Letter No. 1

Hello, friend.

To be honest, I don’t exactly know where to start. I already have so many things to tell you. I know we just met, but I think in time, we will be dear friends. I sensed it in you.

I need to tell you—I just found a book about music that is changing my life. I teared up while reading the first chapter because it was like he knew me and this drive that’s always in me to make music. He understood what it’s like to have no one get the career I’m pursuing. He made me feel like I wasn’t alone, even though I knew it deep down all along.

I said, “I love winters in New England!” as I shoveled snow off my car yesterday, in the middle of a storm. It’s been good here, living in the Berkshires. It’s been beyond good: healing, actually. The Lord’s creation in the rolling hills of trees and sprawling marshes here feeds me with inspiration and quietness.

I need to tell you, I’m afraid to jump. I’m afraid to pursue this career in the arts, and I only have little victories now. I apologize if these thoughts monopolize my letters, but they are ever present on my mind.

I promise to write to you every week. I’ll be a faithful friend, and you will probably know more about me than you want to. Isn’t that how friendship goes, though? And isn’t it nice to know someone really knows you, and still cares to hear it, and to share it?

I'm glad you’ve come into my life. When I see something magnificent, or the beautiful little, I know I’ll be able to tell you now. When I’m disappointed, or alone, I know you’ll be there. I look forward to our future.

Until I next write,

Tara