A Politically Correct Love Letter

A love letter in a time when you can’t tell girls they’re pretty, you can’t praise anyone for results or achievements, and everyone is encouraged to fail.

Dear Quinoa,

Your eyes sparkle with effort and determination. I remember the first time I glimpsed your work ethic. I felt my heart expand and my soul smile. (Side note: turned out it was gas.). I saw your mother at the food co-op last weekend and she said, “Guess what Quinoa made at school yesterday? An effort!” I was so proud. I have never known anyone who tries as hard as you, or who is more focused on the #process than the result. It doesn’t matter that you studied for 15 hours for our Chemistry test and still failed. The important thing is that you enjoyed the process of preparing for the test. When you apply to college, just let the various admissions offices know how hard you tried. They will surely appreciate your effort. Remind them that it’s about the #journey, not the destination.

Speaking of failure, I admire how often you fail. You fail, and you fail, and you fail. I will always remember opening night of the school play last year when you forgot all your lines and everyone laughed. EVERYONE. Well, you got up on that stage the next night and…forgot all your lines again! In my book, that’s a staggering success, because #failure.

Along the same lines, I love your pluck and your grit. You embody the idiom “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.” At my birthday dinner a few months ago, the restaurant only had regular lasagna, not vegan lasagna. You explained to the waiter that they could make you a vegan version by using tofu instead of cheese, and ground squash instead of meat. The waiter seemed confused but promised the chef could do it. When the lasagna came out, it smelled too good to be vegan. We all knew it. But you didn’t want to ruin my dinner so you lifted a forkful of the delicious, oozy, cheesy stuff to your lips and tried to force yourself to eat it. You couldn’t do it. So you tried again. Still couldn’t do it. Even on the third try, usually a charm, you couldn’t do it. 27 tries later, that lasagna was in your mouth. I was so impressed. At the end of dinner, you gave me a ceramic heart that you had made in art class. Even though I thought it was a whale giving birth, I could tell you had a good time making it.

I respect how you’re not afraid to put people in their place. I nearly burst with pride when you stomped on Jason’s foot after he said you were beautiful. The nerve of him! You’re not beautiful. You’re a strong, capable, independent woman. Don’t let anyone call you beautiful, ever. Bastards!

I admire your dedication to the debate team. From our last few dates alone, I can tell that you’ve really enjoyed learning how to argue successfully. I look forward to our next date when you can try to argue me out of my position that kale is evil.

You are so patient and you’re a great listener. I thought for sure you were getting tired of hearing my grandmother talk about her bursitis, but you seem so interested every time she brings it up. Most people would literally die listening to her talk about it. #Literally. In fact, I maintain that if a person ever needs to get another person to divulge sensitive information, I can bring my grandmother over to talk about her bursitis. Or about how prunes soften her stool. Done and done.

In summary, you are kind, full of #gratitude, hard working and #blessed. Our bond make us more than #friendswhoarefamily, if that’s even possible. Keep trying, keep failing and keep your eyes off the prize.

In harmony,

Millet