You Were Always Redible

We drank punch, told sideways jokes, danced and filled the room with the kind of joy that doesn’t need permission. No one was narrating their life yet. We were too busy living it.

It was my 21st birthday.

I found this photo again—mid-laugh, mid-wish, candles catching light—and I remembered something:

I wasn’t lost. I wasn’t waiting to be explained. I was there. Alive, awake, and in rhythm.

This is a letter from that version of me, to the version who sits here now—older, layered, still searching for coherence.

❧

–If this resonates, you might also appreciate The Autistic Mode, or Woven, or Notes to Myself..., or the word redible—from Old English rædan, meaning to interpret or read. It’s not about being visible. It’s about being quietly knowable on your own terms.

A Wish from My 21-Year-Old Self

Hey. You didn’t lose me. You just got so good at surviving, you forgot I was still in here. You’ve been telling my story like I was confused, maybe a little lost—and yeah, sometimes I was. But I was also free. I was full of music, and late-night food, and long walks with people who saw the world sideways like I did. I was good at holding silence without making it heavy. I laughed at things other people missed— not because I didn’t care, but because I saw through it all. And I loved being alive. You remember the fear. That’s real. But don’t forget the joy just because it didn’t fit the later narrative. I wasn’t broken. I wasn’t waiting to be diagnosed. I was living, in rhythm with something real. And yeah—I see you now, older, weathered, quieter. But still reaching for the same thing I was always reaching for: Coherence. Kindness. Meaning. You never stopped being me. You just wrapped a few more layers around it. I’m proud of you. And if you ever want to find your rhythm again… Just come sit next to me.

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21st birthday, surrounded by rhythm, punch, and friends who saw the world sideways too.

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Postscript:

I had a life once that was entirely mine.

I gave parts of it away to be understood.

I gave parts of it away to be safe.

I gave parts of it away in hope that someone would meet me there.

And now I wonder if there’s a way back—not to that life, but to that self.

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