Dear T —

August 10th, in the morning, I sat at a traffic light.

I don’t know how many times it changed.

Finally someone honked.

+

I have learned just three valuable things in life.

I will tell you the most important one in this letter.

A quote in a shop window reminded me.

(I always planned to tell you. Now seems good.)

Everyone gives new parents advice.

(They need it.)

Most live each moment terrified of

—doing something that will harm their child’s life

—not doing something that will help their child’s life

A teacher then told me this

—One percent of what you do might harm them and one percent of what you do might help them but the other ninety-eight percent won’t do either. You will just be together. Enjoy each other.

For me, this changed everything.

It freed me.

It enabled joy.

(It applies to adults too.

It applies to all relationships.)

OK, now I’ve told you.

(check)

The quote I saw was

—It is not necessary to teach others, to cure them or to improve them; it is only necessary to live among them, sharing the human condition and being present to them in love.

+

Tons to share but all can wait.

— All my love, D

(it regenerates)

P.S. Hey, don’t worry. No one will treat your heart more gently.

Dear T —

Some thoughts.

(All good, promise.)

+

(first)

You did nothing wrong.

I understand…

…and thank you for sharing.

The madwoman? So adorable.

(Can you solve problems of the heart with your brain?

Still, my favorite feature is behind your eyes.)

I’ve learned not to skip too many steps.

No, it’s not over. It hasn’t even started!

Also, my nose finally healed.

+

(second)

When you selectively share, you always have more to share.

I’ve struggled the past few months.

I felt trapped in an eclipse.

(just a metaphor)

First, work.

Since January, I didn’t know if I had a job.

Then, health.

I’ve had some problems, nothing contagious, or fatal.

Plus, well…

Finally, I got good news — all on the same day — the day of your last note.

(coincidence?)

I have a job. I have my health. I have a light.

(good things come in threes)

Just had déjà vu too…

+

(third)

These letters have meant a lot to me.

They gave me comfort.

Thank you.

+

(fourth)

Kairos: one of the first things my mentor Zelda taught me.

Greek, ecclesiastical, she explained it as —the perfect right time for something to happen.

Did I go too fast?

(forgive me)

I’ll come soon.

I promise not to go too slow.

+

(fifth)

Games: I don’t play them.

If I did, I would say —I’m not asking you to wait for me…

Actually, —I’m begging you to wait for me…

(—My idea of love is that love isn’t ashamed of nothing.)

+

(sixth)

Olympic games: I’ve learned Koreans excel in archery, fencing, and shooting.

Y’all are violent.

(Not even mentioning NorKor.)

I will not mess with you.

+

(seventh)

Church: I went Sunday.

This always happens:

The sermon theme? —Grow up!

It was for me.

(From the newspaper —You have obligations to people. You can’t make dumb choices.)

I need to be the person that the people in my life need me to be.

I accept.

+

(eighth)

Doctor: He made me cry.

He said —You’re still young…

I have time.

+

(ninth)

Ikigai: From the TV —Purpose helps you do amazing things.

Not what are you doing?, but why are you doing it?

(I write to heal.)

Also —Her spirit desires perfection.

(Mine desires expression.)

What are your answers?

+

(random thought 1)

Why do some dogs have one blue eye?

There’s a story there.

+

(random thought 2)

As an actress and fashionista, are you ever the same woman twice?

+

(random thought 3)

Am I beginning to sound like you?

—All my love, yours for the taking,

D

P.S.

(take two)

—Will you let me buy you a cup of coffee?

(please?)

—Tea is fine too.

P.P.S. Also how about some beef intestines? or pig’s trotters?

Dear T —

(off topic)

(not really)

So while building confidence, how do we battle fear?

Watching the Olympics, I noticed the archers’ heart rate monitors. During her set up, one archer’s heart rate kept falling.

Every time. By 10 points, or more…

She learned that.

I don’t know how she did it.

(Have to admit, watching women’s archery turned me on a little.)

I use this trick:

Before big presentations to Executive Creative Directors or clients, I do “box breathing.”

(I always do this actually.)

It turns a formal presentation into a casual conversation.

For work, I create ideas.

At first I struggled. I felt blocked by fear, frozen by pressure.

In fact, the harder I thought the worse my ideas got.

I’d have very little or very boring stuff.

(The first rule of entertainment? Never bore.)

I finally figured it out:

Free yourself. Have fun.

You can’t do ballet in a space suit.

(Later I found this study:

A researcher took people who had never played tennis before and made two groups.

Group 1 took lessons. Group 2 fooled around.

Afterwards, guess which group played better?)

Make work play. It works!

Simple. (Obvious.) Effective.

Play lets you take risks and make wonders.

(From an album review: —…brave enough to fail, although they come out heroes…)

A teacher once told me she writes because —Nobody’s life depends on it.

(it could though)

+

(new topic)

(random thought)

If you do something because you have to, but it harms you, it’s an addiction.

If you do something because you have to, but it fulfills you, it’s a passion.

(You know why I write.)

It may not always feel fun, but it always feels satisfying.

I love it because of its difficulty, not in spite of it.

Do you find all you do rewarding?

(I hope so.)

+

At the grocery store today I saw a little girl, 4-ish.

She had long black hair, a long blue dress, and a white stuffed rabbit she dragged around by one long ear.

She skipped everywhere.

(so sweet)

My daughter was a tomboy.

+

I have some good news. I’ll tell you next time.

—All my love, no matter what,

D

P.S.

I saw a movie with my son last night. We sat in the second row in the middle.

He’ll never read this so I can tell you:

He has ADHD, anxiety, BPD and self-harmed, but I still don’t know a happier, smarter, more talented kid.

He’s worked through it, with help. We’ve worked through it.

You can love someone so much it hurts.

I love that kid so much.

P.P.S.

Best lines from the movie we saw:

—You don’t face your fears, you ride ’em.

—If you love something, you spend your whole life trying to understand it.

—If you feel it, chase it!

P.P.P.S.

I don’t know why but I had this song stuck in my head all week.

I looked it up and of course what it’s about…

P.P.P.P.S.

Would you say you’re more of an Anglophile or Francophile?

(think I know)

T —

However:

Remember, when asked how he made Citizen Kane, Welles said

—sheer dumbness… ignorance, there’s no authority like it

or as Toland said

—you don’t know what cannot be done

Let’s call this innocence.

— D

Dear T — 

I read this quote and thought of you:

—…

+

If you ever get mad at me, please curse me out in your native language. It will make it much more enjoyable for each of us.

+

A cactus bloomed in my backyard — a single golden-orange flower, bright and energetic as the sun, right on top.

I took a photo.

+

Last night I woke up in the middle of a great dream.

(so pissed)

I traveled on a star cruiser, solving a murder.

Everything looked so cool.

I remember turning on the lights in this futuristic bar then all these people appeared. They looked like holograms.

An officer kept following me, turning off the lights behind me the way your mother might trying to save electricity.

+

Still obsessed with the Beethoven Op. 29 Hammerklavier — I love my ecstatic piano.

(So does Werner Herzog.)

I found the best recording — Claudio Arrau, 1963.

Listen to 40:21-41:44 — it sounds like four people, not four parts.

The fourth movement astounds.

I covered my mouth when I first heard it and replayed it several times to confirm what I’d heard.

It sounded new.

(What we do with stories — make the old seem like new again.)

Nothing tops my favorite moody sonata though — Scriabin Op. 23 Soul States — and nobody plays it better than Gould.

+

We say we have or don’t have confidence in “ourselves” but what exactly does that mean?

(too broad)

In high school, I had a crush on this girl.

She liked me too. So did her brother. (Not that way.)

He wanted me to play basketball but I sucked at sports.

He said —Play 30 minutes a day every day and you’ll improve.

Not untrue but I had no interest — it wasn’t me.

Instead we should say

—I feel very confident in my abilities to write almost anything, connect with people, and care for them.

– or –

—I don’t feel very confident in my abilities to replace ceiling fans, bake leavened bread, or play card games.

True confidence comes from knowing what we can and can’t do — what we want and don’t want to do — knowing what defines and doesn’t define us.

(LeBron James would suck at theoretical physics. Well, fine.)

Though why not stop thinking we just suck and just learn?

(A professor at Harvard did this experiment:

She told one group of maids that their job would harm their health.

She told another group of maids that their job would improve their health.

Afterwards, guess which group had better health?

It’s all how you look at it.)

Did we know all we know now at birth?

(live to learn)

We notice the confidence we lack rather than the confidence we have.

(A lot like —got milk?

—got confidence?)

So how do we get confidence?

Experience.

Experience builds confidence.

We repeat skills until we master them.

We try. We fail. We learn.

We try again.

We earn it.

(If you know another way, tell me — it’s hard!)

(but also fun)

Want to rewire your brain?

Write.

(a lot)

Writing consistently has the same effect on the brain as prolonged mediation.

(Actually, what’s the difference?)

Not sure if smoking also works.

I’ll let you know…

+

I bought a new lighter and carry it with me everywhere. It makes me happy.

I put in a butane insert so it looks like a blue lightsaber shooting out of its head.

(pretty badass)

+

T, write with power, light, and beauty.

+

I play Sinatra at the Sands while cooking.

(an all-time favorite)

I sing along. I really belt it, at the top of my lungs.

Half of our own happiness comes from being willing to embarrass ourselves.

Half of other people’s happiness comes from being willing to embarrass ourselves.

Our worth doesn’t depend on perceptions.

We have value.

(inherently)

+

I watched a movie last night with Sarah about poison pen letters.

Now I want to write some.

(not to you of course)

I would do well. I have a mean streak. My father has a mean streak. His mother had a mean streak.

( family trait)

You would never know it though.

(would you?)

+

I think my work writing has improved.

I imagine I’m writing letters.

(like this one)

+

Love fixes most things.

(except ceiling fans)

— All my love, all ways, always,

D

P.S. I lost a best friend once because I went to him for emotional support but, of course, he had no way of offering that.

Sometimes, you need different people for different things.

P.P.S. This kept showing up on my YouTube…and I love it.

P.P.P.S. I love pickles.

T — 

Let me share an example, one of my most precious memories.

A year or so ago I watched a movie with my daughter.

At the end, I could tell she was crying, but hiding it from me.

(It was dim.)

I was also crying, but hiding it from her.

We turned to look at each other, then both started bawling.

We held each other until the storm passed.

I will never forgot that, as long as I live.

— D

Dear T — 

—When you take the right path, you meet the right people.

I believe that.

(That requires its own letter to explain. I’ll come back to it.)

+

I’ve said before, things find me:

I watched this movie I’d never heard of — made by all these people I had heard of — which made me smile inside and out.

Lately, I’ve had this one song stuck in my head, “Twilight Zone” by Van Morrison. Not the original though, the alternate take. (link)

The “Twilight Zone” featured prominently in the film. So did “Marty,” the movie I mentioned last time. Other things, too

It seemed like the script wove together several things on my mind into its own thing. Coincidence, I suppose, but I love that.

Things find me.

The right things.

(Side note:

I love so many Van Morrison songs because I have no idea what they’re about.

For example, and these are among my favorite songs of all time:

—”Joe Harper Saturday Morning”

—”Linden Arden Stole the Highlights”

—Pretty much every song on Veedon Fleece

I have my theories about what they mean and who exactly populates these songs — criminals and queens, mostly — but still, not much.

I love how they capture the emotional ripples of an event without ever naming it.

They embody mystery.)

+

Let me quickly update you on my menagerie.

(Me: Writer or zookeeper?)

I’ve written you about spiders, hummingbirds, chickens and now — 

This dog I saw leaving the coffee shop — a loaf of bread body with a biscuit face. As I passed, it looked up at me.

He had this happy/shameful expression, as if to say, —I know I’m ugly and unworthy, but don’t tell them. They love me and I love them!

(smart dog)

Butterflies flit everywhere now. They annoy me. Watching them fly gives me a headache.

Bumblebees have also come out. Did you know they’re blind? They fly straight into things. I love that.

I saw a kitten run behind a fence. It reminded me, when I was a kid.

My grandmother lived with us. She grew champagne grapes in our backyard. In the vines I saw a kitten.

I called to it. I didn’t mean it any harm. I was maybe seven.

It hissed at me, once, twice. Then it leapt out, leaving three bright red lines on my shoulder.

I wasn’t afraid or angry, just hurt and embarrassed.

I think I kept that in the back of my mind as a lesson, although I probably didn’t realize it then.

Never think forgiveness shows weakness. It can take all the strength you have. Kindness, too.

(Ironic, considering love steals your bones.)

My hummingbird, again.

When I see her, even for a moment, it makes me happy.

I feel stupid admitting this but, when she hovered in front of me, I said out loud —Miss you… Love you…

(hopeless)

Oh I almost forgot. This small, female jay has claimed the corner of the sidewalk at the end of my block as her own — the entire corner.

She defends it.

(aggressively)

Can you picture this?

I love thrashers.

(no fear)

+

In the playground next to my coffee shop right now a dad is tossing his daughter into the air and catching her.

Setting her back down on the ground again gently each time.

The kid loves it. She’s two.

The mom looks concerned but the dad is exactly right.

We need not fear every risk.

(There are safe risks and unsafe risks like there are rational fears and irrational fears.)

Some lead to joy.

Teach them young.

+

I have to tell you about my workplace drama. Next time though.

+

I had a few thoughts about honesty and truth.

We all selectively share — but why?

Two main reasons:

1) we want to fit in

(only natural)

2) we want to be that person

(more important)

Well why not?

Who we want to become matters more than who we are now.

Create yourself, like a work of art.

Seize the opportunity!

Can we do anything greater?

(—what a fruit, what a tree you shall be)

Not just for yourself, but for those around you.

I laugh when people say —I’m no good because I do x, y, and z.

People who know what they’ve done “wrong” know where to focus.

(The people who aren’t aware fail.)

—How?, you ask.

In my favorite scene from The Bear, s3e10, Thomas Keller teaches Carmy about wishbones. He says what my Rector always said:

—Do a little better than you did yesterday.

(every day)

That is all. That is enough.

(really)

Also:

Don’t think for a moment that if someone knew everything about you they couldn’t love you.

They couldn’t love you if they didn’t know you.

Real love begins with knowing.

To be loved, be seen.

(Shame prevents connection.)

This doesn’t mean you have to tell everyone everything.

It means don’t be afraid to share things with people you trust.

(It would surprise you what touches another person’s soul, what turns them on, what inspires love.)

As for truth, there are several kinds:

—factual

—emotional

—spiritual

Emotional trumps all.

Feel everything and say how you feel — or else why live?

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You wrote this paragraph recently that I found so beautiful.

It moved, so gracefully, between the external, internal, and true.

(You didn’t even know you did, did you?)

You don’t have to write 24 books or 12 scripts to change the world.

You can write 124 pages that change everything.

(like Juan Rulfo)

+

I might get a skateboard.

If I do, no more letters, I will likely die.

I’ll write again soon. I need to empty my heart regularly or I don’t know what I’ll do.

— All my love (yesterday, today, tomorrow, always) D

P.S. I should mention, the other day I felt really sad and got drunk on Scotch and soda, which I haven’t done in years.

While drunk, I read your poem, which you had posted minutes earlier, about sorrow and whiskey.

A coincidence, I know, but I love that just the same.

P.P.S… …thinkers… …use… …ellipses… … … …

Dear T —

I’ve fallen in love.

This time with Groucho Marx.

(I’ll take Groucho over Karl any day.)

In English we say —Time heals all wounds. Groucho says —Time wounds all heels.

(truth)

I have so much to tell you I hardly know where to start.

(I always say that; it’s always true.)

I must have six or seven letters worth now, so I won’t tell you everything all at once — how’s that?

I watched “Marty” (1955) — such an adorable movie. The main character reminded me too, too much of myself.

In one scene, he just can’t stop talking (and says so) but he keeps on talking — like he’s never told anyone anything before.

That made me happy. I guess I’m not the only one.

I recently moved all my belongings into a storage locker — all but a suitcase of clothes, a few books, and some cooking utensils.

(I plan to move soon.)

It feels good.

I have profound minimalist tendencies.

Without the clutter, my head feels clearer and I feel lighter too, like I’m on vacation.

(I always loved that banker’s apartment in “9 ½ Weeks” — also a Harvard guy I think lol — maybe too typically a bachelor pad though.)

I may never stop living this way.

While going through some of my boxes, I found two short story collections I had written and completely forgotten about(?!).

Actually one was a collection of children’s stories.

I stood there and read them and it felt as if someone else had written them, probably someone had — a different me, a prior me.

I had no idea what to do with them. Back in the box…

(Reminder to share an update on my writing projects.)

I have been sorting clothes lately, putting winter clothes away and pulling out summer ones.

I have tons of clear boxes and I fold everything Marie Kondo-style and sort by type, size, and color.

I’m very organized and fastidious — I’m sure I’m borderline OCD — especially when it comes to things that I care about.

I have the boxes lined up like books on library shelves — I should create my own Dewey decimal system.

With all the colors and shapes visible through the clear plastic, they look like a Jackson Pollock, beautiful.

For a while, I dressed all in black, then military chic, then like a box of crayons — think David Hockney.

(I was in love with the whole white/pink/orange/camo look too.) 

Lately I’ve been dressing like a carton of Easter eggs, patrician pastels, preppy.

Next I may go full Thom Browne — medium grey suits, blush pink shirt, rose gold watch: me to a tee.

Just need a gin and tonic to finish…

(With my first paycheck from my first job ever, of course, I bought a shirt — I still remember how it smelled, like butter…)

I used to have one of those wooden, standing valets to set your clothes out on for the next day. Maybe I’ll buy another one.

I broke my glasses the other day — I’d had that pair for 4 years or more — but I had the same lenses put into an identical frame: also me to a tee.

Speaking of clothes:

I have decided to copy the couture collections and write a Fall/Winter project and a Spring/Summer project every year.

Maybe I’ll write one drama and one comedy.

I plan to have my current project ready by November but I’ll start the next one in October anyway.

I have been doing a ton of research for my current project, including some traveling — still much more to do.

I’m super excited about it — it’s very me. I’ll tell you more about it later, if you want to know.

I decided to shelve my Penpals project for a while. I made big progress, then I hit a wall.

(Right now it looks like Maria Callas when she was fat — I need to put it on a diet so it will sing better.)

I still have confidence in it though. I think after I have had a break from it, I will have a breakthrough.

I actually can’t wait to get back into it. This project scares me the most because I have hope for it.

My list of children’s stories keeps growing too. I have seven now in total. One is done. Two is half done.

(This does not include the ones I “found” either.)

Did I tell you each story deals with a mental heath issue? It feels very purposeful to write these.

I (half) joined a children’s book writers club — half because I joined but haven’t gone yet lol. I will, I will…

(—I don’t want to belong to any club that will accept people like me as a member. Groucho again.)

Assemble all these projects and you have my heart.

Well, almost all of it.

+

I read what you wrote the other day, about your father.

I couldn’t sleep that night. Tears rolled into my ears.

The next day I tried to hold them back, until I couldn’t anymore.

The pressure made my head throb.

If I can share some observations on my own experiences, maybe they will sound familiar to you.

…because of what happened:

—you feel, intrinsically, unworthy of love, you feel you don’t deserve it (or)

—you think you did something wrong, you think you deserved what they did to you (or both)

—you refuse love when it is given to you, you don’t believe it can be true

—you fear every attachment will go horribly wrong, if not now, soon enough

—intimacy equals fear

—you think love equals pain, it’s all you’ve known it to be

—you miss the only kind of “love” you’ve ever known, which wasn’t love at all, it was the opposite

—you distrust any love that doesn’t feel like that

—you see or hear something (for me, even today, it’s the jingle of keys) and you feel fear

—you push those who want to love you away even though you don’t want to

—you try to protect them from yourself because (you think) you are absolutely no good

—you hurt them to make them leave — viciously if you have to, if you think that’s the only way — and when they leave, they’ve proven your point

—you feel safe now, but disconnected and alone

—you multiply the hurt: you’ve been hurt, you’ve hurt yourself, and now you’ve hurt those who love you

—hurting more you hurt others more, as they say —hurt people hurt people

—you repeat this again and again

(until you face it)

I have done, felt all of this.

You can break this cycle.

(I did. Others have.)

It will take time. It will take help. It will hurt more — at first.

(I think of that man, his arm pinned under a boulder: lose your arm or lose your life.)

Get the help you need.

Nothing else matters.

Only trust can cure this.

Only love can heal this.

You are entitled to love.

(to receive love, to give love)

You are entitled to happiness.

You are entitled to peace.

(No one deserves suffering — not someone ordinary, let alone someone so extraordinary.)

We need your voice.

Your voice matters.

You matter.

You.

Matter.

(You have no idea how much you matter…)

The universe loves you, its own and beloved.

Let the light inside you reach other light.

You’ve already done the hardest thing. You’ve named it. You’ve said it out loud.

I am so, so proud of you for that I can’t even begin…

(I am here for you.

I will always be here for you.)

Every child comes innocent and perfect.

(every one)

I had to say this…

As a father of two healthy, happy, grown, independent children, a daughter and a son, nothing matters more to me.

You would rather hurt for them. You ache for them and with them because love connects you.

I didn’t know how to love before them. I know love now because of them.

(They never call, write, or text me — that means I did well!)

I was proud and ashamed to have only one principle as a parent: never, ever be like my dad.

(I never was.

It’s what I’m most proud of.

He taught me how to be a father by negative example.)

I loved it so much I’d do it again in an instant — dogs and all — only if she wanted it too, of course.

(I had mine really young. I was still a kid myself.)

Families don’t stifle dreams. They strengthen them. They strengthen you.

You won’t believe how strong you can be.

(Names matter, so I gave my daughter a palindrome: no matter which direction she goes in life she’ll always know who she is.)

Thanks to them, I’ve learned the important things in life from their teachers.

One taught me that kids act out to ask for love:

—Hold them, she said, so they know the pain inside can be contained, controlled, transformed…

I have always tried to do that — literally, metaphorically — absorb others’ pain.

Not to release it, but to reverse it. So they can do the same one day.

(I think of it as sucking out the venom.)

Hugging can heal, just like sex between a man and a woman can heal.

(Sex can be whatever you want, whatever you need, whatever you love…

…a bed is a blank page.)

You can give real love with your body.

You can touch their soul through their body.

They are one and the same.

I spent time with some friends recently and their seven year-old daughter.

They love this child so much.

You can see plainly how both parents have locked on to her frequency.

Children loved like this always seem so full.

They don’t have any empty space inside them; they completely fill themselves up with themselves.

(Maybe that’s why they are so heavy!)

The whole time I wanted to give this kid a great big hug, but I didn’t — it would have been for me, not for her.

I have more to say but I will save it for other letters. I promised, not all at once…

+

I haven’t eaten out much lately but the other night I had a meal that made me quite emotional.

The simplest things moved me the most:

—the butter, suspended, dusted with salt like diamonds

—the bread, steaming, swaddled like a baby in its basket

—a wine I’d never had before, from a grape I’d never heard of before, from a winery carved into a mountainside

You could have mistaken the small plates of duck and lamb for a Kandinsky or Malevich.

Everything tasted like where it came from, as if it took you (ethereally) to where it grew.

Each flavor woke memories, sweet and bitter.

I held back the whole meal.

I thought of movies you watch again and again, even though they break you.

(For me, The Iron Giant — why do cartoons about robots always…?)

Unlike films, meals too quickly become irretrievable, only memories.

Neither leave you though. They join you, change you, become you — permanent feasts.

In years you can ask –Remember that…? and it all comes back to you as if it had just happened.

The same way real love always feels like it just happened.

Fresh and warm and sweet as a summer strawberry.

— With all my love (there’s so much) and then some, D

P.S. Who among us actually lives in reality? Groucho again:

—I’m not crazy about reality, but it’s still the only place to get a decent meal.

Actually, I have a lot more to say.

(all good, i promise)

Stay tuned…

*Also, see below 📩

— D

T —

I love you.

I will always love you.

I will stand by you in my heart.

— D