LETTER NINETEEN

Saturday morning, April 30, 2016
my bedroom, Toronto

 

It’s 12:30 in the afternoon.

I just got up. I don’t want to get a hangover, so I cracked open a beer which I’m sipping on my bed while trying to ignore the sounds of my neighbour’s children playing in the front yard.

You know what’s a funny moment? Stage number two. Specifically, in relationship with someone. Like stage number one being the segment that’s very shallow and polite––qualities that go hand in hand—noncommittal compliments and so forth. Then one day, things change, almost always due to transmogrified states of mind and atmosphere. Letting your hair down always carries the risk of: intimacy.

And then people start saying things they never would have dreamed of in the light of day at a coffee shop. Things that are shocking in their honesty! And sometimes, kind of weird. Especially when those statements relate to yourself, like, identity-wise. It’s in these confessional modes that I hear the most disturbing comments.

Hey. Don’t sweat the small stuff.