a.k.a. A letter to my ideal audience member
This post is based on a Blogging101 prompt: publish a post you would like your ideal audience member to read while including a new-to-you element in it.
There is a special someone who can’t read my blog right now. He’s the most important person in my life and left about a week ago to go on a three-month “business trip”. If we’re lucky, we’ll be able to e-mail each other once a week and talk once a month or so. We’ve been through this a few times already but I can’t say I’m used to it.
I got my monthly call this morning under less-than-ideal circumstances: he didn’t have much time and had a lot on his mind; I was barely awake, couldn’t hear him well, and couldn’t find my words. I can never find my words. As I don’t know when I will get to write to him, I decided to write him a letter right here. Seems “new to me” enough.
Dear special someone
I hope you are doing well. I can’t believe it’s only been a week since you left – it feels like much more than that. I already miss you so much. Not much can change in a week, but I feel like a lot has: the living room, my social life… The rest, not so much, but I guess we’ll find out with my next self-monitoring report.
My mood… keeps changing. One day I’m fine, the next I’m awesome, and the third I’m a complete mess – as I am today. Maybe it’s the short night, the fact that you called, or both. The afternoon wasn’t so bad as I spent a few hours with a friend, but before and after that, I was useless. I didn’t want to do anything.
- Didn’t want to work or look for work.
- Didn’t want to do anything fun or relaxing either.
- Cancelled a Skype call with a Spanish language partner.
- Let unpleasant comments from strangers get to me.
- Let a former teacher’s rude behaviour get to me.
Some days it feels like nothing in this world could make me feel better – like I’m a lost cause. Those days, I wish you could come home never to leave again, and wonder how I am supposed to get through the n days we have to spend away from each other. I just want to hop into a stasis pod and sleep until you return.
Those days come and go as they please, but they are a minority. I know it because it is always the same with every trip that you take. I feel terrible at first, and again from time to time, but I get better. I find a new project, hang out with friends, watch lots of TV series, and make the most of my time so that I have a lot to tell you in my e-mails.
I know the drill. The problem is that I keep forgetting it. The moment you come home, it all goes away – and the next time you leave, I have to figure it all out again on my own. I should write a guide someday – maybe this way things wouldn’t be so difficult. But then, I suppose this is already part of the reasons behind this blog.
This letter isn’t my way of complaining or trying to make you feel guilty. It’s a reminder of what it feels like when missing you brings me down. I want you to read this and think: it isn’t so bad. I want to read this when I’m down and think: it’s OK to be sad and look up stasis pods on eBay, this is normal behaviour under the circumstances.
It’s also a benchmark. Any day better than this one should be considered at least an OK day. There will be many days much better than this one, I promise – to both of us. There might be some days worse than this one, but from experience, I know they won’t matter in the long run. I will forget them quickly enough.
Don’t worry, though – I won’t forget you. You will be on my mind and in my heart every day. The day you return will be the deadline for all my goals and projects. I will be driven by my need to reassure you and make you proud in each of our weekly emails. And when I feel lost or aimless, I will think about the future we want for ourselves.
A lot can change in three months – and I will make sure it does. Just focus on your end of the bargain.