Dear Sydney...

I wouldn’t trade Sydney, straight shooter and my only sibling, for the world.

A few months ago, my younger sister graduated from SAIC (School of the Art Institute of Chicago). I meant to write something around that time for her, as a tipping of the hat — a work of recognition that acknowledges more than her incredible art. Well, I finally have.

Sydney Fairbairn Roland arrived on the first day of the year, 01/01/04. That makes her a Capricorn, if you mess with that sort of thing. Even if you don’t, the NYD birth set her apart on day one.

There’s not a ton to report about our sibling dynamic in the old days, nothing shocking or spectacular. The brooding older brother and singsongy younger sister would team up to assemble dioramas in the basement, fool around with neighbors, and so on. Awkward preteens and teenagers followed, and, with them, a small helping of classic sibling rivalry. Meh, let’s not dwell on that stuff. Doesn’t make for a very captivating read.

Over the past several years, Syd has become, for lack of a better term, more authentic. She keeps it real. How real, you ask? Well, she’s vegan enough to have a tattoo of a calf on one of her forearms. In 2022, following a trip to an animal sanctuary that I’m sure was spurred on by her, I stopped eating pork after getting inspired by her dedication. Yes, you’ll have to pry chicken and beef from my cold, dead, you get the idea, but steering clear of pigs came about from Sydney’s dietary ideology.

Syd is crazy about animals. Loves ‘em. In fact, she just got her first cat, Maggie, although she’s a dog person through and through. I’m partially convinced she only visits home to see Midge, our pup.

There’s so much to admire about my one and only sister, but I suppose the thing I applaud the most is her ability to accomplish without vanity. Not that I would want to be seen as vain, but let’s compare our college graduations for the sake of argument. I thought mine ought to be a bit of a hoedown. The majority of my family members, on both sides, flew out to Los Angeles, and some came with me to Jay Leno’s car collection. A dinner in a swanky hotel, with gifts and a board where everyone signed a little something, acted as the cherry atop a multi-tier cake.

By contrast, Syd had the rest of her nuclear family and one aunt in the audience to see her cross the stage for her diploma. Four people. A small dinner with the six of us (rounded out by my Uncle Rob) followed. Done. No big to-do, no celebrity’s automotive enclave. She just fucking did it.

Then there’s the difference in our dating lives. As smooth as I am with networking, connecting, and making acquaintances, I fall short of post-flirtation a frustrating amount of the time. Since a romance-peppered “talking stage” from three years ago, I have only had DINOFOs (Dates In Name Or Feeling Only), but enough about me.

Right as 2022 became 2023, Syd told me she wanted to try using a dating app, as far as I remember. My memory continues: what felt like seconds after she confirmed that Hinge had been added to her phone, Syd told me about this guy named Jonah.

While they’re no longer together, Syd and Jonah stayed a couple for more than two years, an astonishing feat for someone who had had less dating history than a monk. I met Jonah a few times, and we still text on occasion. Had he been a college classmate, Jonah and I would have become friends. Syd hit it out of the park, and I’m not just saying that because he can talk music and cars all day long, like I can. They both have a heart of gold. That they’re still dear friends is proof.

The absence of Fleetwood Mac-style drama between Sydney and Jonah goes back to what I admire most about my sis. She’s successful and not shouty about her success in any way.

Maybe it’s unwise for me to write this, pitting myself against my sibling in a way. She’s 22, I’m 24, and we’re both living in a post-college vacuum enhanced by a job market best known for its shittiness. If I’m ever feeling down, which I sometimes am in this great question mark of life, and ask her for advice, I know Sydney will serve me a hot dish of “suck it up.”

Okay, maybe nothing that brutal, but Syd is the last person to sugarcoat stuff. Unlike me, she’s not an easy crier, and I joke that Sydney has a heart of stone. Would I want her to be a wishy-washy, no-backbone type instead? Not a chance in hell.

I have a tattoo on my left shoulder. Why my left shoulder? Sydney’s a leftie. It’s a small ladybug, around life-sized, since “Ladybug” is her nickname from my mom (as “Goose” is her nickname for me). Oh, and there are four dots per wing.

Four is her favorite number.