14 August 3015

My Dearest Lysander,

Your letter from Port Esperance reached me some ten days ago, and I confess I have read it through at least a dozen times since then, trying to understand not merely what you wrote but what lies beneath your careful words—the emotions you may not have fully expressed, the questions you may not have fully articulated, the changes you may already be experiencing.

I write to you now as your mother, not as the widow Smith who must navigate the politics of our court or as the sister-in-law who corresponds with your uncle about strategic matters. I write to you as the woman who held you as an infant, who watched you grow and learn, who rejoiced in your accomplishments and worried over your difficulties, and who now faces the reality that you are far away in a foreign land being shaped by experiences I cannot share.

I want to tell you several things, my dear son, and I ask that you read this letter when you have time to reflect on it properly, not merely in a moment snatched between other obligations. What I have to say requires your full attention, not because it is complicated but because it touches on matters of the heart that we have not often discussed explicitly between us.

On Your Conduct at the Museum Opening

First, I want you to know that I am immensely proud of how you conducted yourself at the Cape Esperance Naval Museum opening. From your account, and from the reports I have seen through other channels, you represented our family and our nation with exactly the dignity and professionalism that the occasion required. You navigated unfamiliar protocols successfully, you spoke thoughtfully when asked for your opinions, and you avoided the pitfalls that could have created diplomatic difficulties.

This was no small achievement, Lysander. You were placed in a situation of considerable delicacy with only written guidance to rely upon, far from home and from anyone you knew well, responsible for representing not merely yourself but your family and your nation. That you handled this responsibility well is evidence of your maturity and your capability, and I am grateful that your first major test as a diplomat was one you passed successfully.

But more than your diplomatic skill, I am proud of your intellectual honesty. You did not merely observe what you were shown and dutifully record it. You thought about what you saw, you asked difficult questions, you acknowledged your own uncertainties, and you were honest about how the experience affected you. This kind of honest grappling with complexity is rare, Lysander, and it is valuable. Never lose it, even when it would be easier to retreat into comfortable certainties.

On What You Have Learned

I must address directly the historical revelations that dominate your letter—the discovery that our nation fought alongside the Bravians in the First Battle of Cape Esperance and that our territorial holdings in the coastal region were allotted to us as part of the post-battle settlement.

Lysander, I have made inquiries since receiving your letter, and I can confirm that what you learned at the museum is indeed accurate. There are references in our own historical documents to these events, though they are fragmentary and have clearly faded from common knowledge. Our nation did fight as a Bravian ally in that ancient battle, and we did receive territory as part of the settlement that followed.

I tell you this not to chastise you for being unaware of this history—I was equally unaware before receiving your letter—but to confirm that your discovery was not simply Bravian propaganda but represents genuine historical fact that our nation has somehow allowed to be forgotten.

What this means, my son, is a question I have been grappling with since reading your letter. At one level, it simply adds historical context to our current relationship with Bravia. We were once allies; we have drifted apart; perhaps we should reconsider how we relate to them in light of this shared past. This is the straightforward interpretation, and it has some merit.

But at a deeper level, this forgotten history raises questions about how nations construct their identities and their narratives about themselves. We have allowed this history to fade from memory—whether deliberately or through simple neglect—and in doing so we have made it easier to view the Bravians as foreign others rather than as people with whom we have shared bonds. This forgetting has shaped our policies and our attitudes in ways we may not have fully recognized.

I do not tell you this to burden you with questions you cannot answer. Rather, I tell you because I want you to understand that what you are experiencing—the sense that assumptions are being challenged, that things you thought you understood are more complex than you realized—is not a sign of confusion or weakness. It is a sign that you are thinking seriously about serious matters, and that is exactly what you should be doing.

On the Effect This Experience Has Had On You

Lysander, I am your mother, and I know you better than you perhaps realize. I can read between the lines of your letter, and I can see that this experience has affected you profoundly. You write of being “confused, troubled, and uncertain.” You describe the experience as having “shaken assumptions I did not even realize I held.” These are not the words of someone simply learning new information—they are the words of someone whose fundamental understanding of the world is being challenged.

I want you to know that this is not only acceptable but necessary. If you had gone to Bravia and simply confirmed what you already believed, if you had encountered nothing that challenged your preconceptions, you would have learned nothing of value. The fact that you are being challenged—intellectually, emotionally, morally—is evidence that you are truly engaging with what you are experiencing rather than simply observing it from a comfortable distance.

But I must also caution you, my son, about the dangers that attend such challenges. When our foundations are shaken, we become vulnerable to influences we might otherwise resist. When everything is unfamiliar, we may lose our sense of who we are and what we believe. This is natural, but it is also dangerous.

You wrote in your letter about the Bravians with evident admiration—their honesty, their efficiency, their hospitality, their remembrance of old alliances. All of these are genuine virtues, and I do not ask you to deny what you have observed. But I do ask you to remember that observing virtues in one society does not mean that society’s ways are appropriate for transplanting to another society with different history, different traditions, different needs.

The Bravians are admirable in many ways, I am sure. But they are not us. They have built their society out of their own unique experience of persecution and exile. They have developed their ways over generations of struggling to survive and to preserve their distinct identity. What works for them in their circumstances may not work for us in ours, and appreciating their virtues should not lead you to conclude that their system is superior to ours or that we should adopt their ways.

I trust your uncle to help you develop this critical perspective as your time in Bravia continues. But I wanted to say it plainly as well, because I am your mother and it is my role to speak truths that others might be too polite or too diplomatic to express clearly.

On Missing You

Lysander, I miss you terribly. The house feels empty without your presence. I find myself listening for your footsteps, expecting to see you at dinner, wanting to tell you about something that happened during the day. Your absence is a physical ache that I carry constantly.

I knew when you departed that I was sending you away for years, not merely months. I knew that you would change during that time, that you would grow and develop in ways that I could not witness or guide directly. I accepted this necessity because I believed—and still believe—that this service is important for you and for our family. But accepting it intellectually does not make it easy emotionally.

I want you to know that you can write to me about anything—your successes and your failures, your certainties and your doubts, your joy and your sorrow. I am your mother first and foremost, and my love for you is not conditional on your success or on your certainty about complex matters. If you are struggling, tell me. If you are confused, tell me. If you are questioning things you once believed certain, tell me. I may not always have answers, but I will always listen with love and without judgment.

At the same time, I want you to know that I have confidence in you. You are young, yes, and inexperienced in diplomatic work. But you are also intelligent, thoughtful, and possessed of good judgment. You have been well-educated, you have been carefully prepared by your uncle, and you have already demonstrated that you can handle responsibilities well beyond what might be expected of someone your age. Trust yourself, Lysander, even as you remain humble about your limitations.

On Jakob Petersen

I was touched by your description of Jakob Petersen and his kindness to you. It speaks well of your uncle’s judgment that he arranged such an excellent guide for you, and it speaks well of the Bravians that they produce people who show genuine hospitality to foreign visitors.

The small carved wooden token that Jakob gave you—the traveler’s charm—is a gesture I find particularly meaningful. He did not have to give you such a gift. It was not expected of him in his official capacity. He gave it because he wanted to, because he had formed some positive regard for you as a person, because he wished you well in your journey. This is the kind of human kindness that transcends nations and cultures, and I am grateful that you encountered it early in your time in Bravia.

Keep that token with you, Lysander. Let it remind you not only of Jakob’s kindness but also of the truth that individual people can show decency and goodness even when the larger relationships between nations are complicated and fraught with difficulty. Diplomacy is not merely about managing relationships between governments—it is also about recognizing our common humanity across boundaries of nationality and culture.

On Your Father

Lysander, I must speak to you about something I have not often discussed with you explicitly: your father and what he would think of the path you are now walking.

Your father was a practical man, not given to grand gestures or philosophical speculation. He focused on the immediate responsibilities before him and sought to discharge them with competence and integrity. He would have been proud of you for accepting this difficult assignment, for taking seriously the responsibility to serve your nation and your family, for approaching your work with the kind of thoughtful diligence that he valued.

But I think he would also caution you about something that I now feel I must caution you about as well: the danger of being so focused on understanding others that you lose sight of who you are. Your father believed that a man must know himself—his own values, his own limits, his own purposes—before he can effectively navigate a complex world. Without that self-knowledge, he thought, we become vulnerable to being shaped by external forces rather than being guided by internal compass.

You are in Bravia to learn about the Bravians, yes. But you are also there to maintain your own identity as someone from our nation, someone from our family, someone with your own distinct character and values. Do not lose yourself in the process of trying to understand others. Maintain that core of self that makes you who you are, even as you open yourself to new experiences and new ways of understanding the world.

Your father would tell you to do your duty, to serve with integrity, to think carefully before acting, and to never forget where you come from or who your people are. I tell you the same, speaking with his voice as well as my own.

On Practical Matters

Now let me turn to more mundane concerns that nonetheless require attention. You mentioned in your letter that you would be traveling from Port Esperance to the capital to meet your uncle. I calculate that by the time you receive this letter, you will already have completed that journey and will have settled into your new life at the embassy. I hope the journey was safe and that it gave you opportunity to observe more of Bravia’s interior regions.

I am sending with this letter a package containing several items I thought you might need or appreciate:

A warm cloak suitable for Bravian winters, which I am told can be quite severe in the capital region. Your uncle has written that the capital is built in mountains where cold weather is common even in seasons that are mild at lower elevations.

Additional writing materials, including a leather-bound journal that you might use for recording your observations and reflections in more personal terms than your official reports require. Sometimes it helps to write things down even when we have no immediate audience for our thoughts.

A small portrait miniature of me, painted the same time as the one I sent of you to your uncle. I thought you might wish to have it with you as a reminder of home and family when you are far away.

Preserved fruits from our garden, which travel reasonably well and which I thought might provide a taste of home when you are in a foreign land. I remember your fondness for the pear preserves in particular.

Several books from your father’s library that I thought you might appreciate having with you: his worn copy of Marcus Aurelius’s Meditations, which he read often and which is full of his annotations; a volume of poetry that was a favorite of mine when I was younger; and a book of our nation’s history that may provide useful context as you think about the historical relationships you are learning about in Bravia.

I hope these items will prove useful and will provide some comfort when you are feeling far from home.

On the Future

Lysander, I do not know what the future holds for any of us—for you, for me, for our family, for our nation. The world is changing in ways we cannot control and can barely understand. All we can do is try to serve with integrity, to act according to our best understanding of what is right, and to hope that our efforts will prove worthy when history judges them.

What I can tell you with certainty is this: whatever happens, you have a mother who loves you unconditionally, who is proud of you beyond measure, and who will support you through whatever challenges you face. When you doubt yourself, remember that I believe in you. When you feel isolated and alone, remember that you are loved. When you question your purpose, remember that you are doing important work that matters for our family and for our nation.

You are embarking on a journey that will shape the rest of your life. It will challenge you, change you, and help you become the man you are meant to be. I cannot walk that journey with you, though I would if I could. All I can do is send you forward with my love, my blessing, and my confidence that you will rise to meet whatever challenges await you.

A Mother’s Blessing

Let me close with words I spoke over you when you departed but which I want to commit to writing so that you can return to them when you need them:

May you serve with wisdom and integrity. May you observe with clear eyes and understand with an open mind. May you maintain your identity and your values even as you learn to appreciate what is different. May you be strong when strength is required and humble when humility is needed. May you be honest in your dealings and thoughtful in your judgments. May you make your family proud and your nation grateful. And may you always remember that you are loved, that you are valued, and that you are never alone even when distance separates us.

I will write to you regularly with news from home, though I recognize that letters travel slowly and that by the time you receive my news it may already be outdated. Nonetheless, I want you to maintain your connection to home and family even as you build your new life in Bravia. You are not merely an observer in a foreign land—you are a son, a member of a family, a citizen of a nation, and these identities remain important even as you add new ones.

Write to me often, my dear son. Tell me about your work, your observations, your challenges, your successes. Tell me also about the small moments that make up daily life—the people you meet, the places you see, the food you eat, the weather you experience. These details help me to imagine where you are and what your life is like, and they help me to feel connected to you despite the distance between us.

Know that you are in my thoughts and prayers every day. Know that I miss you terribly but am also proud beyond words that you are doing this important work. Know that I love you with all my heart and that no distance can diminish that love.

May God watch over you and keep you safe, my beloved son.

Your loving mother,
Elizabeth Smith

P.S. — I have read the book you sent me about the First Battle of Cape Esperance, and I found it both moving and troubling in equal measure. Thank you for thinking to send it—it has helped me to understand better what you witnessed at the museum and why it affected you so profoundly.

The illustrations in particular brought home to me the desperate nature of the Bravian situation. Seeing the images of their families watching from the shore, knowing that everything depended on the outcome of the battle, I could not help but be moved. No wonder they remember this history so clearly. No wonder they value their allies from that battle. No wonder they are puzzled by our nation’s apparent forgetfulness about events that were so crucial to them.

I have been thinking much about the nature of memory and forgetting—how nations choose what to remember and what to let fade, how these choices shape our understanding of ourselves and our relationships with others. It seems to me that we have forgotten this history because remembering it would complicate the way we prefer to think about ourselves and our relationship with Bravia. But I am beginning to wonder whether such selective forgetting serves us well or whether it simply stores up misunderstandings that may create problems in the future.

These are large questions, I know, and not ones that either of us can answer definitively. But I wanted you to know that your observations have sparked reflections in me as well, and that you are not alone in wrestling with these matters.

Give my regards to your uncle and tell him that his sister is grateful for the care he is showing you. Tell him also that I have received his most recent letter and will respond to it in detail shortly.

Be well, my son, and write to me soon.

E.S.

P.P.S. — One final thought that I must share, even though it may seem overly sentimental. When you were a small child, perhaps five or six years old, you asked me why different countries had different ways of doing things. Why did some countries have kings and others have different systems? Why did people in different places speak different languages? Why did they eat different foods and wear different clothes?

I told you then what I still believe: that the world is large enough for many different ways of being human, and that each people develops ways that make sense for their own circumstances and history. I told you that no one way is right for everyone, but that each way might be right for the people who developed it. I told you that our job is not to judge other peoples’ ways but to understand them, to appreciate what is good in them, and to recognize that difference is not the same as inferiority.

You nodded seriously, as you always did when thinking about something carefully, and you said, “So we should be friends with people who are different from us?”

“Yes,” I told you, “we should try to be friends, or at least to be respectful neighbors who wish each other well even when we don’t fully understand each other.”

I remembered this conversation as I read your letter from Cape Esperance, and I thought about how that small child has become a young man grappling with exactly these questions but in contexts far more complex and consequential than I could have imagined when you asked them so innocently.

I still believe what I told you then, Lysander. The world is large enough for many different ways of being human. Our task is not to make everyone like us or to become like everyone else, but to find ways to live together with mutual respect even across profound differences. This is the work of diplomacy, and it is work that matters deeply in a world where our fates are increasingly intertwined whether we wish them to be or not.

Your work in Bravia is part of this larger task of learning to be respectful neighbors in a diverse world. I am proud that you are contributing to this important work, and I have faith that you will do it well.

Now I really must close, or this letter will become a book and the postage will cost more than we can afford!

With all my love,
Mother