I always told myself I would fill my daughter’s life up with so many experiences she would never be impressed by anything a boy would ever show her.

I’ve always wanted her to see so much of the world.

The good.

The bad.

The captivating.

The hard to swallow things.

Show her the beauty this world has to offer.

The simplicities in life like the way the birds sing songs to each other.

Teach her how to notice when they change a tune. Make her curious as to why.

Let her ask questions even if the answers seem obvious.

Grow a garden with her and show her how if you’re kind to something you’ll be rewarded gracefully. Reaping what you sow.

Show her the hard parts a life.

The battered.

The broken.

Homelessness.

Poverty.

Light a spark in her heart to be helpful.

Kind.

Compassionate.

Loving.

Maybe her first heartbreak won’t be so earth shattering.

If she saw what hearts can endure.

If she saw where even in situations of hopelessness, love is prosperous.

Travel with her.

Show her the grandness of the world.

Make her question her existence.

Her size.

Her purpose.

Maybe her worries would shrink.

Make her keep a journal.

Allowing her to reflect on her day.

Her feelings.

Big and small.

Maybe discover the power of words.

The permanence of a pen.

Remind her that memories can be finicky.

They can play tricks on us.

That if you go back to the writing that moment,

that day,

her true feelings may have been different.

Teach her how to take care of herself.

Her skin.

Her body.

Not to impress anyone but to reward it for all it’s done for you.

It gives you life.

It keeps you going everyday.

Maybe then she’ll see the depth of her self.

Her love.

Her soul.

Her heart.

That she so courageously pours out into the world.

She’ll be bold and bright.

Empathetic and sweet.

And so full of life,

no one will ever make her question or compare herself.