A letter from one dad. On paper. Every month.
I write it as I go. No draft, no polish, no committee, no brand voice whatever that is. It gets mailed before I can talk myself out of it, and once it is in the box it is yours.
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No. 06 — June — building the airplane mid-air
You could say I’m a workaholic the facts. You could also say I’m the solo breadwinner for a family of five, and I’m self-employed. Basically making this up as I go along.
I’m literally building the airplane mid-air, duct-taping the black box and the wings and shit together while we catch a bit of tailwind.
It’s real. I’m just making this up.
What ends up in the envelope
The things that are taboo to say out loud, said out loud, then dropped in the mail.
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One envelope. Once a month. Reliably. The whole habit in a single sitting.
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Twice the mail. The half-formed mid-month one, before it is cleaned up, and the finished one.
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I am a dad. These are not advice. They are the record of one person trying to stay awake for his own life, typed fast and mailed to you so you might stay awake for yours.
Now I’m going to see if I can get the jet ski started. It’s borrowed. At a borrowed cabin. But let’s not equivocate: a jet ski is a jet ski.
This is borrowed time.
— the dad who writes it