Please accept this letter
as formal notification
that I am resigning from the position of
My Own Worst Enemy.
From TO WHOM IT DEFINITELY CONCERNS by Andrea Gibson
There is something a little subversive about a letter. Especially now, as we live in a world of instant dispatch. Send. Post. Publish. React.
Letters are slow. Letters assume distance. Letters assume time. A letter must travel. A letter requires patience. A letter requires intention.
And lately, I have been waist-deep in old letters, cards, notes passed in classrooms, in hallways - uncovered during recent adventures into basement archives. I wrote recently about finding a letter from my mom tucked between birthday cards. Before I read it, I remembered feeling so lucky she sat down and put pen to paper, just for me. There is an intimacy to a letter that feels almost radical now.
But here is what I want to propose. Write letters with no destination except your own free expression. We’re conditioned to think a letter needs to be received, opened. But I think some letters, once written, are already home.
Write to your past self. The one who didn’t know better, the one who was brave in ways you have forgotten. Write to your future self as a way of saying, “I won’t let you forget me. I’m on my way.”
Write to a person you’ve lost. Let the unsaid become said. The body relaxes when emotions find language.
Write to someone you admire but have never met. Write to someone you misunderstood. Write to someone who misunderstood you.
When you begin with “Dear…” you’ve already entered a different posture. You’re facing someone. You’re accountable to the page.
Dear Younger Me.
Dear Mom.
Dear Stranger on the Train.
Dear Body.
Dear Fear.
Dear April.
It changes everything. A letter can hold contradiction. You can love and accuse in the same paragraph. You can confess and defend. You can grieve and celebrate. You can write something true and then recognize it may not be as true as you thought. The letter form allows for that complexity without needing resolution.
Maybe that’s why I find myself drawn to writing them. Letters create a private space. A rehearsal for courage. A safe room where I can say what I’d never post online. A way of metabolizing experience without needing recognition.
And what I’m appreciating more and more: not everything needs an audience. Not every insight needs to be shared. Not every grief needs to be explained. Not every feeling needs a witness.
Some letters are scaffolding. Some are compost. Some are simply the sound of your own voice coming back around. We get to be the sender AND the recipient at once.
In a time when so many people are obsessed with visibility, the unsent letter might be one of the last sacred acts. Imagine how different your life might feel if you allowed yourself to write what you really mean. Imagine the tenderness you might discover toward your own history. Imagine the power of telling someone the truth, even if that someone never reads it.
Let the letter be the act. No need to send it. Some may choose to burn it. Or if you’re me, you might collage it into the background of an artwork.
Consider this your two weeks notice. The page is waiting.
Some questions for you...
If you could write one letter with absolute honesty and zero consequence, who would it be to?
And what would you finally allow yourself to say?
Hit reply and let me know! Or leave a comment.
This month
Let's borrow a line from Andrea’s poem to push off into our pages:
Consider this my two weeks notice...
or
I had no idea…
Set a timer for 5 or 10 or 15 minutes, write with old-fashioned pen + paper, write quickly, keep going, don’t stop to think of better words, forget the commas, say yes to whatever is coming to the page. Repeat as you like over the weeks ahead to peel away the layers.
As you move through your days, let your camera (any kind you prefer) find some images that conjure this month’s photo theme.
LETTERS
Your images can be literal, figurative, abstract, or something completely surprising. Lean in, breathe, see with new eyes. No need for staging or filters — just snap real life with all its imperfections, smudges and wrinkles.
Then, use one of your images to push off into another creative practice - painting, drawing, sewing, sculpting, collage, more writing…..just allow the image to show the way forward.
Dear friend:
I hope this Museletter finds you well. I hope it came right on time for you.
What I really want you to know is this. When I write to you, I’m thinking of YOU, not just a name on a list. It’s my way of coming alongside, even though we’re miles apart.
I don’t have things figured out yet. I keep trying. So I also hope you’ll take what speaks to you and let everything else pass by like the weather.
And I do love mail. So please write back soon.
xoxo
Cyn
A look back
In case you missed it, jump to the archive.
A look ahead…
Insight Writing at The Coven NE is happening on April 22nd. If you’re in the Twin Cities, I would love to see you there. REGISTER HERE.
Insight Writing Firestarters, a shorty-pie version of our favorite writing practice, is happening on Sundays at 2pm Central US, starting April 12th via Substack LIVE (online). This is going to be a free opportunity for us to write together live, online. Replays will be available for paid subscribers. Stay tuned - invitations will get sent to your inbox.
A new ARTWORK RELEASE is shaping up for later in April. It’s been a while since new works have been made available, so I’m excited to give you a few beauties for your spring collecting.
Insight Studio — the membership side of this publication — is becoming a real place. I'm building out the Rooms right now: spaces organized around themes like courage, letters, and desire, each one filled with prompts and experiences you can return to again and again. Insight Studio members are about to gain access to DISCOVER INSIGHT WRITING - a delightful, course-like journey to learn the magic of this healing writing practice I’ve been doing and teaching for ten years now.
If you’re a paid subscriber, you’ll start seeing Friday posts with writing prompts, art prompts, and invitations to slow down. There’s a welcome gift waiting for you, too — three original art prints, downloadable the moment you join.