Our time capsule

Dear J,

You’re sleeping in your room and your mom’s asleep. I just slid your 2nd blanket on you because mama thought you needed it and she made me sneak into your room because apparently I’m the ninja in the family.

We haven’t told many people yet, but you’re going to be a big brother in a couple of months. Mama’s having a tougher time now than she did with you. She’s sleepy all the time and isn’t her normal self physically or emotionally (something about progesterone). We don’t know if you’re going to have a brother or sister yet though.

She says it was easier with you… your sibling is a troublemaker and makes mama sick. By the way, you should be proud that your mom helped 3 other moms this weekend (and got paid doing it). She’s been doing what she loves on the side in addition to her normal job. She often sacrifices the little sleep she has at night. But it makes her happy.

That’s your mom. Yesterday, we were in your room trying to put you back to sleep. I passed out by your crib from putting myself to sleep while singing you a lullaby. Next thing I know your mom’s waking me up after she magically coaxed you to sleep. We snuck back to our room.

As much as mama tries to squeeze into each day, she never sacrifices her time with you. I usually get to sleep more because my brain doesn’t hear you cry when I’m asleep. But mama puts the baby monitor near her ear and wakes up the instant you stir.

Oh, check this out. I don’t know if people will still do this in your time. All this stuff in the picture below came out of a 30-year old Time Capsule:

The idea is that you put things you want to remember or preserve into a Time Capsule (a safe box), then bury it. Then the next generation of people dig it up and ooh and aah about how much things have changed, make fun of how silly people looked in the past, and feel a tingly sensation from getting a message frozen in time from people who used to be alive.

The most famous time capsules were created by pop artist Andy Warhol. He started his project in 1974, capturing “ephemera” from his daily life— correspondence, newspapers, souvenirs, childhood objects, even used plane tickets and food. He created 612 time capsules by the time he died in 1987. They’re now in his museum, the largest one dedicated to a single artist.

People stopped doing it because you can preserve everything digitally now, and we have less and less physical stuff of value.

So my idea is this is my time capsule for you. Everything is digital now, so I don’t have to bury a trunk full of papers and risk them getting damaged. Instead, I’ll try to write one of these “letters” to you every week and publish them here. I don’t know if any of this will make sense for you when you read it. But who knows, maybe it’ll be the start of a family tradition.

You might think it’s strange, but people used to write letters. Handwritten, ink on paper mailed in an envelope with a postage stamp and delivered by planes, trucks and postmen. Took a couple of days to over a week to get from here to there, and you always worried that the letter didn’t make it somehow. It was stressful because you went through all the effort to write it by hand and each letter was an original copy.

Things have changed in the last 20 years. A big reason is we crossed from analog to digital. Once we went digital, things started flying and we started advancing exponentially (Moore’s “Law”).

In case you’re wondering, I’m typing away at my laptop, on the floor of the bedroom because my chair hurts my neck. The lights are off because mama’s sleeping. I used to have an office and a proper workspace until I was kicked out to convert it into your nursery.

For a while now, I’ve been on a journey to try to understand what makes people do what they do. What makes them happy and unhappy. What makes them buy. Why so many people today are not content, despite succeeding in everything and getting everything they thought they wanted.

I’m finally starting to understand, and I want to share my discoveries with you, if you’re interested.

You may have many questions of your own, but you’ll find that the answers won’t come from any of the ways the world wants you to learn today. And that’s why I must write this to you. Because if anything were to happen to me before we get to talk about this in person, I want to make sure this message gets safely delivered.

I’d say you’ll be ready to read these messages once you start having questions you can’t answer, which is probably sometime after you lift your anchors and start flying solo.

You’re one and a half years old today. I wish I started writing to you sooner. But that’s today’s lesson – there is no perfect time to doing anything worth doing. You just have to do it. (Even if you have to do it on the floor and in the dark.)

Anyway, I don’t think any of this will be of interest to you for another 18 years (at least).

That’s why this is challenging for me to write… I have no idea what kind of person you’ll be in 18 years. I have to imagine what you’ll be like. I have a picture of you next to me. It helps me pretend that I’m writing to you.

All I know right now is that you’re rather cheeky. And very happy. And very smart. And full of love.

I should still be around in 18 years. But if I’m not, this will be here. And so will your mom. Listen to your mom. She’s always right.

But sleep now. You’re doing great. Play, get to know yourself and explore. Don’t worry about anything yet. It’s not yet time to see people as they really are.

Love,
Dad

P.S. you have a big head (75 pctl head, 5 pctl weight and 2 pctl length).