Inspirational Letter | A Letter to My Child | LGBTQ – A Note to My Kid

A Note to Mike from His Friend, Lindsey (San Diego, CA)

Dear Mike,

Seven years ago I went looking for a job and found a unexpected and extraordinary friendship. (The job was pretty awesome too.) Quite literally, from the moment I met you I loved you. You began as a welcoming and encouraging co-worker and evolved in to a person who has left a significant imprint on my life.

We have gone through a lot together in the years that we have been friends.  Death and loss, birth and joy. I miss the long conversations we had in your office or mine and the sensible, thoughtful advice you always had to share. I have learned so much from you. Through your relationship with your family, you've taught me the importance of patience and the value of believing in yourself. You showed me how to face adversity with grace and how to love with all you've got.  Your friendship has made me feel loved and cherished and beautiful. That, my friend, is not something you find every day. 

I regret that time and distance have pulled us a part a bit but I love cheering you on from afar. I am so very proud of you and the person you continue to become.  You only get better, even when that hardly seems possible. If only everyone had a Mike in their life! How much more wonderful the world could be. I'm so grateful you are in my life, Mike. I am a better person for knowing you and I love you more than you could ever know.

XOXO,

Lindsey

P.S. Something just reminded me of the mini-Beyonce cardboard cut-out that you made me for my desk and I can't stop laughing. Good times.

A Note to Leigh from A Note to My Kid Co-founder, Patrick Wallace (San Diego)

In the mid-90s, a passionate, comedic intellectual named Leigh -- the adventurous driver of a rustic, blue Volvo -- gradually became my rock.

Our friendship began in 1995 while we were attending the University of Oregon in the extraordinarily green college town of Eugene.

Long drives from school to the wild and windblown Oregon coast served as more than a simple change of scenery from college life to coastline bliss. They gave us a sense of freedom as we left all our troubles behind -- windows rolled down, arms surfing the wind, evergreens in every direction among buttes and rolling fields. We belted out songs by the Indigo Girls, Oasis and The Smiths in between conversations about tainted love, complex friendships and home.

What seemed like life-saving road trips at the time ultimately gave me the courage to turn to Leigh one night and tell her a story -- my first story -- about a guy that I "liked" rather than the standard story about guys who I thought were "cool." She accepted me every step of the way as I stuttered through explanations coupled by back-peddling and feigned attempts at rationalizing. In that moment she was the compassionate listener I had always hoped to find, but feared I never would.

Whether she realizes it or not, Leigh guided me toward living an authentic life during our college years (and well after) by teaching me self-acceptance and, beyond that, self-love. By being a true friend she also saved me from myself -- the person who previously disliked me more than anyone.

Our last ride in Leigh's steadfast, blue Volvo took place more than 14 years ago. The memories we created together in that car still make my eyes fill with water. For all these reasons, and many more, I will love her forever.

Today, smartphones and social networks have replaced our road trips. They'll have to do for now. That is, until we find the time to step away from our busy lives, sit in a car side-by-side and drive.

Also featured on the Huffington Post.