I know you have been crawling around. And you are doing this for so long it seems like we were born together; sometimes it actually feels like we are the same. But this is the letter where I say goodbye to you.
Have you ever looked around yourself and thought: how on earth did I get here? Doesn’t people know I’m not that good? What am I doing? Do I know what I’m doing??
Trust me, at least 50 times a week I would ask myself that. Especially if anyone would complement me or say something nice about the fact that I’m self-taught in English or that I usually can fix any electronic device (I know shit about it, I just really like to fuss around until I somehow fix it). I never saw myself as good enough or, at least, not so bad. I always looked up to my friends and acquaintances and see all their great qualities, whilst I would only enumerate my flaws. Alas, writing is my passion (and I know I’m a bit rusty) and every time someone said they loved what I wrote, I felt my heart sinking, thinking: hey, hon, I’m really not that good. I know you are just saying that because you are nice.
Until…
Until 2018 hits me like a fucking train (freely citing Florence and The Machine). In so many ways. And I have to, from the bottom of my heart, thank that blogger who dragged my name on the mud. Thank you, lady. I hope you have taken all that anger out of your heart and we can move on with our lives. But, because of you, because you were the key factor to make me freeze and get into the biggest crisis of my life, I was able to go all the way down and come back. I couldn’t work properly any longer. I was at my favorite brand and I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe. I hated everything and I believed it was, entirely, my fault: I was never good on the first place, obviously it would end up in shit eventually.
Yeah, that was not the reason.
I’m good and I have no problem in saying it. I don’t believe I’m better than anyone or it makes me feel like I’m the best cookie. No. I just know I’m good. Because the moment I left, the moment I let all that pain hit me, I could rise again, because so many people called me saying: can you work with me?
And then, this you already know: I went to Buenos Aires. And all those thousands of steps I took every day assured me: you are good to go, kiddo. Stop messing around; you know you can do it. Yes, Baires, I know I can. I just didn’t want to face what was wrong – it is SO much damn easier to blame someone or something else… But, you didn’t let me get away with it.
So, I stopped messing around. Got my shit together – got to go back to one of my favorite agencies and clients. Sometimes, you gotta accept that kick in your ass and jump.
(this pic is from my house in Montevideo. Boy, this house made me write)
letters for us 