I write it not for reassurance but as proof– a letter to my future self, as fragile as my heart in solitude, writing in this dimly lit room. It’s light enough to crumble in my trembling hands, but its truth and vulnerability defeat my urge to destroy it. So I fold it gently to be ...

Dear 17-year-old Jordan, I won’t ask how you’re doing right now. 16 was an awkward year for us, so I already know the answer. I know that it seems like life is out to get you. I wish I could promise that the next four years are so much easier. I can’t. But I can ...