"Dear Me"

Dear me,

      This is a first; me writing a letter to myself. And even odder still; I'm sharing it with everyone else.
      I remember past resolutions, and I remember the way they fared. I remember grandiose statements and noble sentiments that I declared. This year I intend to spare myself the embarrassment, the disillusionment and the grief. This year I intend to do something different and tell the truth to me.
      The truth is that resolutions seldom work; at least not in my case. This year I won't sell myself that bill of goods; I deserve a better fate. Instead I'll remember resolutions made, in the haven of innocence. The ones that I made before life-lessons left me beaten, worn and spent.
        I'll remember the ones made in drunken-stupors, illusions that the morning sun washed away; those heart-felt commitments that could never face the truth, the light of the following day. I'll consider where I went wrong in spite of my best intent, those stone-cold sober moments, which life made me relent.
        I'll bow my head to time, the way it taught me the folly of my arrogance. The way it showed me that pride comes before a fall, that humility has its own elegance. I'll be a better man, because of the lessons that time alone can teach, the ones you can't beg steal or barter, which only experience puts within your reach.
        I'll face the truth that life shouldn't be a selfish journey, that no ones an island unto themselves. I'll commit to give more than I receive, to reach out to someone else. And for these lessons learned, I'll be a better writer, a better son, a better friend. I'll find my place in this battered world and become a part of helping it to mend. I'll admit that if I'm not working on a solution, than I'm  a part of the problem indeed. I try with every gift that I give, to include a piece of me.
        I'll try to speak freely, to love deeply, and to hope eternally. I'll bring the good when I come, and I'll share it liberally. But most of all I'll remember, to face the truth inside of me. For if I never face it, how can I share it, how can I hope to set it free? I'll take the very best of me, the part that until now I've kept out of sight. It's the magic that makes me dream; it's the heart that makes me "write"!


                                                        PLA*