Dear future self,
I see the sprawling lights of Los Angeles fading into the distance from the airplane window, and I wonder when I'll see them next. I have no way to know. The closest thing to seeing through time is this letter I'm writing. I want to document my thoughts and feelings now, because I know there will come a day, sooner or later, when I will ask myself "what was I thinking?"
Now all I can see from my window is a deep, empty darkness. There will be times in the near future when that darkness will be all I am able to see. It's those times that this letter is for. I know the challenges ahead. Leaving the places I've called home for my entire life and leaving my family. Acclimating to a new home, and learning a new language. Willingly giving up my freedom to the army for two years. These things will not be easy.
I wish there was a better way to be there for you, future Brian. But these words without paper in letters without envelopes will have to suffice. Read these letters, and try to recreate my current state of mind. The home you left was your place of sojourning for decades; where you are returning to has been your homeland for millenia. The language you miss is the language of others; the language you are struggling to learn is truly your own. Your immediate family is across an ocean (for now), but you are here with your entire people. The causes and institutions for which you are putting your own needs aside are good and just.
When things get hard, rely on your Garin. I haven't known them for very long, but I can already tell that they are awesome, and they will be there when you need them. Be patient, and give yourself time to adjust. Stand up for yourself, but take things in stride. Keep your idealism and your sense of humor. Forgive people, especially yourself.
You may eventually conclude that this step was a mistake. You might blame, correctly, your naive youthful idealism. If that comes to pass, I'll accept a trans-temporal "I told you so." I hope you at least understand what I was looking for, but I really hope you do find it.
It's been a bittersweet sleepless night. As we glide over the sleeping Mediterranean Sea, I see the lights of Tel Aviv ahead in the distance. And on the horizon, the dawn begins to rise. I feel like those pink and orange rays are shining just for me.
Good morning, Israel, I'm home.
B'hatzlacha,
Brian
Lovely
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