope of light in a world of shades of grey. Am I trying to engage the archetype you are personifying? Am I trying to quell something in me? The anger I feel in regards to your enemies? Am I touching my own fears and my realization that when called to speak truth I have failed?
I probably have not failed as often as I imagine. I fail daily. I have struggled with fear, anxiety, and depression for much of my life. I was angry for much of my life. I had moments of reprieve and insight, all of which came through the fiction I enjoyed. The fiction I gravitated towards were reflections of the hero’s journey, the one you’re on, the one that Joseph Campbell discussed with Lucas. At 53, I find I am better at empathy, less reactionary- but still, I wish…
