Dear Michigan (Yes),

I will be out of town with Q and the mice for the next week with no Internet access, so I am posting a short poem I wrote a few months ago. Until we're back, Michigan. I'll be thinking about you and about how much I love you. I hope you have the best week!


yes

i want to make you breakfast in bed,
want to walk, even in rain after rain,

rain after sun, hands entwined,
fingers running over across around each other,

want to pull your shoulder under mine,
hip to hip, to stop on some far off road,

no cars passing by, just you and me
and gray trees climbing sky, to turn in close,

lip to lip, just you and me and the many
sounds of birds singing, yes and yes and yes.

Dear Michigan (The Food of Love)

Shakespeare wrote “If music be the food of love, play on.” Music is something Q and I both enjoy very much and I’ll write about that at more length in a future post, but the reason Shakespeare’s quote struck me today is because sometimes "the food of love" is simply great food.

I’ve mentioned a few times how you don’t have to go to some elaborate shindig to have a magical moment. Q and I had lunch in a quaint village park recently and it was the best time. We took an assortment of relatively healthy and quite tasty foods (like curried rice and black bean quinoa). The sun was shining and there were ducks swimming casually in the little stream that splits the park and we sat on a large wooden swing and, in some ways, it was as if we’d stepped out of our lives for a little while. Of course, the real beauty of it was that this was actually part of our lives.

As an aside, before I get too far into this post, I’m so excited about the fact that I’m actually out here with you (for the entire month) and the only way I could be happier is if I’m somehow able to find a way to stay out here and not have to go back to NY (aside from giving my notice of course). I’m still filling out applications online and am still sending out resumes, but I’m also delivering a few “in person” when possible. I know I’ve said it many times, but I just can’t wait to be out here full-time with you, Michigan, and with Q.

Since this post is about food, I want to devote some time to this awesome restaurant Q and I discovered back in May. Since then, we’ve been seven times. Actually, I arrived out here late last Thursday and before the weekend was over we’d already been twice. I think one of the best things about it is that it’s not located in some touristy town, but in this rather unassuming town that’s just very nice, a town that has a charming main street with several shops and a variety of places to eat. And one of them, called Mind Body & Spirits, is Q’s new favorite restaurant. Now, I’ll admit, my dining experience in Michigan is still somewhat limited, but this is one of the best restaurants I’ve been to in any state (and I’ve been eating for years now). Most of the time Q and I will get some groceries and make our own meals (she’s a wonderful cook and is passionate about food, especially healthy food). I think, in some ways, food is an extension of a person’s spirit, of her/his energy. Q and I have discussed on a number of occasions how the food we eat is also one way through which we still connect to nature, although many of us don’t realize that. In addition to food that is spot-on delicious, Mind Body & Spirits is also very aware of our connection to the natural world and seems, actually, to have been created around a deep respect and appreciation for that connection.

Many of the ingredients used at the restaurant are from Michigan farms (over half a dozen local farms at least) and most of the ingredients are organic as well. They even have an organic Pinot Grigio that’s so good. You’ll find an assortment of healthy choices, including some interesting vegetarian items, but they have something for just about every palate, as well as gluten-free choices which are harder to find in restaurants than you might think.

Q and I have enjoyed Raw Veggie Rolls and have gobbled up a few orders of Third Street Potato Fries served in a cone (even the ketchup here tastes better ). Q’s especially fond of the Calamari made from longfin squid and pico de gallo which I have to admit is an excellent appetizer as it’s light and tender and so full of flavors that work well with each other. Q also likes the Heart of Palm Salad. I recently tried the Michigan Beans and Rice which had just the right combination of spice. Now, just to give you an idea of how good this restaurant is, I’ve spent most of my life as a card-carrying carnivore. I used to actually avoid restaurants that seemed to focus on healthy, organic, or vegetarian cuisines, but I’ve enjoyed the Veggie Grain Burger here so much I’ve gotten it three times now. And if you’re not feeling the greens or the grains, don’t worry because, in addition to those great fries, they have a succulent-looking burger made from organic grass fed beef. I have sampled four of the desserts so far and each is absolutely delicious, though Q and I are particularly fond of the coconut flan which is light and flavorful.

Even the menus at Mind Body & Spirits are made with the environment in mind. But it’s not just the great food, it’s also the wonderful atmosphere that makes this the perfect place to spend some just-the-two-of-you time with the person you love. Whether you’re dining inside, sitting on one of the swanky sofas, or are out on the roof sitting under an umbrella next to a pot of sprouts or wheat grass or other ingredients grown on premises, you’re sure to enjoy this wonderful find. And don’t be surprised if you see me and Q there, as I have the feeling it might be the only restaurant we frequent for some time.

The main ingredient for love is quite simply love itself. Being with someone you admire, someone whose smile makes you light up inside, someone whose thoughts inspire you not merely to think, but to do things you may have never tried, someone who just by being herself makes all the good things in your life seem that much better. That's what love is all about, at least this love I have with Q. But having the right place to spend some time with that person, a place that provides ambience as well as great food, a place like mind Body & Spirits, well that's an ingredient for a unforgettable evening.

*photos courtesy of Mind Body & Spirits

Dear Michigan (New Web Address),

Not sure if I ever told you this about me, Michigan, but I have this thing for irony. So, when I first started this blog, I chose the web address as a somewhat sarcastic response to the irony of the situation. I fell in love with you and I want to be with you. The initial reaction I've recieved from people around the country (including some from Michigan) - though every one of them has been supportive and encouraging of my desire to move and they are all genuinely excited that I have found Q and you, they all wish me well - the very first reaction from nearly every one of them was this: "You want to move where? Do you realize what you're saying?" And so on. The words were different at times, the message the same. "Why Michigan?!? What are you thinking?!?" So, I decided to respond somewhat tongue-in-cheek with the web address. And I try, in every post, to explain what I'm thinking and what I'm feeling and how the two go hand-in-hand. I try to give the many reasons why Michigan. Of course the biggest reason is quite simple - Q!

But here's the one thing I've never wanted to do: I don't want to give you a reason, Michigan, to even bother thinking about how some people react. I mean, after all, that's sort of the point of the blog - to remind you of all the wonderful things about you. So I've decided to alter my attempt at sarcasm. I have created a new web address (LoveInMichigan) for the blog as it seems much more apt. And I have moved all the posts over. From now on I'll write the blog to the new address (though I don't want in any way to inconvenience any of the people following the blog, so I will also continue to post here, at least for awhile). I just wanted to let you know about the new web address in case you might like to follow me there. And I also wanted to tell you, Michigan, that I love you.

Dear Michigan (Once Upon A Time),

Q and I were talking on Skype the other night and she said that she thought what the blog needed was a little more me. I reminded her that I’m not the sort of person who likes to write/talk about himself. You might not think it, Michigan, the way I open up each week, but that’s because I focus on her and I focus on you. I imagine many people might still think that’s hard to do, but I think if you just sort of give yourself permission to feel what you feel in the first place, then writing about what you love most is easy. You just find somewhere secluded and you let yourself go and it sort of comes out on its own, like once you’ve opened the gate, so to speak, it can’t not come through.

I admit, when Q said that, I resisted. I said, well, isn’t that what I’m doing already, revealing a little about my personality by expressing the way I feel about you and about Michigan? She didn’t really budge. And that’s another thing about her that I love. She says it like it is. So after I got off Skype, I thought about what she said and I guess it might actually be a little awkward for you, Michigan, the fact that I write about you every week and yet you don’t know me like Q does. I mean, she’s known for four years now, but you haven’t. So, I’ll try to take her advice. I’ll try to tell you a little about my story and hope doing so won’t seem too self-centered. After all, I told her, this blog is my love letter to Michigan.

Once upon a time in a land too far away (i.e. upstate New York) there was this man and this woman and they met in a paint store of all places and they fell in love and the man got drafted into the army and they spent much of the next few years apart, but when he came home they got married and then he got called back into active duty overseas. It was the 60’s (Q said, "they don’t even know how old we are" and I told her "I’m not sure that should matter," but hopefully this helps a little). After the man came home again, he and the woman lived in a small apartment and the woman got pregnant and nine months later, after 17 hours of excruciating labor (hey, I’m shy, what can I say), the woman gave birth to a boy. No, really, it’s true.

The boy was full of light and love and happiness (he’s been told he still embodies these things, which is the only reason I mention them now). He was pretty sick as a child. Not a bubble boy exactly, but close. He spent a few weeks (sometimes a couple months) each year in an oxygen tent (which is basically just an old hospital bed with this way-too-thin mattress and this thick barely-able-to-see-through plastic tent hanging down all around it and this machine that pumps in air you can breathe because for some reason or other your lungs don’t feel like doing the work on their own). The boy had a lot of days like that, usually after he was out running and laughing in the yard, or playing under the lilac bushes, or climbing trees. Six months after the boy was born he weighed a lead-bottomed 25 pounds and there are photos that suggest he had one chin for each member of the Brady Bunch (including Alice, but not including Sam the Butcher). But that’s right around the time he started with the breathing problems and the hospitals. Of course, a year after he was born his parents had a baby girl, so maybe that’s when he really started getting sick.

They were very close despite the fact that the sister had a propensity to tick off three neighbor boys who were older and bigger and who hit a lot harder than her brother did. They hit the brother, that is, he didn’t hit her, though he did finally threaten to do just that. He used to hide during recess at school so he wouldn’t have to go outside, but the teacher always found him and made him go. He knew what would happen. He’d be playing and having fun with his friends and then he’d hear it from across the playground, his sister’s voice calling for help and even though he knew better he couldn’t stop his legs from running, couldn’t stop his hands from curling into balls of let-her-go fury and he’d hurl himself like a bundle-of-bones missile through the air into the boys. And that was usually the best he did. Two of them would hold him and the other would pound away (they took turns holding because they’d been taught to share). Until one day the boy came running to his sister’s side, but he stopped there before unleashing his tazmanian-devil self and he told that her he’d hold her while the boys swung away if she kept doing what she did to antagonze them (flirting the way eight-year-old New York girls tend to do). And it stopped.

I suppose that’s one thing about the boy you should know, Michigan. Someone can pound him and he'll take it, he's got a very long fuse, but if someone tries to hurt the ones he loves he’ll throw his body through the air to stop them. I don’t know how much to tell you. So I’ll just share one more thing today. Maybe, if you want to know more, I can share other anecdotes along the way. But I’m much more comfortable talking about Q and about you.

The boy’s first true love (almost three decades before he met Q) was this round leather ball and this hoop that someone had hung a bit too high and he had to dribble the ball (which was easier to do with two hands, but that wasn’t allowed) and he had to push it up into the air with all his strength like it was this small moon that had fallen and needed to get back into the sky and he’d push it up and it would rise a little and it would hang for an instant and then it would fall back down to earth through that hoop if he was lucky and it was the most exhilarating thing making it fall through that hoop and the most rewarding thing the boy had ever known (this was in a land far away and long before he had ever felt what it was like to hold Q’s hand, of course, or to kiss her tenderly or to sit with a big window behind them, her head on his chest, and talk about so many things).

In less than a week, Michigan, I’ll be out there with you and with Q for the entire month. I hope to find a job while I’m there. I hope to see as much of you as possible and to introduce myself more fully. I can’t wait to see Q and the mice and the rest of her family and her friends. I can’t wait to just be with her.

I don’t think love is one of those things that’s beyond words simply because it’s abstract; I think it’s beyond words because we use the words we know for such common things that they lose their potency and their magic. And love – this love I feel for Q and for you, Michigan – is the sort of thing that requires potency and magic. I miss you! I love you! Soon! xoxoxo

*Michigan photos courtesy of Anjan Reijinders

Dear Michigan (Some Things Just Stand Apart),

Every now and then you encounter someone who just stands out for some reason. Maybe it’s their sense of humor or their kindness or even their smile (and I don’t mean overall physical appearance as much as the way some smiles seem to reveal a true sense of character that’s more than charm or sex appeal, that’s more a manifestation of spirit for lack of a better word). It’s ironic, but for all the time I spend with words, they seem to abandon me most when I try to write about Q and how special she is. What I’m left with it seems are the ordinary, everyday words that never quite capture the essence of what I feel. Sometimes I tell her, “thanks for being you,” and sometimes she responds with a quote she came across once and she says, “Everyone else was taken.” But that’s one of the most beautiful things about the woman I love, her humility. It’s sort of like in the musical Billy Elliot when he shares the letter his dead mother left for him with his dance teacher. The letter reveals just how much Billy’s mother loved him and the teacher says, “She must have been special.” Billy says, “No, just me mum.” She was special and it’s easy for other people to see that. But, to Billy, that’s just the way she always was. That was just mom being mom. Q looks at herself that way. She doesn’t see anything that she thinks or says or does as special in any way, even though it’s easy for others to see just by watching the way she is with the mice or the way she genuinely wants to help people. It’s just her being her. And that’s part of what makes her so special to me.

Now, I mention this in part because you’re a lot like that too, Michigan. Not all of you, I’m sure, but there are parts of you that are special just being what they are. For example, you can go into any liquor store or wine shop in most states these days on a Friday evening and sample wines. Heck, Q and I just learned about a grocery store where you can drink wine while you shop (wonder if people buy more after imbibing). As fun as a wine tasting can be, some places make it an experience. Black Star Farms, in Suttons Bay, is one of those places that stand out just by being what it is. Q and I had the pleasure of stopping by the winery over the winter when we pretty much had the place to ourselves. As summer approaches, however, more and more people are looking for wine tasting experiences. I’m not sure you’ll find too many more memorable than Black Star Farms. As a matter of fact, I hope to take Q back there sometime soon and overnight at the Inn.

You can tell a lot about a winery by the wine. That’s a given. But you can also tell a lot by the place itself and by the people who work there. If you’re looking for one of those eye-catching-do-a-double-take-when-you-see-it places, you’ll want to stop by Black Star Farms. As you turn off the main road and enter the drive, for a moment, at least, it’s like being in Kentucky with the charming horse fence framing the soft slope of land. The drive curves down a slight hill and there you’ll find the Inn which is stately and grand, but never feels like too much. It fits the setting well and is really quite inviting. As you drive to the tasting room, you’ll pass the small café (aka Hearth & Vine) and farm market and the stables and you might even witness some sleek equine grace. There’s something majestic and potent and yet calming about the beauty of a horse. As an aside, I’ve never ridden myself, but that’s another of the many things I hope to do with Q one day (maybe in Wyoming or Colorado or Traverse City).

Black Star Farms is one of those places where you could spend most of the day. After a luxurious evening sleeping in the elegant Inn and having breakfast, you might be tempted to take a stroll and watch the horses. Apparently “the facility is designed for training,” but guests at the Inn are also encouraged to stable their horses. If you’re one of those guests, you may want to enjoy the grounds from a slightly higher point of view. Later, stop by the tasting room and watch cheese being made through a large window. You can even buy a sample of cheese to enjoy while you sample wines. The tasting room is spacious, yet comfortable.

And if you’re all about accolades, if you only take time to indulge in the best of things, well, Black Star Farms might just be your place. In addition to award-winning cheeses, the farm itself won an award for the work environment. That’s right, they seem to have figured out how to make work one of those things employees look forward to doing. And you can tell by the way they treat you. Q and I enjoyed an educational and yet fun tasting. When we were done, we mentioned that we were hungry but weren’t familiar enough with Traverse City to know where to have dinner. Two of the tasting room employees asked what we liked and then, in concert, suggested the same restaurant which turned out to be perfect. It wasn’t a big thing really, but it was the manner in which the two girls approached the situation. They didn’t just blurt out their favorite spot, but inquired first about our preferences. And that’s the way they made us feel during the tasting. Of course, if the results at the Great Lakes Wine Competition are any indication, 22 award-winning wines might suggest they’ve got pretty good wine too. I know Q and I enjoyed their wines enough to buy a few bottles. I work in wine country so I’m very familiar with wine tastings. There’s no question the biggest reason I enjoyed Black Star Farms was because I was there with Q. It’s that simple really, but the other reason that day stands out to me is because Black Star Farms is an experience.

We weren’t there when the café was open and we didn’t have the chance to enjoy the farm market (which I know Q would love), nor did we stay in the beautiful and tastefully done Inn, but I know we’ll be back and we will see what those elements of the overall experience are like. Q mentioned a quote to me last night that she encountered at the yoga studio and it was about the fact that you don’t go to yoga for this specific experience or that specific experinece. You just go for an experience and you allow yourself to be there in the moment and it’s that genuine experience that is meaningful (I paraphrase rather poorly). The same could be said of our visit to Black Star Farms. It was unexpected. We went to another winery first with no idea where to go next. We started our adventure late in the day and only had time for two or three stops. The girl at the first winery said, you should stop by B.S.F. and we did. From the moment we turned onto the property we felt drawn there. The fact that I’m writing about the experience months later indicates that I’m still drawn there.

When I write about how Q is this and how Q is that, I am of course very biased. But there’s a reason for that. I’ve met so many people over the years and few of them these days seem genuine. Few of us, I dare say, are just ourselves all the time. We usually have roles and responsibilities and for one reason or another they sometimes influence our personalities. So when you meet someone who doesn’t even know any other way to be, it’s more than refreshing. It's inspiring. Q says I’m sweet and romantic and wise. I don’t actually feel like I’m those things when I do anything in particular. It’s not something of which I’m cognizant of being or doing. And maybe that’s why it means something to her the same way watching her being a mom or listening to talk passionately about nutrition or about the many ways she wants to help people as a health coach all strike me as special. She’s just being herself and I just happen to find that self to be someone I want to be with. Black Star Farms is a small part of you, Michigan. But it’s one part that stands out. It’s one of your many wonderful bright spots. And I thought you should know that I see it for what it is, that I appreciate it for just being itself.

*photos provided by Black Star Farms

Dear Michigan (what is love but an opening of the possible),

This post is my attempt to make up for not posting last Friday. I'll post again tomorrow and this Friday, but starting next week I'll just post on Fridays. I hope that's okay. Working overtime, trying to find a job out there, and coming to see you when I can make writing two posts a week a little challenging. Once I'm out there, Michigan, I'll have more time to devote to bi-weekly posts, as I won't be looking for a way to get out there to be with you.

Below is a poem I wrote back in December. It still needs a lot of work, but I thought I'd share it with you. I hope you don't mind. It's a winter poem I guess (hence the winter pic), but it's really an anytime poem, an every day I see her poem. It's a poem about love, but even more it's a poem about loving youself enough to let yourself love. Anyway, Michigan, I ramble. You should probably know this about me. Chances are you've figured that out already. I miss you more than I have words to say, but I'm searching for those words. And I'm searching for a way to be there, to watch her spin that I'm-so-loved-for-just-being-who-I-am spin. For just being!

Tomorrow's post will focus on a special place up north and on Friday I'll write about other fun adventures. I'll also write about you, of course, and about Q. Until tomorrow, I hope this poem will work. I miss you Michigan. Each time I'm out there, coming back to NY is harder and harder. It's like my lungs adapt to the air out there, so when I'm here it's so much harder to breathe.

What is love but an opening of the possible?

– from “Target” by Jason Koo

I watch thru the window, you
on the pond moving snow,

trickle of coffee at my ear,
watch you hesitant

to stay where the surface is clear,
as if your feet might fail you,

so you push on, mind the edge
and all its hidden dangers,

but then you’re done
and you glide out to the spot

where you once went down,
you spin, there, arms wide,

pulling them in as you build up speed,
pulling them tight to your body,

like a long embrace,
and I’m at the door now, breathing

some of that same cool air,
steam rising from my hand

as I drink, and I watch,
and I hear you call my name.

Dear Michigan ("Nature is what we know, yet have not art to say")

I know it’s been a few days since I last wrote, Michigan, and I’ve already fallen off my schedule, but I’ll get back on track. I would have written Friday, but I was driving out to see you. I have to say, there was something wonderful about waking Q when I got there, the way she wrapped her arms around my neck in the dark and pulled me to her without saying a word. The way she kissed me in the silence, as if she’d been holding her breath since I’d last seen her and needed me to fill her lungs. I don’t know how to describe it, but it was soft and sweet and the sort of moment forever’s made of. I had planned to focus on a few other topics this week, but how can I not write about a part of you many people might not even be aware of, a part somewhere deep inside of me I want to keep to myself because Q and I had such a great time there? But that would be selfish. And the purpose of these letters is to remind you of just how special you are, to let you know that not everyone takes for granted the beauty and the strength and the love that you possess.

It was such a contrast to the previous weekend in the city, as we spent hours Sunday at Holly Park hiking one of the many trails. At times the natural world was so thick around us it felt as if we were hundreds of miles from the nearest people, but then the path would open slightly near the water and we’d be reminded that it was a holiday weekend as people kayaked and fished and splashed about here and there. But on the trail itself, it was mostly just me and Q and all that natural beauty (hers and yours alike). Q and I share quite a few things in common, like the fact that we love the hum of the city, the electricity you find there, as well as the solitude of being smack dab in the middle of nowhere and knowing, all the while, it’s really somewhere special. Sunday was one of those days where being removed for awhile from the rest of the world was exactly where we wanted to be. And the more I learn about you Michigan, the more I realize there are all sorts of beautiful places where I can be alone with you, where I can be alone with her.

I don’t know if anyone else has experienced this, but just being outside among the trees and the water and all the many animals, and stopping every so often to just be there with you in the moment, I fill then with something more than me, something pure and vital and that thing is love. It may sound odd, but I don’t really have the words. Like Emily Dickinson said, “Nature is what we know yet have not art to say.” But it’s like that when I’m with Q. It’s like there’s this deep invisible connection from the roots, like below our feet, deep down in the earth, part of us has been connected all our lives and when we’re together the rest of us catches on, the rest of us comes alive. I’m not talking passion (though I am very passionate about her) as much as I am this almost ancient essential part of us that has no name and doesn’t just exist inside us, but through us, around us. It’s a lot like the movie Avatar and the way the entire planet was connected, not just the life forms to each other, but even to those of the past, to all life. And in Holly Park, this past Sunday, Q and I stepped away from my job search and from the kids and from work and from the stress of all those miles that keep us apart some days. And it was then, while we were together with you, that I could feel what I feel every time I hear her voice over the phone, every time I see her smile, every time I hold her hand, only magnified. I could feel myself fill up, not just with myself, but with that something more, with that deep love that connects us at the roots. It was a simple day really with the woman I love. And it was wonderful!

Thank you for that, Michigan. I love you.

Here's another Emily Dickinson quote that I find relevant with regards to my feelings about Q and about you, Michigan: “Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without words, and never stops at all.”

Dear Michigan (In Between There Are Doors),

William Blake is often quoted to have said: "in the universe, there are things that are known and things that are unknown, and in between there are doors." As interesting as Blake the poet, the artist, and the, perhaps, misunderstood man might be to discuss, it’s the quote itself that I find relevant. Let’s face it, the universe is a pretty big place. Yet somehow in all that vastness and in the expanse of time, as well, Q and I crossed paths in such a way that has brought us to this moment and to my writing about it. One of the things I know is that I love her very much and I want to be there with her (and, thus, Michigan, with you), to be able to simply look up at some point in the day, while doing some routine thing, and see her there. To know, at the end of the day, I’ll see that smile, hold her hand maybe for awhile, kiss her softly as I look into her eyes and tell her how I feel. Two of the many unknowns are how and when I’ll be able to do just that. But, as Blake suggests, it’s those in-between moments that offer myriad possibilities. And for every door we’re aware of, there seem an infinite number of which we remain unawares.

When I originally sat down to write about Blake's quote and about this topic, I started out writing about how, not too long ago, Q and I discovered one such door and, as often is the case, it turned out to be an unexpected surprise. I started writing about Cleveland and how it offered us a rendezvous that had a few benefits, the biggest of which was time. It took each of us about four hours to get there (that's four to five hours less than it takes me to get to her house) which meant we actually had a few hours on a Friday evening after work to spend together, unlike this coming weekend when I’ll drive out to see you and her and get there sometime around 2:00am. Cleveland was nice because we had the chance to have a nice dinner together in our room and to chat and to snuggle up close before going to bed. And it’s a pretty city with a excellent museum and some nice restaurants. But it isn’t you! Until I’m out there fulltime, I’m trying to find as many doors as possible, as many ways to spend time with the woman I love. And when I started out writing this post, I thought that was what I was writing about, all these different ways I might make time to be with her. Like this past weekend, we met in NYC. Q brought two of the mice with her and her niece (three wonderful kids). We did all the touristy stuff and I for one had an awesome time showing them around. But it wasn’t like it is when we’re with you.

Yes, in Cleveland, we were able to view some exceptional art. And one of the best things about being in a museum with Q (any museum) is this – not only do I get to appreciate brilliance, to look at paintings and sculptures, all the while being close to her, channeling it seems this intense emotional connection, but I also get to step back, every now and then, and watch her as she studies the art, the way she lingers at times over a piece, her wonder and happiness as palpable and as beautiful as any framed exhibit. And just watching her with the mice in The Village this past weekend was breathtaking. The way she is with them, the way her happiness truly starts with them, it's very special. Holding her hand as we walked through Central Park, pulling her close while we watched the musical, it all felt so good. But holding her hand and pulling her close anywhere feels good, especially in Michigan! And, at the end of the day, those other doors close. They’re just temporary. It’s like I get to step into all these cool doorways, but I never get all the way into the house before I have to go. Q picked up on that before I did. She doesn’t see those get-togethers as doors, so much, but I still do. They're just a different kind of door (not the get-me-all-the-way-to-where-I-want-to-be kind of door, but the get-me-through-the-week-something-to-look-forward-to-until-I-make-my-way-to-where-I-want-to-be kind), one that offers me the opportunity to be with her, which I’m certainly going to take advantage of every chance I get.

But this blog is about you. And, like I said before, what I want most is to be out there with you. So the doors I'm looking for most are all the things I can do to make that happen. It wasn’t until this morning that I realized maybe this blog is one of those doors. It allows me the chance to be with her, as I recall what we did. I admit that’s difficult at times simply because it makes me miss her even more (which I didn’t think was possible), but it also affords me the opportunity to relive so many special moments. And that makes it wonderful as well!

I set out to write these love letters to you to let you know how I feel, but I'd also love to hear what other people love about you. And if there's a special somewhere anyone would like me to devote a posting to, maybe they'll let me know. I intend to write about Traverse City and about Black Star Farms in upcoming posts. I also hope to work another poem in there, but I welcome any suggestions and any feedback. I'm driving out to see you this weekend, so chances are I'll have some new experience to write about from the trip. All I know is I can't wait to see you and I can't wait to see Q's smile and to wrap my arms around her and to squeeze. I just can't wait. In the meantime, though, I'm going to keep finding and making as many doors as possible because one of those doors will eventually lead me right to you.

*Top image - Claude Monet (French, 1840-1926). The Red Kerchief: Portrait of Mrs. Monet, c. 1868-1870. Oil on canvas; 99 x 79.8 cm. The Cleveland Museum of Art, Bequest of Leonard C. Hanna, Jr. 1958.39

**Bottom photo courtesy Christopher Kierkus

Dear Michigan (How Do I Find A Job?)

I miss you so. I know it doesn’t really help, my saying that. It certainly doesn’t change anything. But it’s the feeling I have welling up inside me and I want, no I need to share that with you.

As much as this blog is a love letter to you, as much as it’s about expressing how I feel, letting you know all the things I love about you (the people, places, things to see and to do), and about Q, it’s also about my attempt to find a way to get to you, and so I need to address the job search too. I’m pretty sure that won’t be as fun to write about, nor will it seem in any way romantic, but it’s certainly something to which many people can relate. And it is the key, it seems, to my being in the one place on the planet I truly want to be. With you!

About a year ago, the Grand Rapids Press ran an article on the jobless state of Michigan and the statistics were/are staggering - “This is life in a state with the highest jobless rate in the nation, where 449,000 people are out of work.” I feel the need to mention that I’m not trying to take someone else’s job. I’m not someone who can’t find employment in New York so he’s looking elsewhere. I have a job and if I could continue it from home or if I could somehow bring it with me, I would. But I can’t. And as nice as the people I work with are, and as nice as the area here might be, they’re not you. Not in any way, shape, or form. Not even close!

According to another article published in The Detroit News last year, the trend for nearly a decade is that more people have moved out of Michigan than moved in (about 109,000 more in 2008 alone, which for comparison sake is more than the population of the US Virgin Islands and nearly the population of Ann Arbor). I want to be with you because I see what you have to offer, not just to me, but to everyone. And if I can somehow find a job that allows me to show people just how special you are, that’s what I want to do. But in order for that to happen, I have to go through the process and, let’s face it, the process leaves a lot to be desired. Most employers want you to apply online these days, which saves on paper and is better for the environment, so I applaud them for that as loudly as I can. Now, if we could just develop a more economical use of time that would be even better.

Applying for a job is a full-time job. First you have to do some research. There’s not much sense in just sending out your resume everywhere, especially since it takes about an hour to work your way through many of those online applications. You know the ones that ask for every detail of your education and job history, the same information that’s on your resume. There may just be more job search engines than there are jobs. Half of them list the same job, require you to fill out all the pertinent information that the employers are going to ask, only after you fill that out you’re shipped off to another location (hopefully not like in one of those big wooden cargo boxes you see in movies about museums and precious artifacts that end up stored in the back of a warehouse somewhere). Once you get to that location, you fill out that pertinent information all over again, in addition to having the option of providing a cover letter and resume. This doesn’t count the research you really should do in the first place to try to match yourself up with the best fit. Of course, usually even the best fit doesn’t fit exactly. It’s like trying on jeans at the Gap – they either fit in the waist, but are baggy in the backyard or they’re low-rise-just-below-the-hip-fall-down-every-other-step jeans or they fit everywhere except the thighs (and if your thighs don’t fit you won't be wearing jeans).

Some employers look for specific education, some for specific experience. And, out of curiosity, where do they come up with 7 years experience? I mean why not 6 or 8, why not 5-10? Did they do a study that shows people with 7 years experience know enough to be self-directed and yet are still somewhat malleable? I’m not complaining. Just relaying a truth (and being a bit more sarcastic than I should be, perhaps). I do think if you aren’t going to put in the time to research and to apply and to do all the requisite steps to find yourself the best job for you then what sort of job are you going to do for them? And I'm lucky. I have a computer. But what if you don’t have a computer? What if you have to go to the library to get online to apply and then spend a few hours searching, looking at each job’s responsibilities and requirements, at least one hour filling out the application, to apply for one job? But here’s the thing, Michigan, you’re worth it. Every second of it! No question! Because working with such a beautiful state, working for a state that has so much to offer (okay, and the fact that it allows me to be with her), that’s what I want more than anything.

Here are some Web sites that might be helpful if you’re looking for a job too (just note that some search engines charge while others are free and, since there are so many, picking the right one or using several might be best). Good luck!

* About.Com's Top 10 Job Search Engines
* PC Mag's Top 20 Job Search Engines
* 12 Tips from Huffington Post on landing a job.
It's as much about selling yourself to yourself as it is to a potential employer (when I say "selling yourself" I mean metaphorically speaking, of course).
* Interview Tips
* Tips on Getting the Job You Want
* Tips on Getting a Job "When No One Wants You"
* Job Application & Interview Questions

image above via Detroit Institute of Arts: painting titled "The Harvest" – oil on canvas by Leon Augustin Lhermitte , late 19th/early 20th Century

Dear Michigan (Let Me Count the Ways),

“I imagine,” said Q, “that most of the women who follow the blog will think you’re romantic. You are. And I'm lucky because it's one thing many women wish they had more of in their lives. You should write about where that comes from. . . . Maybe write about why it matters.”

I’m not sure that you’ll be interested, Michigan, in an entire posting on the concept of romance. And I’m not sure I’m the person to delve into that topic, but I told Q that I’d try to write about how you make being romantic easier. She said, “Really? I think it makes it hard. You haven’t found a job here. And I want you here. And you feel so far away.” I was quiet then. That is extremely hard. But I’ll try to explain my thoughts as best I can.

In the movie, Avatar, the indigenous people have a saying to show reverence for another life (be it the natural world around them or each other). “I see you!” they say. The phrase doesn’t just mean you’re in my line of sight. It means, I see you, inside you, all of you. I see the world through you. I paraphrase poorly, but I think that’s the essence of romance. It’s seeing the other person for who she is and then letting her know in some way. It’s feeling something and then expressing that feeling. And, in a way, that’s what this blog is all about: I’m letting you know that I see you, Michigan. But I’ve come to see you because I see her and it would be disingenuous if I pretended otherwise.

Sometimes the most romantic moments are the ones you find in places that are less about more-more-more. Places with small town charm and character. Places like Kerrytown.

On one of my recent visits, Q picked me up at the airport. It was a Friday and the kids were spending the weekend with their dad. As an aside, Q’s kids are funny, creative, and big-hearted just like their mom. It’s really special to watch them all interact. Around 5:30pm, Q suggested we take a drive into Ann Arbor to get dinner. There’s this restaurant, she said, where she and a friend of hers had enjoyed “the best martini ever.” I’m not typically a martini drinker, but I think I just discovered my new favorite adult beverage that isn’t wine. We parked in a small lot on a brick-paved street and walked to eve, a small restaurant in Kerrytown. We didn’t have reservations and it was Friday night, but the hostess was nice and told us the only seats available were the tables outside. It was a beautiful day and we were thrilled to sit outside. We started off with one of those ginger martinis and it wasn’t long before we were immersed in conversation. That’s another one of the things about Q that I love. It doesn’t matter where we are or what we start talking about, we always seem to find our way into these wonderful conversations (not the all-about-me sort, but the all about everything we find interesting sort). We eventually ordered our meal which was spot on. The sun was shining. There was a slight breeze. People started to gather outside. The food and the drink were delicious. But the highlight for me was just being there with Q. Over five hundred miles had been reduced to inches. We laughed and laughed. And there was that smile. It’s the sort of thing that fills you when you see it. The entire experience was romantic for me and hopefully for her as well. I know some people get in the habit of going out for drinks every weekend, yet it’s not romantic. It’s not about the connection as much as it is the habit of going out. And romance is about the connection. It’s about feeling something and sharing it. At least it is for me.

And romance isn’t always easy, not with our lives being so cluttered. But think about how many times we get all caught up in the sundry responsibilities we have during any given day – getting kids ready for school or getting ready for work or making dinner or cleaning or mowing the lawn or finally taking a break at the end of a long day and sitting down to watch your favorite show or to read the latest greatest book. Think about how many times the person you love is there and you don’t stop, actually stop, and say, “I see you!” That’s what’s romantic to me, seeing the other person, noticing her, all of her: the frustrations as well as the joy, the sadness as well as the inexplicable happiness, and the myriad traits that make her truly beautiful – like how she’s curious about everything, how she gets excited and passionate when she learns something new, how she cares deeply about her family and her friends and how she puts her kids first, how she’s funny without trying to be funny, and how she’s smart (I’m fascinated by the way her mind works), yet unassuming.

I think we’re conditioned to some degree to romanticize and I think that’s part of the reason so many relationships fail. Like I mentioned before, we often start a relationship with the glass slipper in our hands and we try (often without realizing that we’re trying) to make people fit that damn slipper. That’s one of the most rewarding and exciting things about being with Q. We met years ago and the furthest thing from either of our minds for the longest time was any romantic idea about each other. But then it happened, all on its own. When it’s the right person, the slipper that fits that person is the right slipper. Not the other way around.

This blog is my attempt to tell you, Michigan, how I feel about you and what I think about you and how I want more than anything to be out there with you. But if I’m reading a blog like that my first question is, why? And that’s the reason behind the last post in particular, because I want you to know Michigan that this isn’t some hasty decision, that it’s not blind impetuousness brought on by limerence or infatuation. It's about me being in love with someone who lives 8 1/2 hours away and wanting to move there to be with her. But I wanted you to know what it is I love about her so you could nod your head (so to speak) and say, "okay, I get it. You do genuinely want to be here and with good reason." And so you'd know why it is I love you.

It's like that feeling you get when you've been working all year long and you finally get away for a few days and you go to the beach and you sit there and the warmth of the sun is on you, but it's not too hot because there's this breeze rolling over your body and every few seconds the water covers your ankles and you hear the gulls and the waves and it's like every part of your body sort of settles down a bit, sort of eases into itself, and you take a deep breath and let it out and your lungs feel a little freer, like that breath came a little easier, went a little deeper, and all of you fills up just a little more with the good feeling of being there. That's what it's like when I'm with her, just doing everyday things like going for a walk or making dinner. Maybe she's cutting veggies for the salad and I bump up against her as I reach for a knife I don’t really need and it just feels so good to be close to her.

And I know you might wonder, Michigan, but what if? Well, I don’t like to think that way. One thing I’ve learned the hard way is that all I can do is be the best me possible, right here, right now, for me. And only when you’re true to yourself can you truly give yourself to the other person. I can’t control how other people feel or what they think about me. And I certainly can’t control the future. All I know is somehow I met someone who is quite simply the best friend in the history of me. That, in and of itself, is extraordinary. But she’s also the woman with whom I’ve fallen deeply in love. I’m not the sixteen-year-old who steals his dad’s house paint from the garage and writes a love poem in the street outside her window at midnight so she sees it when she wakes up in order to woo her. That’s not what this blog is about. If something happens down the road, I’ll be heart-broken. No question about it! But not because I wrote about how I feel in some blog. I already feel that way! Sharing those feelings with her or with anyone else doesn’t make me any more vulnerable. But it might let her and it might let you know how I feel. And maybe that means something.

The hardest part about writing this blog isn’t putting my feelings out there – after all, I feel this way about Q regardless of who knows it. And I try to let her know how I feel. The hardest part about this blog might just be that after writing it and revising it, I’ve spent hours with it and that just makes the ache inside me from missing her even more intense. It just makes me even more aware of how much I miss you!

Dear Michigan (Let Me Tell You Something),

So, I imagine you might be wondering what exactly I see in her, this enigmatic woman I love (and for the sake of identification, let’s call her Q). After all, each time I write to you, I’m really writing to her. It’s only fair that I let you know a little about her and about how I haven’t been bewitched or enchanted by some spell. That’s one of the most exciting aspects about this thing called love when it comes slow from seed and grows from the roots up, blossoms of its own volition, before you even realize perhaps what it is (not because you’ve taken any of it for granted, but because you didn’t even know that particular seed had been planted). I saw a photograph once of this rare wild orchid growing all vibrant and colorful in the middle of a swamp, not from where you might expect a flower to grow, but halfway up a bent tree, in the crook of its shoulders. Not another orchid for miles and miles. Exactly how that happened could probably be traced back, could be scientifically explained. But the act itself, that unexpected bloom was, in a way, quite magical. That’s what I’ve found with her. And each time I see her smile I feel that bloom inside me, each time my fingers find their way to hers, each time we kiss, each time we share our thoughts (and we have so many thoughts about so many things, so many ways we want to breathe life back into you, Michigan, one breath at a time).

We met in grad school. It wasn’t love at first sight, although I have to say, she is stunning. We passed each other several times a day, exchanged our brief hellos, but circumstances had us on our own journeys. Never once did either of us think those journeys were really just two parts of one longer journey. It’s not much different, I suppose, than this thing between you and me. I spent a few days driving from New York to Wyoming on my way to an artist’s residency, drove along your border, but I didn’t realize then how strongly I’d one day feel about you. Isn’t that part of the beauty, though, of living, the fact that, just like Robert Frost said it would, we take whatever path we take and in the end it makes all the difference? We often end up somewhere we never intended, somewhere we maybe never even knew existed. And sometimes what we discover along the way is a part of us we never even knew existed, a part we may have never allowed ourselves to know. And that’s another wonderful thing about love. We sometimes form this image of what it is and we spend our lives trying to match up each new relationship to that image (we’re taught, after all, to find the foot that fits the slipper). Truth is, when it happens on its own, when you’re not really looking for it, you give yourself a chance to just be and you give that other person a chance to just be, and what you find is that the image you had of love doesn’t even begin to compare with the real thing.

She’s a poet. And one of the most brilliant people I know. We talk about everything and I can’t even begin to describe how exciting that is. How, no matter what we start talking about, we always find ourselves going somewhere profound. Yet, she’s funny too. We laugh and we laugh and she completely embraces the dork in me because she’s got a dorky side too. But isn’t that the way you are: beauty and brains, strength and sweetness, a little awkward at times, but able to laugh at yourself, to realize there’s nothing to be embarrassed about when you’re with someone who truly loves you? Did I mention she’s the most remarkable mom? Yeah, she is. And, if you ask me, that’s sexy! The way she encourages her kids to be adventurous, the way she fosters creativity and love, the way their happiness is the source of her deepest joy.

When I first sat down, tried to write about her, what I came up with was a list of superlatives. But like you, Michigan, she’s much more complex than that – like your best wines, there’s an earthiness to her, a naturalness that isn’t intoxicating so much as it is undeniably delicious. And maybe the best thing about her is that since day one she’s been herself with me. And, at first, you might think that’s because when we met we were on what seemed like different paths, but every day I’m with her, every day I’m with you, I realize that’s just the way you are, both of you, unabashedly, unashamedly, unequivocally you. And, as I wrote before, that might just be the greatest gift, that genuineness, because it invites the same, it encourages us to just be us. Only then can we truly fall in love.

Next week, Michigan, I want to write about you, about Ann Arbor, about Black Star Farms up north, about searching for a job, about so many things. I want to tell her what I see in you. But I thought maybe you needed to know a little more about her first. Of course, now she knows, too, since she reads the blog. This is her response so far:

“There’s a special innocence about it . . . like when you watch a child enter a wonderful space for the first time and they're running around touching everything, laughing, sometimes standing still with their finger in their mouth just wide-eyed . . . but it's all so new, seen for the first time ever. You do that with love somehow. . . . I'm sitting here reading the blog thinking ‘wow, wonder what it's like to feel love that way’ and then I snap-to and realize wait, I AM feeling love that way with and through him directly and also through his writing about it. . . . I love you!”

Dear Michigan (“Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.”)

Distance is a good thing when you’re triple jumping for the school track team. It’s a great thing to keep your distance when you’re on Safari and you encounter a less than pleased rhino. And one of the best things about college might just be that space you put between the person you'd been and the one you were meant to become (i.e. getting far enough away from home that you can learn how to be yourself, hopefully without giving up being yourself in the process). But when it comes to love, distance flat out sucks!

From my driveway to hers, if I push the speed limit without being negligent, it’s 8 ½ hours. Two of the past three weekends I’ve made the drive. She’s mentioned to me several times, Michigan, that you’re just too far to visit for one day. But that’s where she’s wrong. And I know she says that because she worries about me being tired after working all week. But I can get out on Friday around 5:30pm and head home and have a nice dinner and maybe just relax for the rest of the evening. Of course, what I’m going to be doing is missing her (and you) like crazy. And around 10:00pm I’ll call and talk for an hour or so and catch up on the day as best I can. Or, I can go into work early every morning so, come Friday, I get out at 2:00pm and I head due west. By the time I’d be making my goodnight sweetheart phone call I can be texting her from her doorstep. And I just don’t have the words for how good that feels. And here’s another thing about love (not the head-over-heels giddy infatuation stuff where you end up doing all sorts of things you’d never do because you just can’t be apart for longer than 38 seconds), it's important to have your own time and your own space, but just knowing that at the end of the day you get to be with the woman you love, that's what gives being apart it greatest value.

I hope you’ll forgive me Michigan, but I wrote a poem for a novel-in-verse I’m working on about a football player who moves to a new town. He thinks about his parents and how far apart they’ve become and he also thinks about the girl he loves and how just doing the simple things together is enough. I share a revised version of that poem here because the hardest part about all this is that at the end of each day the one thing I want most is to just go home and see her smile and wrap my arms around her and squeeze and tell her, I love you. It’s simple, I know, and not very poetic. But that’s the one true ache I carry inside me each day. If I have to, Michigan, I’ll drive out every weekend until I can just be there with you, until I can just be there with her. And maybe the best thing about all that space between us right now is that once I am out there, I’ll cherish it each and every day. Right now the distance and the ache are barriers I'm trying to eliminate.


Proximity

is one of those
weird words
that can mean
the opposite
of what it means,
like how you can be
sitting-at-the-same-table
close to someone
and never be further apart,
or how you can be all the way
across town working out
in your garage,
but you close your eyes
and it’s like you’re in
some restaurant booth
with her hand in your hand
and the warmth is there
in your fingers. Distance
isn’t just the space
between points,
it’s the space between hearts.
And sometimes, for some people,
close is a long way off,
far is almost touching.


*Quote in title is from Rumi

Dear Michgan (Before there was you),

Before there was you

there were sun-
shiny days and nights turned
silver with moon
light

there were words
for every
thing and lines broke
just so

but now
I stumble
through the white
space unable to convey

how much brighter
the world is, how
much stronger
the pull on the tide.

*photo by Justin McCormick

Dear Michigan (I Want To Share A Simple Truth),

I’m private by nature, as is she, which is why sharing my feelings this way, sharing our story, so to speak, is challenging, to some degree. But, as Neale Donald Walsch suggests, “life begins at the end of your comfort zone.” And I can’t think of anything more important or more personal to share than love and a simple truth about happiness.

When someone reads these love letters to you I don’t want them to think I’m just some young fool blinded by infatuation or limerence. Somehow, somewhere along the way, over the past few years, we grew close, then closer still, we became best friends, and more. And I can’t begin to express how wonderful that is, how grateful I am to have you in my life.

Not only do we share so many common interests, like our love of the arts and of poetry and of nature (and of our inherent connection to them), but the best part is how we can just be ourselves, how we don’t need to be doing some extraordinary thing to be happy. It’s doing the everyday ordinary things with someone you love that can make them extraordinary - things like going to the market or to some specialty shop, getting the basics for a simple meal, returning home, moving about the kitchen, lighting candles, music playing on the Ipod, occasionally bumping into each other as we reach and rinse and chop and sauté and sip, as we talk and laugh and allow ourselves to just be there in the moment, or later, as the sun goes down, sharing a book. Happiness is found in doing these familiar things with someone who makes us feel like everything’s the way it should be just by being who they are, just by being who we are. It’s moments like these, like an afternoon hike, or clearing the ice on the pond out back so the kids can skate, when happiness reveals itself, reminds us that we don’t need to seek it out.

I like the idea of happiness being something that is with us, something we might not even be aware of because it’s found that “settling down place” inside us, it’s become a familiar part of us that we might take for granted, but it’s always there ready to flap around. Sometimes, we get so caught up in trying to find happiness that we sort of overlook the truest form (our eyes on the horizon instead of at our feet, so to speak).

Being oneself is often the hardest thing to do. But isn’t that what love is (that gift we often deny ourselves), an appreciation of our true selves. It’s not about trying to be what you think others want you to be, it’s about allowing yourself to just be you, to just be, and knowing that those who love us love us for that very thing. So, when others whisper in your ear about the things you’re not, when they try to bring you down, remember that I love you for whom, for what, you are.

Other quotes on happiness:

If you want to be happy, be. ~Leo Tolstoy

If only we'd stop trying to be happy we could have a pretty good time. ~Edith Wharton

Happiness is... usually attributed by adults to children, and by children to adults. ~Thomas Szasz

Success is not the key to happiness. Happiness is the key to success. If you love what you are doing, you will be successful. ~Albert Schweitzer

Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it. - Rumi

*image above via dia.org. painting titled "Head" - by Gordon Newton, 1989.

Dear Michigan (Yeah You!)

This blog is a love letter of sorts, but not the teenage-crush-on-a-celebrity kind like I had on Jami Gertz back in 1986. I never wrote to her. And, let’s face it, your celebrity status is more like Mickey Rourke’s had been those two decades before The Wrestler. But I believe, like him, you will return and will be appreciated, not merely for what you are, but for what you have overcome to get there.

I want to get back to you! Okay, no I’ve never actually lived there, but I’ve visited many times now and each time, from the moment I have to return to New York, I can’t stop thinking about you. Nearly every person I’ve told about my desire to relocate (from Vermont, Arizona, Kentucky, Tennessee, Louisiana, New York, and even from Michigan) has responded like this: “You want to move where?! You do realize that’s the most economically challenged state in the country? You do realize the economy is in the toilet right now? You want to move where?!” But maybe they just haven’t met the people who live and work there, not the wonderful people I have anyway. Maybe they haven’t seen the beauty up north: haven’t enjoyed the ski slopes or the wine trails or the dunes. Maybe they haven’t walked along the shores of a great lake which, even in winter, even when covered with ice, is magical. But I have. Maybe they haven’t heard about some of the revitalization efforts being made in Flint by everyday people. But I have.

But, Michigan, I need to be up front with you. I want, more than anything, to move there . . . because I love someone who lives there. And it’s not the sort of get-away-to-the-beach-for-a-week-with-the-guys-after-high-school-graduation-meet-her-in-the-sun-as-she-squeals-and-leaps-away-from-a-school-of-beached-jellyfish sort of love where you spend every day talking about opening up a flip-flop shop together. It’s not the college junior-year-abroad-meet-her-beneath-the-Eiffel-Tower-with-the-plump-silver-moon-overhead-and-your-name-thick-on-her-tongue-and-all-that-exotic-foreignness-taking-your-breath-away-for-a-semester sort of love. It’s the slow burn kind, the been-getting-to-know-her-over-time-years-becoming-best-friends-brush-against-her-doing-dishes-sun-in-the-soul-can’t-get-enough-of-her-smile-want-to-be-with-her-every-day kind of love. I want you to know, Michigan, that I love you because I love her, not the other way around. But the things she has shown me, the way she loves you, seeing you through her eyes, it’s impossible for me not to feel the way I do.

This blog is my love letter to you. It's a catalogue of my attempt to find a job, to move out there and be with you, to find my way back to her.