march 1st

being brave | calendar letter #5

you breath of fresh air,

hi <3

has the rain picked up? is the grass a more well-rested green? have you switched out your winter coat for something lighter quite yet?

turns out, we only needed to get about 5 calendar letters in for me to find that, while I love the idea of beginning the month checking in, this year will absolutely be taking place in full sprint. it’s March and I already know I’ve reached the more time-consuming “finding out” part of the earlier, fun and creative “fucking around.” 

in the sweat of reallocating my time, it’s difficult to make these decisions without guilt. I feel like, since November, I have started most letters to you with an apology. those are genuine (and thank you for sticking with me), but I am trying to push myself to recognize the reason why I don’t have as much time is because I’m finishing incredibly exciting projects that I have put a lot of dedication and thought into, or that I’m beginning a significant step forward in my life; trying to move halfway across the country. regardless, I know the factors that keep me checking in more infrequently than I’d like, are still temporary, so I plan to write as often as I can. after all, you and I still have so much to explore together. after all, I want to let you know I’m thinking of you.

*

in tune with those shaky emotions, it seems fitting that the air remains cool, but the sun is creeping back. uncertainty’s brisk wind keeps me wrapped up in comfortable clothes, but I know, soon, I’ll bask in the warm-weather glow of proud decision. what has been the most recent thing to catch you off-guard? are you also caught in that long stretch of hallway, staring nervously up at your future as if a ladder with no rungs?

this isn’t what I planned to write you today, but it feels right. recently, I’ve made two decisions that terrify me. within a few days of each other, I began pelvic floor physical therapy, and I bought a car. though they make a silly pairing, both are things I have put off doing for years. one, in the belief that ignorance is bliss. the other, that I don’t feel I have permission for that kind of responsibility. though I want to dive into each focus at another time because they’re different experiences (and deserve more thought than this fleeting example) and each too fresh to examine just yet, what I want to write about is being on the other side of those decisions.

spring, I think, is about being brave.

stepping out to the world again, before it is entirely warm and welcoming, trusting it will be. both of those choices, to start physical therapy and have a car of my own, while put off for a long time, I know are for my betterment. I want to give myself the ability to physically relax. I want to give myself a longer leash, an open road to explore. the more important discovery, too, is that I want to be the one to give these things to myself. in the grand scheme of things, I’m sure I could have kept waiting, eventually finding a passive resolution by force or gift from someone else, but I want these changes to come from me. out of a desire to challenge myself. out of a want to get better. out of love. 

isn’t it fascinating, how we can be afraid of what’s good for us? but change is still change. in my stubborn (scared) reluctance, I have only grown within the parameters I set for myself; ones I felt okay with. now, extending that reach even further feels worth celebrating.

maybe something is coming to mind that you have believed too monumental a task to start just yet. that’s okay, I’m not here to push you to make any moves towards it, just to notice if a topic does arise. every March, I’m taken aback by the fearlessness of those first few flowers to sprout through the frosted dirt. how they must stretch their green arms through the dark, trusting there’s sunlight on the other side. maybe we’re arriving in the right season to bloom in this chilly soil together. 

I am thinking of:

• crocuses.

• what constitutes a good road trip playlist.

• how you will always remember the birthday of a few childhood friends.

• the joke that millennials buy houses or cars for the enrichment of their pets. the first daydream I have, after the salesman places keys in my hand, is how I want to croon ABBA to my dog with the windows rolled down; his nose up to the thick, old-growth forest mist.

• an erotica open mic that I attended. the room’s energy of lust, laughter, and welcoming.

• all the new post-decision fears I get to bring to therapy, but having a very proud first half-hour.

I am craving:

• a two-hour-long breakfast. yes, a second cup of coffee, please. do you want to split a pastry? I’m not done with this fruit just yet. we have time to go slowly.

• a long exhale.

• closeness without digital communication.

• creative solitude.

• always more bravery.

I am listening to:

• No More “I Love You’s” by Annie Lennox on repeat, after not being able to name those vague background vocals that swam around in my thoughts last week

• 3 different audiobooks, apparently.

• the Motown of gardens starting to wake. songbirds picking up a long conversation, stories of their vacation down south. thawing grass.

• my grandpa, Papa Paul, and his soft laugh over my nervous chatter. he asks, “my sweetheart, do you know I’m proud of you?” and my heart speeds forward, ready to bound through whatever act of bravery lies next.

with love,
schuyler (sky-ler)
moving fund (venmo): schuylerpeck