There’s a temptation that I’ve felt since the first thought of Lucy’s existence. That I would have this wonderful, open-minded kid to teach and mentor through her life… and that I could warn her of all the bad things and shit I’ve hated about life. A deep yearning to process my own trauma in the upbringing of a new soul. But I know it’s the wrong impulse, and something, quite frankly, constructed by the very trauma I wish she may avoid, in order to further its reach. A ghost, a poltergeist in my ego of all the things I want to forget and move passed. That mischievous temptation wants me to teach my daughter about everything I’ve lost in my life: relationships, money, status, self-respect… and most of all, opportunity. It would have me tell her a story of a guy who could have been more, done more, earned more, more, more, more, more than he is, more than he will be. It’s a sad story about loss and regret.
I don’t want to tell that story. I want to tell the story of exploration, of adventure, of limitlessness, the true story of me. I want to tell her a story of how loss can become gain, of bending reality itself.
That’s a big goal. But it starts simple. Share with her what I love, what makes me laugh, what gives me strength. Love her, laugh with her, energize her to be strong and brave.
It’s not always easy. But I can’t imagine doing it any other way now.
You don’t have to reply to this one. But I always love when you do.
And now just photos of that wonderful lady.