Dear Florian,
Have you been well? It’s been a year since we met in the hostel lobby in Christchurch. I still remember that morning so vividly—sitting by the window, scrolling through my phone in search of a cosy café where I could pass the time journaling before heading to the airport. That’s when you struck up a conversation.
You asked if I knew of any worthwhile places to visit nearby. I didn’t—I was searching for inspiration myself.
Our conversation could have easily ended there, a fleeting exchange between two strangers. But something stirred within me that day, a quiet nudge from the universe, as if it knew we were meant to meet. So, I invited you to join me for coffee at the little café around the corner.
The café was packed, so we claimed two bar stools by the window, watching the world unfold on the street outside. You told me a little about yourself—19 years old, from Germany, and just a month into a year-long working holiday in New Zealand with your girlfriend. At least, that had been the plan. But three weeks in, your girlfriend decided to return home to start university. You thought you could make the distance work, but the night before we met, she ended things.
I could sense how much you were struggling to hold it together, the heartbreak etched into every word you spoke. It was your first relationship, and the loss had shattered you.
“How do I know she’s not the one?” you asked. “Should I fly back to be with her?” Understandably, you were afraid—so far from home, without the comfort of familiar faces or the steady ground of certainty beneath you. You were still in the process of looking for a job, which only added to your sense of instability. The dream you’d been chasing was slipping through your fingers, leaving behind a reality you hadn’t prepared for.
“Well, what inspired you to embark on this grand adventure in the first place?” I asked.
You paused for a moment before responding, “I want to see the world.” Your expression softened, and a faint smile crept across your face. It was as if speaking your dreams aloud rekindled a forgotten conviction within you, reminding you of the wonder and curiosity that had drawn you to this path in the first place.
I offered you what I could: words of encouragement from someone who, in hindsight, wished they’d had the courage to explore the world at your age. I reminded you that the world was vast, full of wonder, and waiting to be discovered, even when the road ahead felt uncertain. I urged you to remain brave, to seek out the small moments of beauty in each day, and to notice even the wildflowers that bloomed quietly but persistently between the cracks in the pavement. If things were truly meant to be with your girlfriend, time would guide you back to each other one day.
Words were left unspoken, but we both knew—deep down—that your journey was far from over and that you were meant to carry on with your grand adventure.
Then our conversation shifted, and you offered a thoughtful ear to my existential qualms. I opened up about the identity crisis I was facing, the very reason I had escaped to New Zealand for a week in the first place. I spared no detail about how I was grappling with burnout from my career, but also with a profound disconnection from my very sense of self. Responding to your vulnerability, I shared the depths of my struggles and you asked how I was managing those difficult feelings.
In an effort to help you process your own emotions, I mentioned that I like to journal as a way of reflecting and trying to make sense of the chaos swirling inside. I thought it might help you too, so I shared one of my favourite journaling methods:
“Actually, I find journaling difficult. But I recently discovered that writing letters—whether to myself or to others—has become a powerful way for me to reflect on the hard lessons life has taught me. It almost feels like I’m having a conversation. Maybe you could try writing a letter to your girlfriend, just for yourself, as a way to find some closure. You don’t have to send it, of course.”
You interrupted the flow of the conversation, your voice filled with sincerity. “I hope you publish those letters in a book one day,” you said earnestly. “I would love to read them.”
I was taken aback by your comment. “Why would anyone want to read what I have to say?” I replied, brushing it off as you being polite. “I’m only 27, and honestly, I have no idea what I’m doing right now. I don’t even think I know myself very well, so what could I possibly know?”
“Really? I find the story of your life fascinating—I feel like there’s so much I could learn from everything you’ve been through. People are quick to share the good times, but they shy away from talking about the challenging moments. It’s those hard parts—the struggles, the pain—that shape us the most, yet they’re often the hardest to open up about.”
It’s funny. When you said that, something cosmic shifted within me—an almost metaphysical clarity. It was as if, in that moment, I could step outside my existential identity crisis and see my life from a new perspective. Suddenly, everything clicked. The troubling times I had endured, the painful work of untangling the chaos in my mind—it all began to make sense. There was a reason behind it all. I was meant to experience, to learn, and to grow through those struggles, so I could share them and help others navigate their own.
Florian, you may never truly know the impact you had on me that day. You might have simply been reaching out to a stranger, seeking a fleeting moment of connection during your time of despair, but our conversation recalibrated something that had been out of balance in my mind. It shifted the course of my life in ways I never could have predicted. In fact, your encouragement was one of the key reasons I decided to start a blog, and it inspired me to embark on a new project to document my life through film. If even one person feels seen or heard through the stories I share, then I will have achieved my purpose.
I wish I knew what happened to you after we parted ways, whether you chose to go home or continued exploring, but I hope that, whatever you decided, you followed your heart and found the courage to keep moving forward.
Thank you. Thank you for reminding me to believe in myself when I felt utterly defeated. Thank you for helping me rediscover my purpose and reigniting the spark to chase my evolving dreams. Thank you for everything. See you again.
From,
Emma
About the Series: Letters
Letters, a series of letters to myself and to others, sharing treasured memories and reflections on difficult moments. A space for me to process emotions and revisit the past with honesty, vulnerability, and most importantly, acceptance.
Emma
Storyteller & Overthinker