Revised letter

Dear Mother,

It has been a while since I last wrote to you. Not a lot has changed. I’ve been at Uni for more than six months now, and I still don't feel at home. The other girls are different because they don't like the same things I do, stay up late and party all night to complain the next day. They forget to complete necessary work for the subject. I have been very busy with study.

Walking around the grounds to clear my head, I have found the perfect spot. It’s up in a tree. When I sit there, I am able to see the white-capped mountains. Sometimes, I just sit there and listen. I have a few private moments, before I am transported back into my mundane life.

Uni isn’t as interesting as I fantasised, but I am enjoying the work. I do try to get along with my dorm-mates, but it is extremely difficult for me. They are always talking about things I don't particularly need or want to have any part in. It’s always about the next party, or the new dress and down to the latest pair of shoes.

The new fashion will not help me with the choosing of the subjects I wish to continue on with. I’m not sure what I am to choose. My teachers have told me I can do well in any I choose. My head wants me to go one way – the easy and more successful way. My feet want to follow the path less taken – the one where I will feel more at home.[cg1] 

Being in the place where I feel at home is when I attend musicals. The sounds of the violin sweep me over the top of the mountains, like a bird, and the mellow brass take me to the deepest depths of the sea. When the concert is over, I feel like crying. This is one of the only a few places in the world where I can be myself and speak my mind.

I believe my dorm-mates will become friends if they stop, listen and sit in the tree with me. Perhaps, they will understand why I love to look at the mountains, to wonder about the world beyond our own and choose where your feet will take you.

Your feet are never wrong because they know where you want to go in your heart. They know your deepest desires about the choices you wish to take but choose not to listen. Perhaps there is someone here who will sit with me and listen to their feet, because the feet know the road not taken.

Love,

Lorraine