I am a collector. My trade is stories and human nature, and I barter with others to be at their most raw. I'm not sure when I began to be drawn to this side of people. I grew up being unbearably uncomfortable in my own anxieties and emotions, often feeling like I was suffocating in an empty room. Sometimes I felt like I was just so filled up with feelings that they ballooned up inside me and pushed my lungs and ribs and heart and spleen all into a corner. There’s not even enough room for a good, deep breath - just tightness. It’s a strange thing. I would often study others and how they comfortably lived their own lives without any detectable doubt of their choices, and wonder how the **** they could stand themselves. Didn't they know that nothing was for certain and how arrogant they were for trusting even themselves? Idiots.

So being vulnerable was not something I was good at, when just existing was hard enough. But now I revel in it. Gently reaching out and touching that side of myself is when I feel my most alive. I could easily (lazily) compare it to the hesitation and subsequent thrill of riding a roller coaster. But not everyone likes roller coasters. I know a few that would do anything to skirt away from being vulnerable. That's why there is value in those moments when I see your eyes flit up and look cautiously into mine and through me into my intentions before telling a secret; when your nerves carry your sheer excitement past your lips and into my hands - that's when I know I'm holding something sacred.

But it's not easy to get there. In fact, it's near impossible.  I usually make the first move; I will bow and offer a sacrifice of character - an embarrassing story or some personal account. I expose my belly to rejection, and sometimes I get bit. Experiencing vulnerability that isn't my own is usually a heavily guarded bridge to cross. Strangely, hearing people talk about themselves gives me a better understanding of myself. I can see my reflection in others, when I usually feel so alone. The human connection is my currency. You seem to hold the same value in words. You keep them to yourself for the most part, but sometimes feel generous and I get to drink in your stories. Your words appreciate with time. To me, there is nothing in this world more precious.

I carry you in my intentions. I act on me and myself, but I would be lying if I didn't say that I also want to do what would make you proud.

So happy birthday, Dad. I think what I'm trying to say in all of this is that you inspire my driving forces in life, which is the most invaluable gift you've given me. I have built off of the parts of me that I don't like into the foundation of the person I am and always hoped I would become. My gift to you, in my own roundabout way, is working through my deeply rooted reservations to write you this and to let you know all that you mean to me and to who I am. I love you and I love your words.