005 To be 26, Have Your Cake, Forgive Your Mother

Happy Birthday Ireland

Alexandra,

It seems only right to address your name fully on a day such as today. Oh to be 26. How powerful it feels to let society down in this way, to stride through the finish line of our intoxicating girlhoods. So as handsome failures of pristine desirability let's just do whatever we please from now on okay? In any case, shouldn't they find us more beautiful when unshackled? I suppose I've only ever shackled myself... So the earth may cry without our feet to hold it up but alas, we must fly. 

Happy birthday dear Ali. Tell me how it is will you? Or perhaps let it be a surprise, I'll find out soon enough.

SUBJECT: I’m a Believer - The Monkees

Jane,

Our mutual friend Dan (the scientist) taught me to take the song I'm listening to and drop it in as the subject of an email.

I in fact am a believer. So it works out. My friend and I have been doing this exercise where we imagine a few exquisite moments that will come to fruition in the year. The rule is they must be specific, visceral, and generally perfect for reasons we alone are each the captains of. You are starring in one. This song is blaring (The Monkees version specifically) but we're outside, our feet are in the grass under a noon sun, our arms straight out for balance, hands flexed, and we're bent forward throwing our heads in a circular rock-n-roll fashion. Can we make that happen? It's my birthday today and that's all I'm asking for.

Oof, speaking of, I just got a HBD email from my financial advisor. Shouldn't he of all people know better than to send a card with no cash?

I’ve been in Mexico City a while now… we have a lot to catch up on 

If you zoom in on the photo above you can see me window shopping cakes this morning, stumbling upon such decadent pleasures on an aimless walk in the sun, having my cake — that's all. As if there is any other moment to be had.

Love,

Ireland

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To Jody Lynn Adgate (mom),

I have never written or thought of you quite like this before — as a real person, as a girl. 

I've been thinking that I was born as dad and I'll die as you, each day easing into your amber energy that seemed out of my reach for so long. How is it that we raised such a lovely and curious creature to think she wasn't capable of love? She certainly is — take this email as a receipt of undeniable proof.

It's my birthday today and I'm realizing that a girl becomes a woman not when her body changes or she leaves the house, not when she learns to roast a chicken nor after her first love, but when she finally and truly forgives her mother. Forgives her for the pushing, the pulling, the crying. Forgives her for dying. So from around the world, take this as me holding you with angel arms and an angel heart. They were given to me special, by my grandmother.

I went to a beautiful meditation this morning in what seemed like a castle. It had tall ceilings, indoor terraces, lots of greenery, and skylights. The meditation was in Spanish but I got along fine on my own, as usual. I've never truly been alone though not really. During my meditation I sat at the pond in between two girls. I hope the following helps paint a picture of what I saw:

I'm seated between little Ireland and the girl I will become, also her. My two dearest confidants, full of purity and wisdom. I have no fear in their company or absence. They'll come as I please. They'll walk through the river with me if I only ask and as we strip for the cool embrace, float and drown and play, as our roots move sediment and cradle the endless stream perfectly in place, as we bathe in our mother's gift of infinity... What dear friends. I suppose love has always been our most fertile possession. Haven't all of our tears been river water anyway?

Look at that girl alone in the river, dancing for dear life.

I LOVE YOU FOR REST & RELAXATION, SHEILA RAE THE BRAVE, WHINNIE THE POOHSTICKS, etc. ect. etc.

Ireland Glen Adgate