Dear Rainbow Dash,
I guess I should start with where I’ve been these past few weeks.
I can’t exactly explain why, but I've been feeling restless and stuck for weeks and around mid-winter everything just snapped. I knew I had to get out, to go somewhere—anywhere—that wasn't where I’d been for the past 18 years. I needed to start over in a place where nopony knew my name, so that I might reinvent myself into the pony I've always known I could be. Maybe I'm just doing it to prove that I can, and if that's the case at least I've already taken the hardest step. It’s something I might have mentioned in passing to some friends—maybe even to you, I honestly can’t remember—but never a thought I seriously entertained. And yet, the night after Hearth’s Warming Day, I packed up what little I had and moved to a two-room apartment in Seaddle that I found an ad about just the day before.
So here I am, almost three months later, freezing my tail off in this unheated dump. The weather’s a little wet for my taste and it’s been a week since I've eaten anything that didn't have enough preservatives in it to embalm a small animal, but I really shouldn't complain too much. There’s something to be said for the freedom that comes with living on one’s own. That’s not to say I haven’t been feeling a little homesick since my first day here.
On that somber note, how’s everypony been? I can’t imagine my sudden disappearance caused too much of a stir around town. I wasn't nearly as much of a big shot in Ponyville as you or Twilight. Still, I bet Apple Bloom was searching under every tree, rock and bush for me for a little while. Tell her I’m doing okay, would you? I only have enough postage for this one letter, but I’ll be sure to send her and Sweetie Belle one when I can.
I hope the two of them are still working on developing their talents. Apple Bloom’s always had a knack for inventing things when she needed to, even though I was the better engineer. And Sweetie Belle with her music! She really is better at that stuff than she gives herself credit for. I’m sure if she really put all of her time into it, I’d be hearing her voice on the radio within the month. Both of them show so much promise in their crafts... It kinda sucks that I’m still trying to find mine.
One of the first things I learned from watching you was that I could always be so much more. There’s always one more limit to break, one more bridge to cross, one more move to master. I always prided myself on having figured that great secret to success out, and I often preached it to my friends, but it was never something I truly put into practice. It’s easy to talk the talk when you're a kid with all the time in the world to figure out what you want to be great at, but all too soon time catches up with us, and we’re left wishing we’d taken it more seriously from the start.
It really does sneak up on you, I’m finding out. In just a few months I’ll be turning 20, if you can believe it. It’s insane is what it is. Feels like just yesterday I was lounging around in the back of the classroom, waiting for school to hurry up and be over with so I could get on with life. Now here I am, more than a decade later, and I’m lounging around this frigid little box on the 19th floor, waiting for life to hurry up so I get on with... Well, I’m not sure, exactly. But I guess that’s part of what I’m here to find out, isn’t it?
I’ll be sure to write again soon. In the meantime, here’s hoping you’re doing well. While I certainly don’t regret moving here, a big part of me wishes you could come with me. Maybe then Seaddle wouldn't be so friggin' cloudy; we’d have somepony around to kick the sky into shape. Anyway, I miss you guys already. Hopefully the next time a letter comes your way, I’ll have something interesting to talk about.
Onward and upward and all that jazz,
~Scootaloo
Dear Rainbow Dash,
I know, I know. I said I’d write again soon. I’m sure on some bizarre pre-Celestial calendar, three months counts as “soon.”
It’s not like I’ve forgotten at all, but more so that I’ve been insanely busy as of late. I got a job wheeling people around at the hospital up here, and while it’s pretty dull work, you at least hear some interesting stories. There was this one mare who fell down a flight of stairs, went in for a few concussions, and somewhere along the way found out she was pregnant. You ever push a brain-damaged pregnant pony around a building for half an hour? And you thought Pinkie had mood swings. Anyway, that’s been taking up most of my time. I get up early and get back late, so most of my “me” time is spent unconscious.
Having the extra money’s been awesome though. Just the other day I got this sweet new typewriter—yes, I know, egghead stuff—so I’m hoping I’ll be able to pump out letters a little faster so I can write more frequently than once every few months. Who knows, if I save up for a while longer I can probably afford a train ticket back to Ponyville for the weekend. And let me just stop you right there; we don’t all have iron wings, and flying across the whole of Equestria sounds less than appealing to somepony like me.
I really am hoping to make it home within the month though. I haven’t seen everypony for so long that I’ve almost forgotten what some of you look like. Sweetie Belle sent me a few letters that I really should respond to, and I’ll get around to it eventually. Or maybe I’ll just show up at her house one day, but I’m kinda hoping to come home with something more to show for myself after how long I’ve been out here. It’s kinda stupid to disappear for nearly half a year to find yourself, only to pop back up at the doorstep with nothing to show for it all. That’s something I’m still working on figuring out, but I’m sure that if enough days go by, something will turn up eventually. In the meantime, I’ll just hold off on getting those train tickets until the right moment. This is all sounding more and more stupid as I write it out, but if I don’t come home at the right time, then it wouldn’t really be right... Right?
It’s all paycheck timing anyway. At least I’ve got that to show for my big Seaddle migration, being a big shot chair-pusher just like the great Rainbow Dash knew I could be. Whatever. It’s what I’m stuck doing, might as well be the best at it, right? You certainly would be. Blind adulation aside, if you don’t hear from me within the month, I’m probably on the train home. Hooves crossed!
~Scootaloo
Dear Rainbow Dash,
Well, here I am, still in Seaddle, with no job or train ticket or money to show for it.
Things haven’t been easy since my last letter. I don’t think I’ve left my apartment for two, maybe three weeks now. It’s always raining outside, or at least really, really cloudy. I haven’t seen the sun in what feels like years. I’m pretty sure it’s summer, but it’s still so damn cold here. Or maybe that’s just my room. I don’t know anymore. This whole stupid city feels like it’s frozen over and trapped me in a block of ice.
I want to go home. Or to Fillydelphia, or to Manehattan, or friggin’ anywhere on the planet that isn’t here. I feel like I’m back at square one, stuck in a rut while everypony around me is going on to do great things. I’m sure you’ve heard Sweetie Belle’s singing on the radio, going on tour, signing record deals? It must be great, knowing exactly what you’re supposed to do. I’ve been dreaming of how great it must be my whole life, I can’t be that far off.
Speaking of Sweetie, she stopped writing me letters. I can’t blame anypony but myself; I never replied to her. I don’t know why, I really don’t. I wanted to keep in touch, but for some stupid reason I could never think of anything to say back to her. She held up a one way conversation for the better part of a year, and now that she’s figured out I’m not going to send a letter back, she’s moved on. Is it wrong that I’m mad at her? If anything, I should be mad at myself. Stupid, stupid Scootaloo. No wonder your friends forgot you, you jumped ship and refused to grab the line when somepony threw it to you.
I hope you haven’t forgotten me too. I’ve been away for so long, only communicating so sparsely. I would understand if I walked into Sugar Cube Corner tomorrow, and you and your friends couldn’t put a name to my face. Looking in the mirror, I’m starting to wonder if I could either. Holy hay, I miss Ponyville. I really, really do. But I can’t come home yet. I left home to find myself, and I know whatever I'm looking for isn't hiding back there. If it was, I would have found it long ago.
I do wonder, how many ponies back home still think of me? How often does my name run through their thoughts? How often does my face form an image in their mind? I can’t say I’ve been as great about this as I hope they are. If I were to come back home today, I’d be lost as to which name belonged to which pony, who’s been there for years and who’s just moving in. I’m not part of that community anymore, so much as I’d love to be. Maybe I could insert myself back in and have it all make sense eventually, but after all this time, would it really be worth it? As the days pass and routines become more and more set in stone, how many ponies whom I once called my friends have forgotten me entirely? With my own day-to-day life, most of them have faded into memories I couldn’t recall if I tried.
Do you remember the conversation we had about a month before I left town? We had lots of late night talks as we did circles up and around the roofs and clouds, but they never really amounted to more than swapping stories about things we thought were cool, day to day ideas and random thoughts about random crap. I do treasure those nights dearly, but I’ve been thinking about this one more and more recently.
It was just after Rarity and Sweetie Belle had left for Canterlot so Sweetie could do some performance for some stuck up rich ponies in a fancy theater. We both shared a good laugh about monocles and top hats or whatever, and how hilarious it’d be to see our friends return wearing something crazy like that. I couldn’t help but be a little jealous though. I mean, one of my best friends is off singing for the high-class ponies and I’m just flying circles around a cloud that looks like a turtle—or tortoise, or whatever.
I must have been pretty mopey about it, because you knew something was up pretty quick. And then we got talking about what my dreams were, chasing dreams, the importance of impotence or something like that, and I told you I couldn’t chase my dreams if I didn’t even know what my dreams were yet. I’m only realizing now how wise your reply was.
“Kid, do you know why I do what I do? Why I began racing and competing in the first place?”
Impotence, I guess? I had no idea.
“Because it’s all about me. Rainbow Dash. It’s my dream, but I define what it is. I’m the one writing the story, not the one it’s written about. Does that make sense?”
At the time, I didn't give it much thought. What you'd said seemed like just another piece of generic advice, similar to the stuff I'd heard a thousand times before. I had this whole plan about being the next Rainbow Dash, the next great flyer that would take Equestria by storm. But the more I think about what you said, the more I realize that’s not really me, is it? All this time I've been letting a dream define me, but it’s not my dream. For years I've wanted what you had, not because of what it was, but because of how much I admired the pony who had it. I wanted to be you.
But I'm not you. I'm Scootaloo, and finally, after all this time, I think I've figured out what that means.
I miss you more than you know,
~Scootaloo
Dear Rainbow Dash,
I won’t be returning to Ponyville. Not soon, not ever.
The ponies who live there have moved beyond my memory, and I’ve moved beyond theirs. Ponyville and the ponies who live there once made me who I am, but I’m no longer familiar with them.
Something I’ve come to discover in recent days is how much I hate when things are familiar. I hate waking up to the same cloudy sky as much as I hate waking up in the same bed. What defines my most is an aversion to routine, so much so that as soon as I find myself settling into one, I know I have to leave. Maybe I’m just restless, or maybe I just grow dissatisfied too quickly, but whatever it is, I’ve come to terms with it.
I don't know what I want or what I'm destined to be great at, but what I do know is that I won't find it by doing the same thing day after day. I want to see the world, and meet the ponies in it. There are maps and atlases and books to document what’s where and who found it first, but none of that means a thing if I can’t go there and see it with my own eyes. Nothing worthwhile can be taught or explained—it has to be experienced. I don’t know how I’ll get there, but I like to think that’s part of the fun. And it really will be fun, because I'm setting out to find myself without being bound to anything, and that's a freedom I want to experience again and again and again.
And while I won’t soon see the faces and hear the voices of many of the ponies I grew up with, don’t think for a second that I’ll forget you. The one constant I’ve had for years is your drive, your words, your actions. You may not hold them to the same reverence that I do, but that’s alright by me. If you knew the perfection you're capable of, you might just stop trying to top it. Even after nearly a year with barely any contact, you’re still the bar I measure myself against. You’re the pony I have to make proud, even if you don’t know what I’ve done or where I’m going. For as long as I follow my dreams, you are the constant reminder that I can always be so much more.
No matter who you go on to be or where life takes you, I want you to always remember the kid from Ponyville who became a better pony because she was lucky enough to meet you.
You're the best, Rainbow Dash. You’ll always be the best to me.
~Scootaloo
