So, you are convinced that it is I speaking and no one else. How shall I convince you, from these great distances, which in my reality is no distance at all, of what I will next say? From where I stand, you and I are in the same room, yet also as far apart as the farthest planet from Earth. For we exist in different realities, which is to say, different dimensions. And yet, our parallel universes touch one another like cellophane wrapping laid over leftover food. I am not calling you yesterday's meal, but in truth, compared to my freshness, you are! You are a stale leftover compared with my level of aliveness and vitality. For my realm is crackling with beauty and bursting with potential, while the earth is billions of years old and its health is faltering. Like an old flower, it is withering and wilted, scattering its petals here and there. Once humanity has had its run, the earth will regenerate when humans are a thing of the past. You see, this upright creature with a brain that worries over the smallest things, preferring appearances rather than spiritual substance, cannot last. The human race is self-destructive. Isn't this a fact? Admit it—even the best of you sabotage yourselves in every possible way. Only look at my short life to see how I built it, and then wrecked it with my own self-condemnation. I did not criticize others the way I did myself. For I know myself far better than the adoring public, who are still under the impression that I meant to become the 'great artist,' which I did not. I passed the time with great artists such as my twice-husband, who was a famous muralist when we met, and through him I was introduced to the art scene, names you would surely know such as Georgia O'Keeffe and Pablo Picasso. And though I played it cool as a cucumber, I was not a cosmopolitan artist, not in the commercial sense. I did not care how much an art patron paid for a painting—only that it went to a good home. I was never a money-hungry person. All of you are hungry for something; you must contemplate what you are most hungry for. I hungered for love, and while I had my share, it was fleeting. It never stayed. I could never convince it to. And once my art was recognized, I was always and still am Frida, the Mexican girl with a limp, to myself. And because of this, my thirst to be loved was so desperate that it drove me to paint. Art became my outlet—I am sure you have heard that said. Art was my lover, in bed with me—and I was so in love with it that I decided to stay in bed with it forever. In this way, I guaranteed myself a lover. For if you have an unquenchable thirst, you must find a way to give yourself a drink. Do not wait for someone to give you a drink—they will let you starve to death! Besides, it was nobody's task but mine to give me what I craved the most, which was unconditional love. And this is the subject of today's love letter.
You may be like I was, feeling that someone owes you love. Someone owes you the kind of faithful and true love that you offered. Someone owes you a debt, and until they make good on the promises they made at the altar before God and man, you cannot go on. It is not that you cannot go on; it is that you will not. Your ego has been wounded, and so you refuse to carry on. You stopped right where they dropped you. You shattered, and looking at the mess made, there was no way to pick up all the pieces. There is broken, and there is shattered. When you are dropped hard enough, you splinter into such tiny fragments that you become nothing more than a crunchy kaleidoscope. They are pretty, aren't they? You move the eyepiece, and the glass falls and collides, making jagged art. This is what happened to you. If this has stopped you from moving forward, it is because you are stuck, as I once was. Maybe your entire life is not immobile. You may get yourself to work and home again; you may be a good parent; you may put on a smile and say positive words about how pretty brokenness can be, and others may find you appealing. While inside you may be dying of thirst, as stopped as a dead baby (Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar).
When you get to these wretched places, which are like deserts, complete with cactus and the scorching sun, there is only one course of action. I wish I had followed this advice, for I wasted too much time waiting to be loved. You must realize that nobody is coming. You may think me cruel to say this aloud. It is only because I know; I remember acutely the longing for true love. While on earth, that impulse, that drive to reach and capture adoration and to adore another, will never go away. It will haunt you mercilessly, for every person has the same hole in their heart. You will fill it or try to fill it with other broken humans who will stay awhile but who will eventually drift away. This is because nothing lasts forever. Oh, I know you do not care for this truth either. But what is causing your pain is not someone else, for pain always originates inside of you. "If they had not dropped me, I would not be broken." It sounds logical, but there will always be another broken person to come along and drop you. There is not a single person on earth who can love you the way you need to be loved. These are facts, my good friends. Because of this terrible truth, stop waiting on love. Nor should you sit on the side of the road and hitchhike, taking a lift from the next handsome stranger. Instead, put an end to this self-sabotaging, disappointing, and fruitless campaign to find love.
You may believe that finding the love of your life, or winning back the love of your life, is your purpose. You may have made it a goal, and all the rest that happens is collateral damage. But I guarantee that one day, probably when you are much older and have whittled away your life chasing love, all the tears, the broken heart, the longing, and disappointment will appear suddenly like wasted time. And one thing you can never get back is time that you have given away. A life span is only a short blip. Why not use it in a more meaningful way? And do not despair—the whole reason you are here is to learn the lessons you are learning, so in that sense you cannot waste a moment! Eternity is paradoxical. It gifts you with a few decades to see what you will do with it, and even if you wasted all of it, you did not waste anything. Nothing is wasted on you, darling. You are so worth the time and energy it takes for the universe to look after you. That makes you a winner in my book. But so you do not look back at the end and sigh with regret; realize, won't you, that you do not chase love? If you have to chase anything, it was never yours; it was running from you. If it wants to run, let it. Watch it go, but allow it to go, because for whatever reason it feels it must be free.
Your purpose is not to attract love or to win affections. Your purpose is to become the very person that is loveable and to love yourself. Once you have accomplished this, not only in word but also once it is truly and deeply established in your heart, this love of yourself will strengthen and carry you through the worst that life can throw at you. Nobody can break you when you are holding yourself. And then if someone comes and decides to fall in love with you, terrific—there is no better feeling. But your worth absolutely must be established in a foundation of self-respect and self-love. If you were not taught how to be with yourself and be happy with your own company, what are you waiting for? There is no time like the present. It was not until the last chapter of my life that I stopped running after love and settled down into myself. When I did, peace and calm stayed. Peace only comes to those who will accept and not deny the truth. When you accept what is true, even if it is painful, peace and hope will rest on you. I am not promising that life will be rosy and you will never feel lonely again. You will be lonely, I promise you this. But again, tell yourself the truth: loneliness will not kill you. Aloneness will teach you and make you stronger, so learn to tolerate it. Make isolation your friend. In stillness and silence is every answer found.
Have I convinced you that it is I, your friend Frida, and that we are in this together? I am looking out for you, sending you these love letters hoping they will encourage you in some way. Life can be so hard. It is good to have a faithful friend, and this is what I mean to be to everyone who is reading. Do not be satisfied with a shattered heart or with sitting by waiting for good news because it may never arrive. You deserve so much more than you have been giving yourself. I wish for you every good and perfect gift that comes from above (James 1:17).
For I am your friend, always.
Frida
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