This won’t feel like much of a letter because I’m filling it with mostly questions. It’s a natural desire to want to know the future. Everyone wants to prevent bad things happening in their lives and they want to anticipate possible fortunes. I have enough anxiety and don’t want more, but this little exercise intrigues me. I’m trying to think of what things actually concern me. What do I want to know about myself? I’ll do my best to not sound cliché, but I think it will happen despite my efforts.
I imagine you are myself at 60. Do people ever enjoy our writing? I don’t care about money or fame. I hope we make enough to survive and live comfortably, but does our writing leave any kind of impact? Does anyone care we created these things? Are these things important to anyone besides us? I guess I want to know if there is any point to doing this. What’s the point of writing a story if no one ever reads it? I write for myself and always will, but I want other to enjoy it too. I’m sure you would tell me to keep writing and keep fighting and all the things I want will come to me.
Asking if I’ll find love is one of those cliché questions. Also, it wouldn’t be an accurate question because I’ve already found love a couple times. I knew I loved someone when I cared more for them than I did for myself. I once told someone I wanted them to be happy even if that meant not having me in their life. I know love. I’ve found love. The question is, will I find someone who loves me the way I love them? Will I find someone that’s important to me and I’m important to them?
That’s it! Everything else in my life is trivial. As long as I still have my friends in 30 years, I think I’ll be fine. I know I’ll still write and I hope by then I find someone who wants to share their life with me and I share mine with them. I don’t need a big house and all the money in the world. I guess I’m keeping things pretty simple. Things are never that simple for me. I’m never that simple. I’m looking at a 30-year rollercoaster, aren’t I?
James Pack 