Filling her space in the universe and wishing her the world.
We’re in Sedona, Arizona, now. My husband and I grabbed a plane from St. Louis last week to spend the next two months in this beautiful red-rocked stunning movie-set-like location.
The suitcases are unpacked but I only had time to shove my jeans and shirts into dresser drawers. At some point I’ll shake out those wrinkled clothes, but first, we had to get to an important birthday party.
Because of that, today’s post will be a short and sweet letter.
It’s for you, friends, and for B.
Letter to My Granddaughter
Dear B.,
Thank you for the great time at your gymnastics birthday yesterday. (Yes, I got kicked by the rope swing, but that was my fault. My reflex dodging skills are a little rusty.)
You are growing SO FAST. Since last we saw you at Thanksgiving, running is now your default speed, and I noticed you have much more to say. This is fantastic and makes me happy.
It’s also given me the impetus to take a turn to say a few things to you:
You are here for a reason. A GREAT reason. To fill a unique B-shaped hole in the universe that only you can fill. If you allow it, your pursuit of that could shape the path you take in what subjects speak to you in school, what places you yearn to see, what books call to you and keep you up reading late at night under the covers with a flashlight.
The future is bright. There are lots of naysayers out there (Pollyannas too), and there’s no question this world has big challenges, but I believe in pushing against the edges of limitation. That means not giving in to pessimism. And you are a big reason for that resolve. My love for you and accountability to your future will not allow me to do less.
Hang onto girlfriends, especially the one’s you’re making now. I have two friends—Marti and Merry Ella—whose friendship started way back in pre-kindergarten. We lost touch for a while, but a few years ago we reconnected. People who have the full decades-long experience of you— where you came from, who you were and accept you now despite all that imperfection—are precious. (Hmmm. I am thinking this is kinda irrelevant to a 3yo, so, at the very least,…
Hang onto girlfriends, period. When we girls get together, we get things done.
Work those muscles. I do admire how you refused me entry back in the house after we played on the patio. You splayed your legs as far as possible to block the doorjamb and did not give in (until I tickled you…unfair surprise tactic, I know). Your body is another good friend—not as an ornament or whatever fictional image society/media holds up as “right”—but your partner in health. Your body is not about comparison, judgement, shame. It’s taken me a while to realize how really important this is, but your mom is an outstanding role model, so you’re already ahead of the body bs.
Curiosity and creativity = superpowers. My last wish is Try Everything, Explore Everything. Each experience gives you info you didn’t have before. What you like and don’t like. How others think and how others see. What’s hard and what’s easy. And what takes commitment and imitation and repetition to see results. How not to give up. How to have the confidence to change your mind because you’ve learned not to be rigid but open and welcoming of the new.
I could keep going, but I’ll save more for another birthday.
On a final note: Be nice to your brother. Oh, and I would give you tips on maneuvering around your dad (my son), but I see you’re already a pro. Good job!
I love you.
Why This Letter Matters
Maybe this is a lot to lay on a three-year-old. If the Substack gods are with me this will be tucked in the archives for her to read someday. After she learns to read, that is!
This note is a natural fit among these writings. As I’ve said before, this newsletter is for many, but especially is a space for women to turn to other women. Learn from others’ stories. Notice life phases of our sisters. Teach our daughters.
And granddaughters too.
Do you have a word of advice to pass along to a young one?
Warmly,
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