Curiosity is a cliff diver. A circus clown.
Curiosity is my monkey muse. Wearing the Fendis. And cursing like a mother-fucker.
Curiosity is in my head because Elizabeth Gilbert gives talks about its nuances and assigned one of her podcast lab rats the homework exercise of animating curiosity and having it write a letter.
If Curiosity wrote me a letter it would be a letter of gratitude, maybe even a plea:
You have taken us so many places.
You have followed whims and been brave when others wouldn’t have.
You have persued me like a guru at the expense of all others.
And I just want to say, Thank You.
Thank you for your devotion and your loyalty.
Lately, though, I’ve noticed you resisting my messages.
I send letter after letter, mission after mission, and they remain unopened and unfollowed.
I’m concerned, frankly.
It’s not like you withdraw and stay safe.
Fear has a strong grip.
It’s not shame to succumb, but you must stand strong and stand up.
You must turn off Netflix.
We can’t go sky diving from the couch.
Your brain is rotting and your heart is softening.
Your muscles are withering.
Only when you stand in the harsh soil and learn to grow despite the odds will you thrive.
My intention for writing this letter is because I have such a great fondness for you.
We have lived an incredible life you and I.
Sure, it’s not always been easy.
But we come out the other end, mastering, powerful, graceful.
Because we do this together.
We are linked, you and I.
No one can quit understand our lure to each other, but it’s undeniable.
And I love you more than life itself.
I’m willing to go off any cliff with you.
Because, I know, no matter what happens, you and I will fly.
We don’t need to calculate risks or install safety nets.
We are invincible.
We have a passion.
We have the time of our lives.
I can’t bare to see you like this.
I know you feel it.
I know you want me.
And I want you too.
There is no reason we can’t be together.
Just let go, my love.
I will catch you.