Brave New World

Dear Rachel,

It’s a different world now, the one in which I live. It’s not as bright, nor as beautiful, and certainly not as benign. I used to view the world as a kind of palette with which I could paint: I could color it, affect it, change it; with some creativity and determination I could create in it a place for myself and my loved ones. Sometimes I saw the world as a giant tool chest: If I worked hard enough, if I learned enough, I could reach in and grab those tools, and I could then use them to build whatever I needed—a product, a career, a life.

Now it sometimes seems as if the world is simply something that happens to me. I exercise no control over it, I just exist within it and it washes over me, doing whatever it will. It acts upon me rather than me upon it. It’s a different world, and I’m a stranger in it.

But that’s silly, really; the world can’t have changed. It must be me that’s changed. I’m no longer as trusting, as joyful, or as confident as I once was. I no longer swagger or strut or stride through life. Instead, I shuffle like an old man, bent under the terrible weight of his years and the pain he’s seen.

I don’t want to be that old man. I’m not yet ready to be tired and beaten. I want my confidence back; I want to feel joy again. Maybe someday.

Love,

Dad