I’m gonna sit right down and write myself a letter
And make believe it came from you
I’m gonna write words, oh, so sweet
They’re gonna knock me off my feet
A lotta kisses on the bottom, I’ll be glad I’ve got ’em…

–by Joe Young

Have you ever yearned to hear certain words? Have you wished someone would tell you wonderful things about you, or encourage you, but no one does? Perhaps you’re troubled and you wish someone would write thoughtfully about your plight, communicating her understanding and providing some insight. People don’t read minds, though. Many folks are very absorbed in their own daily concerns; their attention isn’t attuned to others. Often, what we most wish to hear from someone else is an echo from childhood. Perhaps you didn’t receive a lot of praise or empathetic listening. You might have grown up under a barrage of abuse, neglect, and judgment. Or, you might have come from a loving and demonstrative family, but you’ve discovered that no one can ever have too much of caring expression.

When I prepared to move from Syracuse to Austin in 1994, I was scared. The move involved leaving behind a world I’d known for 31 years. It was a journey of 1800 miles. I was moving “cold” in that I had no job waiting for me, no living arrangements set up (other than a temporary one with my brother). My car was paid for, but I still had some bills, and only about $2000 in savings. Austin’s population was about four times greater than my hometown; it was a much bigger city. The cost of living was twice as high as I was accustomed to.

Before I left, I got an idea. I meditated on my fears until I understood what they represented, and then I wrote letters to myself, sent in care of my brother. I wrote several letters, telling myself that things would be okay, describing my strengths, expressing hope and providing practical advice. I wrote these as if I were writing to a friend. I signed them from Katharos, which is the Greek root word for my name. When I had arrived, they waited in a small stack on my brother’s dining table. I was comforted just to see them. Since I wrote them several months in advance, I didn’t really remember what they said. So in the following weeks, as I located an apartment, learned to navigate the city (new routes and crazy drivers), and sought work, I would open one of these letters when I felt especially vulnerable. I wasn’t homesick at all. But this was a huge transition, and as good as it was, it was also scary. I re-read these whenever my heart needed a boost.

This week, take time to be quietly with yourself. Explore your heart and mind; think about your past, your current life, your future. Listen for whispers of issues unresolved, hurts ignored, nagging fears, criticism that’s destructive. Whatever comes up, make a quick note. Let time pass, and then spend time considering these concerns, fears, disappointments, and losses. How would you respond to a friend? Write a letter (or several) that attentively and compassionately responds to these issues. Choose a different name as the letter writer, if you wish–this is from your inner wisdom. And then (this is important) put it in an envelope, address, stamp, and mail it. For a longer span between writing and receiving, send it to someone else and ask them to mail it to you (use an SASE to ensure cooperation). When you get the letter, listen to your soul; it will tell you when it needs some extra love, and then you will have this to read.