The Unedited Life

My Dear Ivy,

I realized as I was writing my last letter about “enjoyment” and finding joy in what you do, that there was an underlying assumption buried in that advice, which I haven’t written about yet. I want to do that now.

This is another big one, and it’s another one that our culture is built around fighting against. It is this: I want you to feel.

My Dear Ivy,

Yesterday I wrote about creating – which is something you already love to do. Today I want to follow up, and urge you never to lose the sense of wonder and enjoyment about the things you create.

I think, at your current age, you’re still in that wondrous phase when nearly everything you do is for the joy of it. As you grow older – perhaps even by the time you read this – there will be pressures, expectations, obligations, and things that just have to get done. That’s part of growing up, but My hope for you is that – in the midst of all that – you always find the time to do the things you love, simply because you love to do them.

My Dear Ivy,

Yesterday I wrote about not “letting the perfect become the enemy of the good” – about letting go of the need be perfect and letting yourself be “good enough.”

Today I want to narrow that thought down to a very specific area.

Your brother and sister are creators. They love to design and build and conceive of new and wondrous things, from incredible drawings, to gargantuan building projects, to beautiful musical compositions. By all indications, you’re no different. Your favorite medium – unique among our children – is pencil-based wall art.

It’s hard to remind myself – as I’m sitting here searching for the best ways to get graphite off latex-based paints – that this is your way of learning to create your own things. And while you will eventually learn that there is a “time and place” for certain creations, I’m so very glad that you’re first learning to create at all.

My Dear Ivy,

I realize as I write these letters that I’m asking a lot of you in the thoughts I’m sharing here. But one of the things I hope I’ve made clear so far – and will try to make clearer – is that you don’t have to be perfect.

This is another big one. You are the daughter of two perfectionists who have a great deal of difficulty letting things go, and you show every sign, thus far, of following closely in our footsteps.

But sometimes, that’s just what you have to do. Sometimes, less-than-perfect is enough.

My Dear Ivy,

Two letters ago I told you that you are strong. In my previous letter I urged you not to let that strength prevent you from asking for help when you need it.

In this letter, I want to write about using your strength to help the people who need you.

My Dear Ivy,

I wrote in my last letter about how strong you are, even as young as you are.

I want to caution you, though, against a mistake I’ve made for most of my life – one that I have trouble with even to this day.

Being strong does not mean never asking for help.

My Dear Ivy,

In these letters, I’m asking a lot of you. I’m asking you to do things that sometimes seem contradictory – like holding onto your self while giving generously in your love and connection with others. I’m asking you to do better – to be better – than I’ve been in some of these same areas myself.

It may sound, at times, like I’m asking the impossible.

But these things are not impossible – though sometimes they are really, really hard.

In short, what I’m asking is for you to be strong. Strong enough to do what some believe to be impossible – what you yourself might think impossible at times.

My Dear Ivy,

I’ve written several letters now about learning and discovering and expanding your perspectives and viewpoints. In today’s letter I want to caution you about something as you go through that process. As you grow in age, knowledge, wisdom, and experience, remember this: Some things are not worth outgrowing.

Even as you think through things – and rethink, and process, and re-process – there are some things you will find, that are worth holding onto.

So hold onto them.

My Dear Ivy,

As I’m writing this, you’re a year and a half old. That means those of us who love you are still learning how you communicate, what your preferences are, and what your personality looks like.

There’s a lot we don’t yet know about you.

But one thing I do know is how much you already love learning.

My Dear Ivy,

As you’ve probably figured out from the six letters I’ve written you before this one, relationships are important to me. I wanted to talk to you today about one of the pitfalls that can damage – even derail – those relationships.
I touched on this a bit in yesterday’s letter when I mentioned the difference between knowing about someone, and truly knowing them.

In today’s world, with the right tools and motivation, any old random stranger can learn pretty much all there is to know about you. Heck, most of it is stuff we put out there voluntarily, or perhaps without even knowing it, via various online platforms. Knowing about somebody is easy. Knowing them takes work.

One of the most important parts of that work is to listen.