A letter from May 24th, 2022

Dear Me, Well this is a touch awkward, isn't it? I write this with that uniquely surreal mix of dread, hope, and a hefty amount of amusement. Hopefully, we'll be a bit beyond that by the time this reaches you. Nonetheless, thats what I feel as I put these words down and the way I've been feeling lately as I look at the situation I'm in, our past that has led me to here, and as I try to even catch a glimpse of the future and what it may hold. Certainly, I don't doubt for a second you'll remember the way we felt at this point in time. That sense of immense accomplishment, dashed constantly with a feeling of ever being nearly there, but never quite, whilst questioning if we're even properly equipped to occupy the places we hold. I hope I've finished my studies, I hope that I have figured it out, I hope that I continue to have the unique privilege of holding positions such as the one I presently do, but perhaps even more? Most of all, I hope that you've figured out a direction of where to take us. I for sure still am unsure where to aim us, which doors to take the battering ram to, which allegiances to hold. Whilst I appreciate it is immensely unhelpful to somehow put this on your shoulders given you're at a point where this is merely a recount of facts that are so beyond your control, it is helpful for me to at least even articulate this directionless sense. Perhaps this is an infuriating observation to have recounted to you. I'd apologise, but we both know and remember how hard it is for me to feel like anything means anything.