So, here you are. You’re on your own. You’re elated to be free, but you feel anxious, too. You do so many things alone. You’ll do many more things that way, and for a long time the only person you’ll trust is yourself.

                You don’t know this yet, but some people don’t need to ruminate and plan and predict the next thing.  Some people have a place to stand that’s steady instead of needing to balance everything constantly. Some people don’t mind it if their seams show—if they break a dish or get a bad grade.

No one hit you or said unkind things when you were a child. Your father drove you to school. You’ve had orthodontia, and you’re getting a check every month for college. How could you possibly know what's wrong?

Later in life, when people ask about your childhood, you’ll say you were raised by wolves. And after that,  you’ll say you used to tell people you were raised by wolves, but wolves would have been a lot more nurturing. Finally, you’ll be able to describe your parents by saying, “They were very limited people.”

Seventeen, I wish you didn’t have to feel so serious. I wish you could know that even though you think by thinking so much you have control, that's just an illusion. You’ll always be a cautious person, but trust me, as time goes on, you'll feel better.  As the years pass, you'll grow wise, and so you should listen to me:

If people try to love you, you should let them.

With all my heart,

Hells Bells