Dear Liberty,

As I sit in this cold, gray cell, the weight of my past presses heavily on my chest, but I can feel the flicker of hope igniting within me. Today, I write to you not just as a concept, but as a long-lost friend who I have yearned for through the darkest nights of my life. After 24 years of confinement, I am finally stepping into the light, and I want to pour my heart out to you.

When I was just a boy of 15, I made choices that led me down a path of despair. I was lost, angry, and consumed by a world I didn’t understand. I thought I could find power in my actions, but all I found was a prison cell. For years, I felt like a ghost, haunting the halls of a place that stripped me of my identity, my dreams, and my very essence. I never knew what it was like to feel the warmth of family, to hear laughter echoing through the walls of a home, or to make decisions that shaped my destiny. I was a puppet, my strings pulled by the guards who dictated every moment of my life.

But then, something changed. I began to transform, to seek redemption in the only way I knew how. I poured my heart into books, art, and reflection. I learned about responsibility, compassion, and the beauty of life outside these walls. I found solace in the thought that one day, I might be given a second chance. I never imagined that chance would come from the governor of Oregon, who saw the man I had become rather than the boy who had faltered.

Now, as I prepare to step out into a world that feels both foreign and familiar, I am overwhelmed with emotion. The thought of walking out of these gates, of breathing in the fresh air, fills me with a mixture of excitement and fear. I know that with freedom comes responsibility—a weight I am ready to bear. No longer will I be told when to eat, when to sleep, or even when I can have toilet paper. The simple act of making choices will be mine again, and I am ready to embrace that power.

I will not walk out alone, I will have the family I longed for during my youth and years of confinement. A wife and children to embrace. I have missed out on so much—birthdays, holidays, and the everyday moments that weave the fabric of a life well-lived. Yet, as I look ahead, I see a glimmer of hope. I will be able to create the kind of home I never had, filled with love, laughter, and understanding. I want to be the father who teaches his kids about the world, who guides them through their struggles, and who shows them that life is a precious gift.

Freedom, you are not just a word; you are a promise of a new beginning. You are the laughter of children, the warmth of a partner’s embrace, and the joy of making decisions that shape my life. You are the ability to choose my path, to learn from my mistakes, and to rise above the shadows of my past. I am ready to embrace you with open arms, to cherish every moment, and to honor the life that has been given back to me.

As I take my first steps into this new world, I promise to carry the lessons I learned in prison with me. I will not take my freedom for granted. I will strive to be a better man, a better husband, and a better father. I will work hard to build a life filled with purpose and meaning, and I will never forget the journey that brought me here.

So, dear Freedom, thank you for waiting for me. Thank you for believing in my transformation. I am ready to embrace you, to cherish you, and to live a life that honors the gift of liberty. I will walk out of these gates with my head held high, ready to face the world, ready to love, and ready to be truly alive.

With all my heart,

Anthony Pickens

Dear Little Anthony,

I hope this letter finds you in a moment of quiet reflection. I have been afforded the opportunity to speak to you from the future— a future where pain has been met with resilience and transformation. I understand that right now you are facing unimaginable challenges that feel insurmountable. Entangled in a world that seems dark and threatening, and you will often feel lost and alone. But I want you to know that there is hope, and there is a path forward.

You are currently navigating the harsh realities of child abuse, foster care, attachment to the street culture and a life sentence that, if you allow it to, will crush any spark of joy or hope. Though it feels like you’re trapped in a never-ending nightmare, I want to assure you that these experiences are not the end of your story. In fact, they will be the crucible in which your resilience is forged.

You will often feel overwhelmed by despair, especially after your suicide attempt at 16. It will seem like there’s no way out, but every moment of suffering is laying the foundation for a resilience you cannot yet see. Each struggle you encounter is an invitation to rise stronger. It might not feel like it now, but there is a power within you waiting to be unleashed.

You are going to endure year over year in solitary confinement and it will be harrowing; you will question everything about yourself—your worth, your future, your very existence. It’s easy to slip into the belief that you are defined by your circumstances. But remember you are not what has happened to you. You are who you choose to become in response to those experiences.

In time, you will discover that resilience isn’t just about enduring hardship; it’s about transforming that hardship into wisdom. Be willing to learn and accept creative outlets to express yourself and write your own narrative. Art, writing, and connecting with others will become lifelines. Embrace these passions; they will show you the beauty that can emerge, even from the darkest places.

The world will change, and so will you. You will be given the chance to rise above the labels society has placed on you. You’ll realize that your past does not have to dictate your future. Your story will become one of triumph— not in the absence of scars, but in the embracing of them. You will confront your past and begin to heal, step by difficult step.

Keep your heart open to the possibility of connection. Surround yourself with those who believe in redemption and transformation. You will meet mentors who encourage you, fellow travelers who share similar journeys, reunite with a connection who reminds you that you are not alone and that LOVES reach has no boundaries. These relationships will be instrumental in your healing.

And one day, yes, even the unimaginable will happen. You will find yourself at the age of 39, hearing the words you never thought you’d hear: Anthony, your life sentence has been commuted by the Governor of Oregon. Let this moment wash over you. Know that it signifies a recognition of your humanity, your transformation, and your potential. It will be a powerful reminder that it is never too late to rewrite your story.

As you look back on these battles, do not focus solely on the pain but instead on the resilience you’ve cultivated. Celebrate your transformation—a testament to the fact that despite everything you’ve endured, you possess an indomitable spirit. Use your voice to share your journey, to inspire others who may find themselves in similar darkness.

Lastly, be gentle with yourself. Ten Steps forward and two steps backwards is still eight steps forward. Healing is not linear; it ebbs and flows, and each step forward will be met with challenges. Embrace the journey as it unfolds. Trust that amidst the struggles and pain, your life will blossom in vibrant, unexpected ways.

So, in all the chaos, hold on to the knowledge that the future holds much more than you can currently imagine. You’ll emerge from the darkness as a warrior, ready to share your light and inspire change. Your journey is just beginning, and it’s a beautiful one. And please hold onto this… I love who we have become!

With all my love and strength,

Your Future Self