Si vales, valeo.

That is the best salutation I can offer to one I've never met. If you are well, I am well. At least metaphorically, it sounds fair.

Whoever or whomever you are, I don't miss you. I don't dream about you and I don't think I see you in crowds. I know you have never been there for me to do either. Since the day I could find my way to school by myself, and at the end of the day get myself back to the place I called home, I have never longed for your company or wondered where you were. Everything I have achieved in my life was done so on my own. I never had your help. And I don't just mean that spelling contest in first grade, or the varsity letters in high school or any of that nonsense. Everything I've learned about myself -- who I am, what I believe is right, where I will draw that proverbial line -- was done so by me and me alone.

I don't begrudge any of that. Quite the contrary. I am proud of who I have made myself, knowing that what I have made is the product of my efforts, my choices, my mistakes, and my virtues. I have yet to regret my view of life, perhaps more unique than any other I've encountered.

So why this letter? To you, of all people? If I knew why, exactly, chances are I would not be writing this. In a journey up the mountain that is my life's esteems, I have reached a cliff shrouded in fog and have yet to conclude if this is indeed the summit, or if more lies beyond. I can stay here for some time, and be satisfied -- some might say I have been here for some time already. But the question that burns in the sky is: do you, dear stranger, have more to offer my life than I can give it alone?

The conclusion has yet to be reached. Until then, and perhaps after that, I will remain here. Much of the outcome will depend on you, stranger. Perhaps even more than it will depend on me. And that, in and of itself, will be new for me.

With Acuity,