Dear reader from the future,
I am writing this in yet another season of waiting in my life. Waiting—the kind I used to resist. But perhaps the difference this season is that the destination is clearer than it was a year or two years ago.
I’d like to believe that I am now able to enjoy this season of just standing on the shore, eyes open, allowing the sand to shift under my curling toes.
Sinking. . . Sinking. . .And yet, staying.
This time, I became comfortable with the uneasiness the unknown and the waiting bring. Knowing that I can uncurl my toes again, bring myself up to step on another flat, undisturbed surface, to balance myself again.
Sinking. . . Sinking. . .Still staying.
I now know this is just temporary.
The longer you wait, the sweeter the relief, isn’t it?
Your letter writer from the past,
Jessa
jessa 
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