Dear Winter (& Friends),
This is the spot at the beginning of my script where I usually write a letter to the artist thanking him or her for their time and faith in this collaboration. So… thank you, Winter. Thank you for picking me to talk to. I’m excited for us to make a story together.
Thank you too, Winter’s mom and dad for making this possible.
And thank you, BEINGS ON THE INTERNETS, for playing along.
If we’re lucky, this might end up being educational. Maybe we’ll raise a little money for Winter’s college fund, but the most important thing to me here is that this be fun. So, Winter, if at any point this isn’t fun any more, I want you to know that it’s okay to quit.
It’s a hard thing to tell a kid it’s okay to quit—we spend a lot of time and energy teaching our kids *not* to quit… but there’s a difference between quitting and giving up. It’s one thing to decide that something is too hard and the risk of embarrassment or failure is too great. We should never give up because we’re afraid to fail. There’s no shame in failure, okay? Everybody fails, everybody loses. That’s the only real way to grow.
However, it’s an entirely different thing to realize that what we wanted when we started something we don’t want anymore. Or that the cost is too high. Or that we simply would be happier if we invested that time and energy on something else. Like LEGOS! It’s okay to make that decision. Sometimes it’s even wise. Especially when you are 6.
I am not 6. I am 42. 42 is a lot. At 42 you are generally obliged to finish the things you start, so I am committed to seeing our project through to the last panel even if you decide you want to do something else instead. If that happens, we will still be friends. I will still think you are amazing and wonderful and made of magic and ferocity and I will not be sad even for one tiny part of an instant. It will still be our story and we will still be partners.
Are we clear?
Okay. Let’s begin.