Hello me, it’s me again.

There was a time when I sat on the stone slabs of the common area at DVC, wearing my loose-fitting Ben Davis pants and oversized Thrasher T­shirt, chain­-smoking cigarettes and writing manically in my favorite lined journal- the first of many. I was 20. And I could so clearly see who I would be down the road. Literally. I knew that there was another Erin up ahead, an Erin who had at least partially figured some of The Things out.
I was realistic- I knew 20 year old Erin well enough to know that even 42 year old Erin wouldn’t have it all figured out. 20 year old Erin knew herself enough to know that there would always be unanswered questions, and fortunately she was wise enough to know that the road ahead wouldn’t be easy, and she had read enough of Socrates to understand that she didn’t know what she didn’t know. And so, she knew that it all might be one hell of a ride.
Well, 20 year old Erin, I’m pretty sure I didn’t disappoint you in that regard. You wanted to live in the footsteps of Ginsberg and a mild version of Bukowski. You wanted to travel, and I’m sorry I didn’t give you much of that. But I did give you a dilapidated loft in SOMA, where we watched the fireworks from our rooftop billboard every time Barry Bonds made a home run. Oh, yeah. We got into sports. Sorry, Erin.
We also got into hip hop, which probably doesn’t surprise you, 20 year old Erin, since you criend when Tupac died. But we got into the good shit, like Mos Def, and Del, and the Roots, and everything that Dan the Automator produced.
But I also gave you a fondness for doom metal, which I know you weren’t expecting. And we became a professional belly dancer for 13 years (sexy as hell), which I KNOW you never expected. I know you never expected to leave those oversized T-shirts and Ben Davis pants.
I know, Erin, you’re still sitting there between classes, in the ‘quad’, trying to write an epic poem, and wondering if you’ll reach ‘Howl’ status by the time you’re 25. You won’t, I regret to say, and I’m sorry for that. I let you down in that regard. It’s just harder than we had anticipated. In hindsight, I realize that it doesn’t just take talent and passion, it takes a complete and total dedication. And I’m sorry I didn’t live up to that for us.
But the internet came along. And suddenly everything was just so…easy. Books have gone by the wayside. 20 year old Erin, I miss the days when we sat in bed and watched Looney Toons with a giant bowl of pistachio pudding, 5 packs of Marlboro Reds, a bottle of vodka, and a rotary telephone. Things were simple. We had three channels, we had our record player when we needed a good dose of Fleetwood Mac. We had Descartes, Camus, Bukowski, Hemingway, and endless Clive Barker to cleave onto. Erin, I didn’t expect this inundation of distractions. I know I have let you down.
However, despite all of my faults and failures, I think and hope that you knew that this would be the way. I know you never expected that future Erin to be perfect, because you were as well an imperfect work in progress. All you wanted was to catch up to that woman up ahead on the road, whoever she turned out to be. 20 year old Erin never needed fame, fortune, or a sweet corner office at a cush job. She only wanted to someday see herself self-posessed, surrounded by people who understood her, and most importantly, finding herself simply comfortable in her own skin, and finally knowing exactly who she is.
So, Dear 20 year old Erin, I hope we have achieved what we have set out to do. I still feel the way you do. I didn’t leave this soul on some desolate stretch of highway; it is still here with me. And you are still with me. I have had to put artistry on hiatus at times, because shit bitch, living in the Bay Area is brutal these days (rents are high as fuck, yo!). I have fucked up SO many times, but you knew we would. I have been hurt badly so many times, but you knew we would. You knew exactly what you were in for, and I think we’ve lived up to it, like a motherfucking champ.
I know exactly who you saw down that road, each time you went into a dive bar and wrote for hours in that journal, I remember that person you saw walking ahead of you down that dusty path surrounded by cornrows and Delta levies. You saw me, and you created me, and you knew that we would find our way.
Now it is time for you and I to figure out what the fuck we’re gonna do as an old lady, because that shit is coming up quick. Much quicker than we thought. So you and I best regroup and strategize, because there’s a road ahead that we haven’t mapped out yet, and we’re already grinding our gears toward the inevitable. Let’s hop into Bud’s old Betsy stepside, haul a boat behind our ass, and figure out what the hell we’re gonna create for the rest of this crazy ride.
We’ve done it before, we can do it again. Let’s find the next Erin down the road. I can’t wait to meet her.