Dear Sister, It's Your Birthday

Dear Sister,

As you leave your teenage years, I would like to reminisce about our friendship and maybe obnoxiously give you advice. Four years more on this earth gives me very little authority to give advice and I certainly can't claim that I am more well-read or well-researched or well-internet-ed, but I do have one advantage, and that is that I am the older one. It doesn't matter what I know or what I've done because precedent says that the older sister has authority to give advice to the younger one. Wow, I love playing the older sister card. It's like the trump card, only better because it is met by excessive eye-rolling and groaning but still can't be negated because it's true. When you think about it though, four years makes a difference. Four years ago we were not friends. I don't know if you remember, but I distinctly remember the exact moment we became friends. I like your stories and I enjoy your writing, but as you leave the teenage you behind, I want to tell you our story.

I love my family, but I never understood the kid who said her sister or brother was her best friend. We have always been very independent and somewhat solitary, a family dynamic that I took for granted until we spent a summer vacation with my mom’s side of the family. I was absolutely exhausted by the sheer number of people in one house all constantly chatting and playing and singing and eating together all the time. My cousins seem to thrive on constant movement and interaction - there is not an introvert I can see in the bunch - but my family more often than not can be found silently reading or on the computer, each caught up in our own world. When I watched Susan Cain's TED talk on introverts versus extroverts, it made me think about that family vacation all over again. By the end of the trip we all needed to pack into the car and spend some silent time together reading: no singing, no talking, no discussions, just quietly recharging. Of all of us, I feel like you were the most extroverted. Maybe you were just the youngest, so you hadn't built up your reserved side yet.

Ben and I always got along pretty well when we were younger. We played endless hours of legos or Pocahontas and Meeko or joined the neighbors on the trampoline for the frog game or super bounces or went sledding or tree climbing. As we got older, I think we drifted apart through general lack of interest. Ben was into his own world of physics and music and building and gears, while I started on crafts and travel and made my own friends. We lived our lives, chatted sometimes, played laser tag, did band together, and were fine with being siblings. That dynamic has changed very little - we follow our own interests and email sometimes or get updates from our parents, and that's fine.

You and I were a different story. Since you are four years younger, you were always too young to join in my groups or games except as a bad guy. I never wanted you around, but you were always there. I’m sure I was unfair, but kids have a hard time understanding fair and I know my ego gets in the way. Mom said since I was tiny everything was breezy in my world as long as it went my way - it must have been hard to live with me, especially for you. You are more emotional and empathetic than I, and I knew just the right buttons to push to end up with an explosion that was inevitably followed by tears. You were (and are) messy, took things without asking, and liked my things. I was neat, meticulous, and kept track of absolutely everything. You drew on my desk, took my toys, took my clothes, took my books, then left them anywhere and in terrible condition. Being a kid myself, the "kids will be kids" and "it's not the end of the world" thought process was a complete non-starter in my teenage brain. It resulted in frequent cruel anger on my part and tears on yours. My general dislike of you as a sister lasted through college, and I remember a number of conversations I had while working and traveling about the personality clashes that always distanced me from you. 

Our relationship changed after I graduated from college and returned home for the summer. I had no real plans, so I hung out with friends and applied for jobs for months. You were swimming (and not happy about it) and frequently fought with mom. Mom and I mostly got along (minus my few obnoxious tween years which I'm sorry my family had to suffer through), but I always struck me that you didn't understand how mom works. Something as simple as setting the table ended in a shouting match most nights - you didn’t acknowledge her request, then exploded when mom told you again to set the table. Everything set you both off, accumulating into a series of perceived slights, angry remarks and general incoherent anger. 

One such fight ended with you in angry tears as we were all supposed to be piling into the car. You were already downstairs and for some reason sought comfort from me rather than the normal storming into your room and slamming the door. I remember that day vividly because I was completely shocked that you came to cry in my embrace. I hugged you tightly and everything changed.

Somehow in that long half minute we broke down sixteen years of unwilling sisterhood. You were so angry that mom never understood, that she always needled, that she couldn’t connect. I didn’t say that I completely understood mom’s frustration. I have always understood mom - it’s dad that I have a hard time talking to. We hugged until the tears dried and when I suggested a few compromises you actually listened. We never heard each other before. That summer we started running together. You were completely opposed to the idea of running, determined to hate it before we even began and only agreed to run with me to avoid running with the swim team. (If I recall, you also were determined to hate Harry Potter as a kid, but we finally got you on the wagon and you now acknowledge the glorious, life changing, beautiful creature that is the world created by J.K. Rowling.) We started easy, running slowly mostly downhill just to the park, finishing with a few abdominal exercises. Flabby muscles, no motivation and no breath control made the run a struggle, but I wouldn’t let you stop. The next day was easier. The next, even better. We started running longer, changing our breath count, changing our stride. We started using the runs to talk. I started to learn about you, my sister, and to understand you. We found things in common. I watched you swim. I counted for your 500s and your miles. 

We supported each other during the fire, making jokes and planning a new life. The fire would wipe out everything, but it wasn’t a chance to start fresh because our fresh start had already happened. We were sisters and finally friends. A stressful evacuation made us come together to avoid the tension created by our parents. I couldn’t really be stressed during the fire because it was all just “stuff” and no amount of worrying would stop the flames from roaring through the canyon towards Mountain Shadows. I understood the fear of losing everything, of starting over, of fighting with the insurance people and of coming back to find a blackened heap where we had built our entire lives, but I just didn’t feel it. What would come would come, and if we were lucky our house would be spared. Although I still spent hours centering myself through silence and words on a page, those few weeks of evacuation gave you and me plenty of opportunities to talk. It took me sixteen years, but I finally understand that girl who says her sister is her best friend.

Now you're my number one go-to person, despite being separated by a few countries. I still don't understand you sometimes and many of your fandoms verge on the intentionally weird, but it's something I'm okay with. I can look at your accomplishments, academic and otherwise, with pride rather than spite or jealousy. I brag to my friends that you're a published author and know more languages than me and are at that good school for linguistics and writing so you'll be even better when you leave. You educate me on subculture (because you're too cool for pop culture and I'm too far out of it) and all of these terms I know nothing about but am slowly learning. You keep tabs on my obsessions (and I on yours, kindof) and never hesitate to completely unironically inform me if something major happens in my fandoms of choice. Well, it may be ironic but since irony rarely translates over chat, I like to think it's all sincere when you tell me my favorite actor just did a photo shoot and interview and it's adorable. 

And now for the advice. It's your birthday, so I can be a corny or cliché as I want. 
First, be unashamed of who you are. I'm proud of you and I love you, and so do you. That's enough. 
Second, do your homework. College is too expensive not to get good grades and actually learn in class. I know from experience that you primarily remember what happens outside of class, but that's no excuse not to have the information logged in the back of your mind. Also, I'm pretty sure class is mostly to teach you how to think and analyze, so doing well will by default teach you to think. 
Don't be afraid of being uncomfortable. New cultures and languages and uncomfortable situations are everywhere, but the moments that have made me a better person are inevitably uncomfortable and usually in another country. If you don't challenge your preconceptions or face your fear, everything stagnates. Going along with that, for me it has always been hard to ask for advice or guidance, but when I do I've found it very helpful. The good thing about advice is that you don't have to take it.
Be passionate. I love that you love Welcome to Night Vale, and I think things we are passionate about inspire us to do things we are passionate about, if that makes any sense. For example, I see the Starkids loving their work and I want to do something that I love as much as they love what they do, and I know it's possible because if they can live their dream then there's no reason I can't live mine. 
Something everyone always says but I never really took to heart until I was in my first real relationship is: don't judge. I think you have less of a problem with this than I do, but intelligence isn't the be all end all. It's nice to be smart, but that doesn't mean you're a good person and IQ doesn't determine worldview or life experience. It took me being in a relationship with someone whose life experience was dramatically different than my own and whose defining trait was not his study skills or reading habits to really understand that everyone brings something valuable to the conversation. It's easy to listen to someone talk and dismiss them, but you'll learn a lot from listening even when you don't like the speaker. This is not to say that smart isn't sexy as hell...I guess it's more about noticing people. Notice the things that make a person beautiful and help to bring that out. You'll be better for it, and so will they.
Also, notice the things bring you joy and that are beautiful about yourself and indulge in them, like chocolate and your love of languages and plot twists. Nothing's better than internal peace, and knowing what makes your eyes light up will help you cultivate it. This is something I'm working on, but I think I made a breakthrough sitting in the icecream shop in Nicaragua contemplating my imaginary flavors and murals in my fictitious future creamery. Really, I'm working on generally just becoming a better person because it's important to be a credit to the world and to my family and myself. 
Finally, don't forget me when you're famous. We're sisters - one of the benefits is being in each other's lives.