A few weeks ago I became an uncle for the second time. My nephew came out of the womb at 10 pounds, 4 ounces. He's a big boy, just like his daddy, and he is an absolute prince, let me tell you.
His name is Julian. So far he does a lot of eating, sleeping, and, well, passing gas.
Even though I'm pretty sure he cannot read, I sent him a card. Here's what I wrote.
I'm going to be frank with you: I don't know a lot about babies. The truth is, I don't know a lot about anything. But I do know that despite the fact that you've never said a word to me, never looked me straight in the eye or acknowledged my existence with anything other than a wailing cry, you've already changed my life forever.
I also know that on occasions such as this - birthdays, holidays, certain landmark moments in your life - the people around you (mostly the older ones) will feel compelled to offer you, in addition to their love and affection, their unsolicited advice. Well, you've got my love and affection - now and forever - in endless, undying, unconditional form. And while I'm not sure you should take any advice offered by your old Uncle Kipp, in the spirit of tradition, here's my best effort:
The entire world has a secret, especially us adults. Even though we pretend otherwise, none of us has a clue. Not a single one of us. We might sound certain of ourselves. We might make it seem like we know this or know that about life and how to live it. But the reality is, we're all struggling to figure life out, to find meaning, to find our own truth, from the day we are born until the day we take our last breath.
You already understand just as much as the rest of us, Julian, and probably even more. So listen to your heart, not to the rest of us. Find what makes you happy. Chase after it fearlessly.
Enjoy the struggle. Embrace it. Make it an adventure.
I love you,