Young Man, 

Start the kettle and sit to listen. Paper and pen, please. We don’t have much time. 

You are fourteen now. Congratulations—keep reading. I’ll give you what you need to fly.

At fourteen, it feels like you’re the only stinky thing on the planet. Don’t count on it. The sad fact is: the body is a wet, hairy, doubting vessel that also stinks. That’s true for everyone, including your family and every stranger you stare at. Be courteous with your smell, but never ashamed of it. 

At fourteen, you are surrounded by family, teachers, and mother’s friends. There will develop within you an unshakable urge to delight, impress, and please every one of these people. It’s an impossible effort; give up now. It will be hard to undo the damage done to you, child who puts on adultskin to entertain cocktail guests. It will take a lot of love to tame that performing monkey in you. 

For now, you’re fourteen. Let me see you. Do a spin. 

Brace yourself. Adults have given you all the advice that they’ve got to offer, and it’s about to become apparent. Be suspicious of unprovoked information. Be suspicious of people. I was loose with identity, I slung and shared it. Tighten up. Doubt and argue. Make your own opinions first and loud, otherwise you’ll soak up the traits of unhappy people. 

You are unsupervised by your family. This feels awesome. It feels like a mutual maturity and trust; it’s not. You are a child, meant to be watched. They are your parent, meant to be encouraging you. Something is missing here and it is not your fault.

When your family doesn’t encourage you, you’ll bury yourself into the internet. That’s fine. Try to stay off 8ball.net. Otherwise, explore. Research. You will learn about prejudice and greed and how they are wrong. You will also learn that they are prevalent and inescapable. 

You’ll spend much of your life ashamed, uncomfortable in your humanity. Other, cool-looking kids will say they feel the same as you. Don’t trust them. No one feels the same as you in this town. Their shame is a trap to catch you in. Their shame is the force that drives you to delight, impress, and please. Their shame is a bucket of holes, never satisfied. There are people out there who do not seek misery to beautify themselves. You’ve got to put your hand out. Interrupt and discover. 

Cut your hair. Go outside. Don’t smoke. Talk to somebody. Keep writing. Keep painting. Keep singing. You will make money for the first time and it will dazzle you. Do not spend your earnings on necessities your parents should be giving you— the money will disappear. Ask for help. Ask for food. Ask for what you want. If you don’t ask for what you want in the moment, it will be forgotten, and you’ll lose yourself in pieces. You will lose the thought of wanting. It will become peripheral and, over time, erode into nothing. It’s easy to live with unhappy people when you want nothing.

Makes it hard to live with happy people when you find them, though. 

By now, you have given up on the idea of living independently. Your mother told you she’d love you to stay with her forever. Beware. After one year, she will start to sour. The welcome runs out. This is not your fault. Unhappy people never say what they mean. She is not a happying person. Put no more of yourself into that bucket. 

At fourteen, you’re unmedicated. I remember the mindset. Frustration, mostly, needing a supplement to feel normal. Yeah, yeah. Everyone is “on” medication. It isn’t unnecessary, it isn’t unfair. You feel that way because you are depressed and unmedicated. Happify yourself. No one else will do it for you. Life is a constant metronome between discomfort and relief.

What else, what else?

A smoothie is not dinner. You do not need to sneak food. You do not need to place the cans exactly back where they were. Your family are unhappy in themselves, and are typically expected to hide that from you. You’ve got your own unhappinesses to figure out. 

Your heart will ache randomly; that is empathy. Keep it around.

I look at pictures of you often and remember living inside your head. You should have had people to watch you, help you to make sense of things. But they didn’t, so it’s got to be me.

Follow these rules and you will make it out. Somebody special will find you, she’ll smooth out any of the wrinkles and bruises you’ve gathered along the way. You’ll know when you see her. You’ll be loved as you were meant to be loved. You will be happified. 

Keep going, 

Old Man