SeaHeart

Every year on my birthday, since I was a very little girl, I have written myself a letter. It was a very real, very honest and vulnerable message to myself–the myself of the following year and the previous year, and still is. When I turned fifteen and began to blog in earnest, I wrote the letter and put it online. This is, I believe, my twentieth birthday letter, on my twenty-eighth birthday. <3

~*~

Dear Sarah,

Today, you are twenty-eight. Last year, you wrote about finally putting your books out there and becoming a published author. Today, I re-read last year's letter and sat here and marveled, because it's full of marvel. Last year, I could have never predicted that I would end up here, now...where I am, because of a novel, because people believed in it.

You are a completely self-employed author. Read that again, future Sarah, because this is your twenty-eighth birthday on this beautiful, blue planet, and you've attained that elusive "it." You are a self-employed author. You know all of those countless days of work and effort and dreaming and work and dreaming and effort...? They came to this time, this moment. You've been a completely self employed author for four months now, and you're making your living on lesbian stories that people said folks would never want, or want to read, because who the hell wants to read about lesbians?

My gods. You're not a petty lady, and you forget and forgive easily, but sit very still for a moment, breathe out and whisper, with just a bit of a smile: they were wrong.

You work very hard. You work harder than you ever have in your life, and you put in some of the longest hours of anyone you know, but every single hour, even the hard ones, you feel easy. Content. Like you're making a difference on this planet. Because you are. You're putting out stories that people are reading and loving, and you're doing that as your full time work. You've reached what you quested for, every year of your life, and in this moment, I am proud of myself. I, Sarah, am proud of myself. I don't think I've ever said that before, and I don't know if I'll say it again, but in this moment, I'm saying it. And it feels good.


(photo by Laura Diemer)

But the most amazing thing of this past year wasn't even attaining that life-long, elusive dream. It was getting married to the most amazing woman on the planet, it was this beautiful New York state recognizing that we were human, too, and that we deserved the same rights as everyone else. It was gathering with those ones I love dearest, in the church I love dearest, and declaring my everlasting love for that woman I love dearest. The most perfect day of my life, the most magical, the most sacred. I am legally married to the love of my life, and every day, I live to love her more.


(photo by Laura Vasilion)

Being an entrepreneur isn't always easy, and I hope that next year's letter will be the last in this "great three," as I'm considering them. Twenty-seven: I published my first novel, and I'm happy. Twenty-eight: I am making my living as a completely self-employed author, and I'm content and happy. Twenty-nine: I haven't worried about money in a few months, the debt is gone, and every day, I wake up next to the love of my life, and worry is a distant, bad, ill-remembered dream.

If anything from these past two years has taught me, it's this: dreams can happen if you believe in them hard enough, and if you put the work and effort and hope and yearning into it. You can change your life if you have enough courage, and you don't always need the courage: sometimes it's okay to be scared. But if you believe in something hard and long enough and work your heart out, you can reach where you dreamed of going.

I've always been a content person, and a very happy person. And Goddess knows I'm not asking for this sort of thing... But I've never officially reached this place before, and it's worth remarking on. Always, before, I told the Goddess (hah! I TOLD Her! ;D): "I can't possibly die, I haven't done 'it' yet. I wouldn't be content if I died. I have to work harder." There will never be a "good" time to die, as far as stories are concerned--Death will have to snatch the pen from my hand, and then literally take the notebook from my clutches. But if the Universe decided that tomorrow was the day, I would stand still and calm, and I would say: thank You for the run. I am content, and I am happy, and I'm proud of myself, and every day, I go to sleep feeling accomplished and good and all is right with the world. If I had to die tomorrow, I would be perfectly at peace.

I've never been here before. And it feels good. Right. Wonderful.

I am so filled with gratitude every single day, that it's very hard to articulate. I may have tenacity and courage and this really dogged relentlessness, but it came from somewhere. And all I have done, and all that I will yet do is because people believe in me. They believe in my stories. My wife believes in me. My friends believe in me. I am loved. I am held by the Universe. On the bad days, on the hard days, on the worry-filled days, those are the things that matter. And I work harder, and I sing louder, and I dance faster, and I smile and hug random strangers, and the world is a beautiful, shining, difficult, immaculate place, and I am so fucking grateful to be here.

Here's to twenty-eight. Here's to stories and possibility and magic and love: the four most important things in my life, the four most precious.

I am content, and I am filled with wonder, and I am so grateful to be here, now.

Go do great things, Sarah. I believe in you, too.

With all my love,
Myself