an open letter to libby oughton

dear libby, 

you probably don't remember me. 

i wouldn't have had the same impact on your life as you had on mine. 

my name is april and i interviewed you through email about 15 years ago for a paper that i was writing for a feminist literature class in university. we stayed in touch a bit after that. and then when i was in grad school, you were in town and we met for coffee at the second cup. 

it was both the most exciting day of my life, as well as the most humiliating. 

the kinder you were to me, the more miserable and negative back to you i was. 

and i have wanted, for the last 13 years, to apologize and to explain. but i never really knew how. 

i was severely depressed when i was living in halifax. i was lonely, and sad, and homesick. i couldn't seem to break my way into any community. i had no sense of belonging. 

i was lost. 

i spent my nights reading in bed and slept as much of the day as possible. reading would transport me into another world where i could escape the reality of my predicament. 

i had been accepted into a master's program in women's studies. i applied with the clearly laid out proposal that my research was in feminist lesbian geography. and i was accepted into the program based on that research. only i moved myself across the country and upon arrival on the very first day of classes i was told that there was no professor that had accepted me into their program who did any type of feminist geography nor lesbian geography, nor lesbian studies. 

which meant i had no adviser, no mentor, and no one to guide me in my research. add to that, a really mean roommate who treated me very badly, the fact that i was really sick, and had no friends .... it made for a lousy year and really lousy timing in meeting you. 

it is no excuse for how negative i was when we met. and yet it is an explanation for the terrible space that i was in. 

and as i navigate my way through the regrets of things that i did, or things that i didn't do, you and that meeting in the second cup are at the top of my list. 

your book made it's way to me because the universe wanted me to have it. it found me at a time in my life when i was discovering who i was (i am still discovering that) and the words spoke to me. the words were alive on the page. i carried that book with me ... ALL THE TIME AND EVERYWHERE. i wrote my own poetry all over the pages. the pages are worn and soft now. and i still read it. your words, meshed with mine. this morning, i sat and read your poetry. and once again i was filled with the joy of words. 

and the universe gave me the opportunity to meet you. to connect with you. to form a friendship forged in our mutual love of words, of feminism, of activism. and i was a sad little brat who spent the entire time complaining instead of learning from you. 

and i regret it every day. 

i hope that you can forgive my youth. i hope you can forgive that wasted opportunity. 

and i hope that this letter finds its way to you and finds you well. and that you will receive this letter with my love and affection. 

if it is meant to be, the universe will get this letter to you. 

with deepest regards, 

xoxo

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