1. Letter to a Stranger – Suleika Jaouad
I’ve always kept a journal. The bookcase in my childhood bedroom is filled with dozens of colorful notebooks, each one detailing a new chapter in my life.
I’ve always kept a journal. The bookcase in my childhood bedroom is filled with dozens of colorful notebooks, each one detailing a new chapter in my life. The pages read like conversations with myself, expressed in thick, swooping pen strokes: fever-dream visions for the future, lies about late-night adventures I never took but wished I had, thinly veiled autobiographical short stories driven by aspirational female protagonists, bad poetry, and lists, always lists—of dos, don’ts, and dreams. While stuck at home, I’ve been revisiting some of these entries and mostly chuckling and cringing at my younger self.
Throughout, I’ve noticed a pattern—one that still applies to my writing practice: I tack a name at the top of the page, and think of what I’m writing as a kind of letter. (In one of my childhood diaries, I began each entry with “Dear Daddy Long Legs”—inspired by the spider I once tried to keep as a “pet,” and the epistolary novel by Jean Webster). It’s often easier for me to start or to get unstuck when I conceive of writing as having an addressee at the other end. It helps me say what I want to say, and to fall into a more natural, conversational rhythm without overthinking.
Prompt:
Write a letter to a stranger—someone imaginary, someone you met once, someone you only know from a distance. Tell them any and everything: when you first noticed them and what has happened since, how you’d like your day to start and to end, or what’s been on your mind. Or tell them a story about a time when something difficult led you to an unexpected, interesting, maybe even wondrous place. You may be stuck inside four walls, but there are no boundaries. Say whatever you want to say, whatever you think they need to hear.
*Note: These letters are not meant to be sent.
Further reading for inspiration:
Daddy-Long-Legs by Jean Webster
Letters to a Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke
“A Letter to My Nephew” by James Baldwin
Alyssa Swart
Location: New York, New York
About: This is a letter to a neighbor I have never seen outside of our respective apartment buildings. I owe him.
Dear Neighbor by the Bay,
Hi. We’ve never met before – my name is Alyssa, and I owe you a thank you, just for being there when no one else was. Existing.
Six years ago, I moved into my dream apartment on Howard Street from New York City. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Water view. Impossibly cozy. It was a delight to recognize my favorite design as California décor.
Then, I started resenting the compost bin, the early restaurant closing times, the tech bro neighbor on his balcony. The veinless streets. No commerce. No drama. I felt as though there was no life to see; I had dreamed that this would be my time to participate after decades of paralyzing fear and avoidance. Now, I felt like there wasn’t even anything to witness. It was just me and my thoughts and the warm stillness of California. I spent many disassociative nights falling asleep on my couch, waking up to a golden sunlight that suffocated rather than enlightened.
I had left NYC hurriedly, sprinting towards a new life. This was all part of the idyllic plan, and I was convinced that I would not need any past acquaintances. So, I had no acquaintances. I believed I would make all new ones amongst the bright optimism of the measured Californian disposition. It did not quite turn out that way. I think I even alienated my dog with my moping, my searing homesickness, my violent regret.
I was alone. No visitors. My brother was trying to repair a dysfunctional relationship with his girlfriend. My parents didn’t come. I’m a loner sort, so I don’t have an abundance of friends. Two of my closest live in LA and I was so excited to be sharing the same state with them again until they told me the week before I left that they felt like they were never going to see me. They intended to keep visiting NYC, but would never get on a plane for San Francisco. West Coast geography was not a strength of mine.
I stopped talking to my mom soon after I moved. She wanted me to be fighting for a relationship with a man I had been dating – a relationship neither of us wanted. I knew he viewed me more as a reflection of his value than an actual person. I was relieved for the clean sever. My mom inartfully brought the topic up during every looping conversation. The “I thought you were stronger than this, I thought you would fight for something you wanted. Why aren’t you fighting for this?” felt like a maelstrom of insanity, anchored around her self-deception and disappointment. I would respond with something to the effect of, “You’re right. If I wanted to fight for it, I would. I don’t. At all. And I have real problems now.” One night, I threatened to stop speaking with her if she brought him up again. She instantly launched into, “But he…” and I hung up and refused her calls. We stopped speaking for weeks, until we had to plan for my Thanksgiving flight home. (Don’t worry, we repeated this seemingly scripted conversation in person for some holiday theatrics.)
I was alone. Every night. Every day. Despondency growing. Feeling exposed and in danger, even though I was ensconced in luxury and privilege. I felt helpless, which made me helpless.
Nearly every night, I would look through the side window, behind my petite white couch, and you would be in your apartment. A few times, you were even in your boxers, an implied intimacy between neighbors one building away. You looked kind and charming. Content and compelling. You were there, the constant I needed. The constant I could project the quell for my needs onto. Some constellation of connection and presence.
I held conversations with you just to exercise my mind’s ability to construct a thought or tell a story. I stood near my window to stretch my brain’s ability to feel camaraderie. You were there, unassuming and unknowing. Just being. Beside me in your own apartment. You kept me human and awake. Your presence allowed me to approximate the dynamics of a relationship – with others and myself. I am so grateful.
After an eternal six months, I switched departments in my job and moved back to NYC. I missed the crowds, the grime. The weather and dirty skies. Rotten apples. Humor; absurdism. The fragile egos of NYers. Every time I visited home, I cried at the beauty of Penn Station. That’s when you know.
Ultimately, I missed the intensity – it’s how I know I am alive. A neighbor in my SF building had lived on both Coasts and recognized that the West makes you soft. I still wanted to be hard. I still wanted to nearly be run over by cars when I have the right of way - the stymie, then the burst.
Back in this city, I am the most content I have ever been, newly confident that I am exactly where I belong. I now consider it a privilege to have a confoundingly difficult day here, and in that recurring awareness, I feel collapsed into relief, followed by the gentle elevation of hope. I am where I want to be. Without you, I’m not sure I would have made it back. I’m not sure I would be anywhere at all.
Thank you.
Sincerely,
Alyssa
P.S. I promise I’m not creepy. Be well.
Alennah Westlund
Location: Wisconsin
About: I'm a personal essay writer who's (casually) working on a memoir. The Isolation Journal prompts helped me continue writing during a time that felt overwhelming and difficult and less than inspiring. This entry ended up being a mini essay that felt fun and allowed me to escape the day-to-day heaviness that we're all living with right now.
Age: 27
For a long time, I had a tendency to live in fantasy. By now I realize that it was a coping mechanism. Not really fully healthy or unhealthy. Rather, a mix. Perhaps even neutral. My fantasies focused on men. These were not sexual fantasies, though some ended up there. My daydreaming was actually just what seems to happen to a lot of people for real.
You meet a person somewhere out in the world. They notice you; you notice them. You strike up a convo. You grab a drink. You get married, have kiddos, grow old, and die of age, in bed holding hands. Ya know, the heteronormative westernized dream. But that never seemed to happen to me. I’d see people out in the world. I’d notice them, but I wouldn’t be noticed in return. Thus, fantasy ensues.
He’s mulling over an asparagus purchase, appearing deep in thought while blocking my path to the raspberries.
‘Scuse me, I’m just gonna sneak past ya real quick, I say, just a notch above a whisper like a good Midwesterner.
“Oh gosh, so sorry. I was mulling over an asparagus purchase and I guess I was blocking your path to the raspberries.”
We are one brain.
I bellow a laugh and wave, No worries.
He turns to look me in the eye and actual stars burst from his pupils.
As he hands me a pack of perfect (non-organic – no need to tack on that extra $3) raspberries, he tells me that he doesn’t usually do this in the Trader Joe’s produce section, but would I like to get a cold brew?
Why yes, I would very much enjoy getting a cold brew.
We head straight to Starbucks and both order grande cold brews with room for the half and half we take turns pouring out of the stainless-steel carafe labeled HALF + HALF.
He too is a Starbucks rewards member.
We fall in love.
Get married.
Buy a house. On a lake.
He’s a “financial advisor.”
We watch so much basketball.
We parent multiple offspring, all of whom are tall and athletically inclined.
We retire early cause we’re rich like that.
We grow old watching our grandchildren frolic on the lakeshore, a fleet of dogs joining them in the surf.
We die, but we all die.
I watched our whole lives flourish in the time it took you to pick out a bundle of fucking asparagus.
Even after we died you were still mulling. Obliviously mulling. I too was lost in thought, but not once did you notice I was lurking nearby, stalking the nonorganic raspberries.
Self-absorbed much, Steve?
Since we didn’t meet cute at Trader Joe’s and you didn’t buy me a cold brew with your coveted Starbucks Reward Stars, I got engaged.
And guess what? He had never stepped foot in a Starbucks until he met me! What are Starbucks Reward Stars, he said.
We met in a very not cute but normal for now way: The apps!
He had never watched a full basketball game pre-me, and our children will be average height at best.
Before him I had never been fishing or camping successfully as an adult. I had never been to River Falls, Wisconsin. I had never made small talk about hunting or gone snowmobiling on Christmas Eve.
I’ve had a whole life since your asparagus mull.
I’ve gotten over you, Steve. And I no longer have to fantasize about strangers in front of the Trader Joe’s raspberries because I now have the life I used to dream about.
Anonymous
I DIE FOUR TIMES
‘I die four times.
Observe the 92 year old who stops eating, stops drinking.
Observe the elderly who are the preferred target of Covid 19.
I don’t have the robust immunity that I once had, and it will only get weaker.
Human bodies are not designed for eternity.
I die.
My parishioners and friends like me… for the most part.
I will be missed when I am gone.
My kids will miss me much more.
I have no buildings named after me.
I have not written any books or hit tunes.
A few decades after I am gone I will vanish from the human story.
I die.
He’s been such a good friend and mentor for nearly twenty years.
All his family lives on the west coast, so in his advanced age he is moving there.
My Cocker Spaniel Hunter is far and away my best friend.
He has terrible arthritis already at age eight.
He won’t be with me many more years.
I die.
Sixty- two years ago I drowned in the waters of baptism.
It happened in the parsonage across the street from the church.
Baby, parents, sponsors, pastor, water, certificate.
No big production to all appearances.
Fireworks, rock concert, gala in heaven.
I die. I live.
Caroline Dixon
Location: Brooklyn, New York
About: I am studying to get my Master's of Social Work. I self-identify as a creative writer as it is my way of expressing. Among the crazy times, I feel my safest and most certain when I'm tapped into my creative mind and have a journal in hand.
Age: 26
Stranger –
You took my breath away. Because the moment we locked eyes, I saw through your physical being to your insides. I don’t know if you did, too, but something in your glare said you saw the same in me. You would confirm that the very next day. And the day after that. And the one after that - and every single one after that for six consecutive years! I write to you today to tell you, Stranger, that five years later, I don’t resent you entering my life anymore.
I was the stranger to myself the day I met you, Stranger. That made it easy for you to sweep me off my feet and spin me in circles. I didn’t know how else to fill the hole. Family wasn’t, friends weren’t, food couldn’t. It never crossed my mind that I was responsible for that. It’s safe to say that my hole was overflowing with you and your voice, silencing the one that was my own.
It’s not your fault that we instantly fell in love, but it’s not my fault either. No one is cut out for this - you are poison. Yet, I was told for all these years that I was powerless to you. There was never going to be a day that we could be together, because I couldn’t handle you. I had to search for something greater, outside of myself, that could place my feet back on the ground and keep them there. But I could only promise myself and everyone else that I wouldn’t see you today. And if I talked about tomorrow, or next week, or next month, they’d say “shhh, don’t get too ahead of yourself.” I was itching to think beyond the 24 hours in front of me because I knew I could cut ties with you forever, Stranger. I wanted to know who I was without you.
I came and went to the rooms for years so that I could be reassured that I was doing the right thing by staying away from you. All that really did was remind me that my life would never be the same. Why do we all assume for the worse? We perpetuated the idea that we were different for loving you and letting you fill the void we all similarly had. The connection, that commonality, kept us close and told us we were stronger than you. All while simultaneously calling us powerless.
I wanted to be powerful, Stranger. I didn’t want to count on you for anything, nor did I want to count on others telling me things would get better, one day at a time. I didn’t want to be silenced when I said I didn’t need you in my life ever again. I wanted to fulfil my big-picture hopes and dreams and set long- term goals that didn’t have you in the picture. So I left the rooms and committed to finding a way to not be a stranger to myself. In that moment and the months to follow, I would stop resenting you and blaming me.
Now let me tell you, this was a lonely, isolating choice to make. In years prior, I was blessed to have met many, many women who surrendered to you, too, Stranger. In those introductions, there was potential to heal. There was potential to build a network of new connections to replace countless people I grieve the loss of to this day. I resisted. Why? Because that same thing that bonded us, completely disconnected us. They were followers of the philosophy that we were powerless to you. That God could restore our sanity. They dedicated themselves to a journey of self-blaming and defeat. This pushed me away from them Stranger, almost right back to you. I wanted to be powerful.
I don’t hate them either though, Stranger. They actually introduced me to myself. They gave me direction. They showed me what I didn’t want, which led me closer to what I wanted. So all of this is to say thank you, Stranger. And thank you to everyone I’ve met and lost. I discovered me, the greatest gift of all.
With Love,
Caro
Cristina De La Rosa
Location: Monterey Park, CA
About: Help my personal cancer journey is helping me dealing with the pandemic. Maybe it will helps others
Age: 38
Dear Lance,
I would like to take the time to explore my anxieties and fears with this crazy world during a global pandemic - it is like the world is ending. Can you take the time to listen to me and maybe I will discover my true character?
To start with: I am on Day 16 of my at-home isolation. And yes, I have been through it before, but it does not make it any less difficult. In the past two weeks, I have had time to reflect on my cancer journey and those lessons learned are helping me cope with everything that is happening now. Here is what it comes down to for me: seven blocks that aid in building a foundation for myself to get through a difficult life altering situation.
Why – Why am I doing this at-home isolation? Why should I comply with the stay at home orders? For me it is my dad and to keep everyone who is part of the at-risk group, which includes myself. The first time around it, part of my cancer treatment was radiation treatment, it included a hospital isolation, followed by at-home isolation. It was simple: I was literal radioactive and a danger to the public. So ok, I will have no human contact for two week and follow all the doctor orders. This time around, as soon as I showed symptoms of the coronavirus, we put me into at-home isolation. Yes, I able to see a doctor: he state that I have a virus infection; he did not test me for COVID-19 virus; he recommend that I continue my at-home isolation for two weeks and to monitor my symptoms; if I have difficulty with breathing then go to hospital; the worst of it comes around day 7 and day 8. It is like no other virus inflection I have had before (that is why I believe I do have it), and just like cancer I am taking it one day at time. I was fortunate that my coronavirus symptoms were mild, but there were still a lot of ups and downs with my sickness. My symptoms were: fever, fatigue, sore throat, dry cough, body aches and joint pain, headache, constipated, very mild chest pain, and short of breath. One day, I was short of breath, but it was a day with no fever, so I did not go to hospital. This is where facts help me. The doctors believe that the virus spreads through droplets and it stays on different surfaces for a long period of time (some longer than others), on plastic it might stay there up to two weeks they think. The incubation on average they think is 5.2 days and at most 20 days. What has changed in the house: cleaning more often; taking everyone temperature daily; Daniel does most of the cooking; and sanitizing objects from the outside world before it enters our home. For me, I do not leave my room, no contact with family members, and every time I use the bathroom, I take my mask, gloves, towel, and Lysol with me. Yes, it is no fun to clean the bathroom after I use it, but I have to because we all share one bathroom and I don't want anyone else to get sick. So far so good, Daniel did have a low-grade fever but he did not feel sick, for a short period he was in isolation too. Neither Mom or Dad have been sick or with a fever. Currently, my big fear is that my Dad will have the virus and it was my fault for exposing him to it, this fear will not go away until April 6th. We are currently reading and learning what we can about the coronavirus and following guidelines. Personally, I think I will continue until there is a vaccine for it. I will continue with my at-home isolation until I have a continuous 72-hour period of no symptoms. Today, I am a little tired but overall, I feel fine and I have 36-hours of no fever.
Joy – Find joy or laughter every day, sometimes is it a difficult thing for me to do. I am the type of person who prepares for the worst-case scenarios and that can easily turn into an overwhelming situation. It is so easy to see all the negative issues and let that take over my thoughts. During my cancer treatment I made on effort every day to do something that brought me joy or made me laugh; like taking the time to get dress and wearing a beautiful outfit or as simple as watching a comedy (especially on those days I could not get out of bed). Looking for this joy just became part of my daily life and it is part of my self-care routine. It is true, you must take care of yourself before you can take care of others. These past two week, we as a family have been joking around and teasing each other; I have been watching some feel-good stories online. It is good to see that we can smile and laugh through all the scariness. My current guilty pleasure is watching “The Golden Girls.”
Voice – Use your voice; there are two parts to this one. The first is one, the simple act of voicing your emotions is powerful and at times therapeutic. The night before my surgery, I did a very stupid thing: I researched thyroid cancer. At that point, I knew what type and stage of cancer I had and there was not a solid treatment plan set up; and Dr. Odou suggested that I do the treatment research after my surgery. But I did it anyway, I was so scared I want to call the whole thing off. I told my mom what I did, and we talked about everything (she did the research too). We were both scared and sharing it with each other allowed me to confront my fears and anxieties; plan for the worst-case scenario. The next day I was still nervous, but I calmly asked my doctor some more questions (without crying) and trusted my doctor to do his job. Lesson learned, talking about my anxiety and fears led to more clarification and ability to emotionally prepare for the road ahead. Today, I am tired of being stuck in my beige room, all I want is do is go outside and feel the warmth of the sun on my skin. So I told my mom a few days ago that I want to go outside and I know I can't happen now; some days I have drawn up the blinds in my room just to fill it with sunshine; and today I open my widow. Those little things are helping me. All in one day I felt angry, frustrated, lonely, sad, caged in, and like a burden; I also felt joy, loved, and happy. The second part is using art to express these feelings. That is why I signed up for The Isolation Journals. It is like what I did with my cancer treatment: I use art to express my personal cancer journey. I started with a board in my room with words on it associated with my feelings or things related to my cancer. Then I add images (personal pic and some stock images), quotes and anything related to my personal cancer journey. I did eventually, put it in a notebook, which included a short story and poems. Art is a powerful tool to understand the world and ourselves; for the rest of my life every time I hear Radioactive by Imagine Dragons it will remind me of my cancer.
Family and Friends – You can't go wrong with spending time with family and friends. They are the ones who know you best and just sharing our inside jokes can brighten my day. During my hospital isolation for radiation treatment the best part of my day was the 15 minutes I got to visit with my family. Today, the whole world is hurting and the majority of us are isolated in our homes. It is not stopping us from talking and connecting with each other using technology. I have connected with family here in California and Texas, and with friends in California and Massachusetts. It does not matter what we are talking about, it just matters that we are there for each other.
Community – Weeks after my cancer diagnosis I went to a Thyroid Cancer Support Group and learned about Stupid Cancer; through these organizations I learned so much and was able to connect with others who knew what I was going through. It is empowering. In addition, I learned that giving back helps me to feel less helpless. I have real issues with fatigue, so I found a way to give back to the cancer community that I can do. I'm learning how to crochet and will be making hats for the Magic Yarn Project. Today, the entire world is facing the pandemic, so I don’t have to look far to connect with our community. We are all facing the same uncertainty and fear, I see hope that we are coming together to understand the virus and find ways to take care of each other. Since I have been sick for the past two weeks I have not found a way for myself to help others yet, but I will soon.
Accept the Change – Yes this is the hardest part for me to do as a cancer survivor, to accept the fact that my body has fundamentally changed and it will never return to what it was like before cancer; I had to also let go of my personal expectations of my future self. It took me years and I did go through the entire grieving process, but once accepted it, I felt free. There are still people in this world who are in denial about the coronavirus and others who do not have that luxury. These experiences will change humanity. Our society has fundamentally changed, lives have been lost and people will continue to die, our world will never be able to return the way it was before COVID-19; and the sooner we are able to accept this fact, the quicker we will be to handle various health, economy and human issues that we will have to face, to get the job done together.
End Date - My first time with isolation had an end date (two weeks). It was manageable to know when I was able to hug my mom again. This time around I don’t know exactly when I can be around my family again, but it will come (maybe in 36 hours). The stay at-home orders are recommended until the end of April. Every day as scientists gather and analyze the data, and policies change. There is hope: the global pandemic will end; doctors and scientists around the world are working on it. Yes, I do not when it will be but the best thing I can do is be patient and stay informed.
Stay safe.
Cristina
Elizabeth Smith
Location: Oshkosh, WI
About: My name is Elizabeth, I live alone with my soon-to-be nine-year old dachshund Baby. We walk miles a day and pass a cemetery that is home to the headstones of an Elizabeth and Baby. In a time of uncertainty, they were (and are a) beacon of light and gave me a sign when I needed it.
Age: 43
Dear Elizabeth Techlow,
I passed you many times before I even noticed you. And I actually noticed your Baby first.
With the weather changing and the uncertainty of Coronavirus just settling into the United States, I had started walking further on my afternoon walks with my dog. The extra mile we added included passing Lutheran Cemetery. It was probably the seventh or eighth time I passed the cemetery when I happened to notice the headstone with the name Baby on it.
I took a second glance because, you see, my dog’s name is also Baby. When I looked back at Baby—while my Baby was tugging me along the road—I noticed you. Your headstone was right next to Baby’s. In my second glance, I saw your name: Elizabeth. It not only put a smile on my face but a calm presence came over me. All because my name too is Elizabeth.
So, Baby and Elizabeth Techlow, Elizabeth Smith and Baby. One duo unfortunately in the ground, the other walking all the miles—clearing my mind, sniffing for Baby. Finding you both has given me a small amount of peace in these uncertain times.
In my story of you Elizabeth Techlow, you gave Baby comfort in your womb for nine months before they left this earth too soon. You both are now together. My Baby is who gives me comfort—and her comfort may be relied upon for the next nine months. My Baby doesn’t bare the weight of COVID-19 and the isolation it brings to me. Baby shows me there are still good times to be had. She shows me excitement can still happen (you should see her tail wag when I leave my at-home work station, walk the five steps to the living room to pet her), and despite me living alone, I am still loved and can be shown affection. So. Many. Kisses.
Thank you and your Baby for being a beacon of light and giving me a sign; a sign that Elizabeth and Baby are meant to be, in life and eternity.
I hope it is ok if we continue to walk by and talk. I find it easy to speak my fears, hopes and wants for this world, my community, my family and me and Baby when we visit you.
One hundred years ago — in 1920 — you both left this world. I hope today and every day, Baby and myself live a life you and your Baby dreamed of.
Be well,
Elizabeth (Liz) Smith
Eryn Ricker
Location: Defiance, MO
About: On a recent trip to the City of Love, I met a motorcycle driver...this is our story.
Age: 39
Dear Illegal, Parisian motorcycle taxi driver,
Thank you for the ride on my first day in Paris. When you walked up to me in the taxi line, did you notice how frazzled I was? Had you watched me fight my way up the cobblestone street? Did you laugh as I stopped every few feet to turn my suitcase right side up? It was probably obvious that I was distraught, jet lagged and a little scared. You see, I had never been to Europe. Honestly, I had never been anywhere but North America. I was shocked and frustrated with my inability to navigate my way to the hotel.
When you walked up to me and asked if I needed a ride, I almost cried tears of joy. Did you notice? The length of time it was going to take me to get from Gare du Nord to my hotel was an excellent selling point. I assume you use that often. You didn’t know this but when we met, I had been traveling for over 24hrs. I don’t remember discussing your fee but it didn’t matter, I would have given you everything I had to get to my destination. You probably knew that, right? I imagine it was obvious.
I was impressed with your ability to maneuver the packed streets of Paris. Is traffic always like that? A few times we were inches from other cars but never touched one. How did you learn to drive like that? Typically, this sort of driving would have felt reckless but I was never afraid. To be honest, the entire situation should have felt reckless but for some reason I could not stop smiling. Did you notice?
When you abruptly pulled over, I was confused. When you didn’t answer me about why we were stopping, I started to get nervous. When the man and woman walked over and the three of you began arguing in French, I wanted to run. You never said a word to me again. Why is that? You just walked over and removed my helmet while helping me down. When I asked you what was going on you pointed to the man. Was I supposed to know who he was? I didn’t.
I found out who he was a few minutes later. Maintenir la sécurité, the police. He asked me to fill out a form. I declined. He asked if I knew you. I didn’t. He asked me what I was doing in Paris. Having fun.
I am sorry that I didn’t get to pay you for your service. I am sorry that it ended up being a very costly ride. I doubt you care but I want you to know that your mastery of motorcycle driving, navigated us through the busy streets of Paris, dropping me off .1 miles from my hotel. Thank you.
I do wonder what happened to you. Was it just a ticket? Did you go to jail? Are you still there or are you offering rides from Gare du Nord, again?
Sincerely,
The American with drama not far behind
Jack Oberhaus
Location: Arizona
About: It dawned on me that the person I will settle down with, hopefully for the rest of my life, is currently a stranger. Two possibilities exist, either: I don't yet know who they are at all – or – I don't know all of who they are yet. There was just something I wanted to explore surrounding that idea that our significant others were at one point strangers, whether we were familiar with their names yet or not.
Age: 23
To my wife I haven’t yet married, this letter is to you:
Today we might be strangers, and yet by tomorrow we’ll be saying “I do’.
I wonder about our story, the how, the where and the when—and of course, the who
There are days when I get lonesome, and wished that I already knew
Who I’m to spend the rest of my days with, -- is it you, is it you or is it you?
And don’t you wonder exactly what it is
I’ll first muster the courage to say--
which words I’ll choose that you’ll let me believe
fooled you into our very first date
To my wife I haven’t yet married, this is what I hope we do:
I hope we stop to savor many moments, and want for nothing more than the view
I hope we fall in love, and recount to one another the moment we hoped the other had fallen too
I hope you know that my dreaming only begins, after my eyes flitter open and I awaken next to you
I hope you know that I will strive, always doing all that I can do
So that I stay worthy of being your man, our hearts beating loudly
As we go forth together, hand clasped in hand
I hope that we have a couple of kids and hugging all of them tight,
We’ll fill their heads with wonder, reading to them each and every night.
I hope we never see each other as wrong, when we argue, disagree or when we fight
And only see our Beloved
mistaken partner as just “temporarily not being right’….
I hope that we see our commitment as always being something fulfilling and worth it,
despite all the ways we are certain to fall just humanly shy of perfect.
I hope we get our ‘50 good years’, and all the memories that trickle from happy places in our head
Soak into smiles on our faces: corporeal monuments to the lovely, transcendent things we’ve said.
I hope that between the two of us you’re the first to go
never having to shoulder the heavy pain that haunts
after one has given up the ghost.
Besides-- ever since we met, I always knew that Heaven would eventually come to know
That down here on Earth with me, it had accidentally misplaced its most beautiful angel.
So when you leave, It’s not Goodbye, Go gently darling, I won’t be far behind--
I still have one last letter to write,
It’s about how happy you made a man:
as a husband, a father and a friend
And how lucky for me, to have been all three,
all the way through to the end.
To my wife I have met and have married: this letter is for you.
Janelle Collins
Location: Columbus, OH
About: My bio dad and my adopted dad, who are both no longer in my life.
Age: 36
Dear Dad(s),
I don’t remember when I first noticed you, but I do know you both have left, and a lot has happened since. Basically my whole life. I wonder all the time what you are doing and if you think of me as often as I think of you and if you are still broken like me. Someone broke you and you broke me, and I am trying not to break my kids. I am trying ridiculously hard every day.
So I like to start my day with intention, meditation, and calm so I can be present and feel my feelings that I have been trying not to feel for 36 years and so I can teach my kids to feel. I try to feel my feelings so I can be connected to my husband in a real way. I like to end my day the same way, being calm. I like to unwind by talking to my husband or sometimes being alone, but if I am alone I get swallowed up in my thoughts.
I am constantly thinking about healing and it is exhausting. It often leads me back to you and I try not to be angry with you and try to give you compassion and empathy and all that, but it’s hard. The anger and sadness come up and the older I get, the easier it is to ride the wave of those feelings and let go.
Some days I am proud and some days I am 36 and still healing my 7 year old self. I feel the weight of the world on my shoulders every day, every hour of every day, to raise my kids to be good and true to themselves and wonder if you felt the same and wonder how you could have given up? I mean, I know how you could because I feel the weight too, but how could you REALLY give up? I must reteach my brain daily that I am lovable, worthy and that being my good and true self is enough. I am reparenting myself as I try to parent my child. It is a blessing and a curse.
Sometimes I envision what it would be like to have you pop over and help fix the broken toilet or come through the front door at Christmas with arms full of presents for my kids, and just like those feelings of anger and sadness come and go, I let these thoughts come and go. This all sounds like I’m bitter and sad, and perhaps some days that is true, but I do wish you happiness and hope you can also learn that your good and true self is enough. I just wish that it didn’t have to be without me.
Jennifer Caputo-Seidler
Location: Tampa, FL
Age: 33
Dear security guard,
I don’t know your name and you don’t know mine. But I know your face, I see you nearly every day. And you always address me as Doctor. “Good morning, Doctor.” “Have a good night, Doctor.” Whether I’m in my white coat making my rounds or whether I’ve shed it for the night to leave the hospital. I am grateful for this because it’s so unusual for a young woman such as myself. My typical experience is introducing myself as Dr. Caputo, wearing a coat and name bag with the title displayed, and still being assumed to be any other member of the healthcare team - the nurse, social worker, food service worker - by my patients. On a regular basis I get calls that a patient of mine is upset, says they haven’t seen a doctor all day, or worse since they’ve been in the hospital and I am forced to go back to their room and explain again that I in fact am their doctor and that is why I have been seeing them daily and discussing their diagnosis and treatment plan with them. You would think in 2020 there wouldn’t be such a widely held assumption that a woman cannot be a doctor. But in fact when faced with this classic riddle –
A father and son are in a car accident. The father dies. The son is taken to the hospital where he is rushed to the operating room. When the surgeon arrives they say “I can’t operate on this patient, he’s my son.”
My own husband offered that the surgeon was a man in a same sex marriage. And he’s married to a female physician! So when you specifically greet me each day as Doctor, recognizing the work I do here at our hospital, it gives me hope.
Thank you.
Jennifer Leventhal
Location: Rye, NY
About: I am the mom of artist Danielle Leventhal, who has gained so much strength and inspiration from Suleika and journaling - while battling stage 4 cancer.
Age: 55
Dear Mother in the Waiting Room at MSK,
I’ve been thinking about you and your son for over a year. We were sitting on couches facing one another, me with my young adult daughter’s balding head propped against my shoulder as she took a few bites of her egg and avocado sandwich. You with your teenage son’s curly head nesting in your lap as he slept.
You smiled shyly, leaned forward and whispered, “Where did you find that breakfast? I can’t get him to eat anything.” Suddenly, I felt validated, like maybe some of the random tidbits I’d learned over the past two excruciating years might actually be helpful to someone else. “Eggstravaganza,” I whispered with a little too much excitement. “It’s a breakfast food truck just two blocks away next to St. Bartholomew’s Church on Park Avenue.” “Is it expensive?” you whispered back and I had to check myself before replying. It was just an egg sandwich, and I would have paid anything if it brought some nourishment and a few minutes of pleasure to my frail daughter. “I have an extra in the bag, and I don’t want it to go to waste. Please take it.” Your eyes fell to the carpet, but you mumbled, “God bless you, thank you so much” as you reached for my lunch.
I looked away and tried not to listen when a social worker came and sat by your side, but that was impossible. I overheard her ask if you had any trouble getting to the hospital without a car, and then suggest the “Access-a-Ride” program. She said she had made you an appointment with the Finance Assistance Office, who could help families who were uninsured. I stole a glance at your sleeping son, tall and lanky but with the face of a child, and I felt ashamed of all the times I had felt sorry for our family during this unending war against cancer.
It was and continues to be inconceivable to me that you had to face such an insurmountable battle without the resources I took for granted. I wanted to hug you and tell you three things - that you were doing your absolute best for your boy, that you were in the best possible place for his care, and that everything would be ok. But I sat motionless, unable to comfort you. I knew the first two were true, but not the third. None of us sitting in that waiting room - that club no one ever wanted to join - none of us could know if everything would be ok.
Julie Beck
Location: Stratford, CT
About: Oncology Nurse Practitioner working at VA Hospital taking care of mostly elderly cancer patients. Also a mother of 3, stepmom to 2, grandmother to 1.
Age: 59
Kashish Gupta
Location: Ghaziabad, India
About: Journaling has been therapeutic for me. Writing feels like breathing, and is the only way I feel like I can form my own identity. My inspiration for the journal entry came through a post by Mari Andrew, wherein she had used one of the prompts.
Age: 20
Katherine Boucher
Location: Nashville, TN (when written), Wyoming (currently)
About: During quarantine, I was living alone in a fourth-floor apartment in Nashville, Tennessee. I found myself incredibly grateful for the tree outside my window, which I would look at daily to feel connected to nature in a time I could hardly leave my home. This journal entry is a letter to one of the Cardinals that visited the tree daily.
Age: 27
Dear Cardinal,
I first noticed you a few weeks ago in the tree outside my living room window. You were bright, colored red, and sang loudly without hesitation. Your presence gave me peace, pulled my attention from the screen in my hand to your singular voice outside my window. It was beautiful and made me pause to listen.
Since then, I’ve been trapped inside. If I’m being honest, I’ve surprisingly enjoyed it. I have connected with myself on a deeper level and gotten back into things that are important to me like writing, yoga, and music. But today, I’m painfully aware of my lack of freedom and the stark difference between our lives. You can sit, outside, and sing to your friends and loved ones. You can press up against them while the sun shines on your back. And, most miraculously, you can fly anywhere your heart desires. You are free. I, like the rest of humanity today, am trapped.
I didn’t want to feel this way today. I wanted to continue basking in quarantine bliss; writing freely, making my own schedule, and not worrying about the fears outside my walls. I wanted to clean my house, feel present during my virtual yoga practice, and finish writing a new song. My wandering mind has altered today’s trajectory and I will try to acknowledge it, rather than ignore it, so that I may grow. I’d like my day to end with a feeling of hope, a grounding sense of peace washing over me knowing that I’m still safe inside my apartment.
Although I cannot sit beside another person or catch up over drinks at a bar with a friend, I can still connect to others. I can reach out to loved ones, write letters, and share my music with the world. These are things I likely wouldn’t do had the monotony of our lives not been paused by this virus. I try to focus on these things daily rather than the chatter of newscasters relaying the death toll. I’m digging deep into my consciousness, searching for hope on a day like today. I imagine my hands plunging into warm dirt like a child, just to see and discover what’s beneath the surface. All I can find is a library of quotes I’ve saved on Instagram to get me through days like this. It makes me worried that I don’t have the tools within myself to save myself, that I rely on the device in my hand to constantly feel better by covering up what I’m really feeling.
You, Cardinal, don’t have these tools. I imagine you don’t need them, either. Your worries are more tangible and urgent, like where your next meal will come from and when you will next need to take flight. Right now, in the midst of this pandemic, I long for that kind of mental freedom. But the beauty of this strange time lies in the journey. We may one day look back on it and wish we had the kind of free time we do right now. This will change us as humanity, no matter what. We are living history. May we find beauty in this uncertain time, gratitude for the people helping us survive this, and moments of peace, where we may be stopped by the Cardinal outside our window who sings a song of hope for the freedom that tomorrow will most certainly bring.
Love,
Katherine
Lauren Sum
Location: Salt Lake City, UT
About: I'm a Bon Iver fan girl.
Age: 30
Dear Bon Iver/Justin Vernon,
This year, 2020 has been a year of skinny love. i,i is helping me get through hard times. Your secrets are out and yet, still remain a mystery. I think of the magic of cardboard. How in an interview, you were certain that “Yi” and “iMi” would be the opening track. How do you have patience for creativity and for the muse to find you? I hope to make art and music that captures a part of your spirit. I romanticize being isolated and pouring out my entire soul. A release. One where I am certain and don’t find silly. To find myself not laughing, but confident.
I am full of doubt in believing that writing this letter as an exercise is real. But I find myself opening up to possibilities. If anything, I am proud of myself for taking a break from staring at screens. I don’t want to feel any guilt. I need time for myself. Time to feel what I need to feel.
Skinny love. Is this my voice? What are you doing in isolation? Are you up in the woods, building sounds for your next record? I’ll be waiting for more songs. But please, no more Kanye.
I hope the next time I write a letter to you, I’ll have my EP out. This has been an impossible dream of mine for far too long. But if kids can write songs, I think I can, too. I’ll try to stop panicking and write lyrics. I’ll heal and learn to play the guitar again. It’s possible. All of it is.
LS
Samantha Updegrave
Location: Berkeley, California
About: I'm a non-fiction writer with a day job as an urban planner and the all-the-time work of parenting. Sometimes on the 1st of the month I draw a rabbit, even though I "can't draw." My first entry into my Isolation Journal begins with the addressed, "Dear Rabbits...."
Age: 42
Sky Banyes
Location: Paris, France
Age: 32
Dear child*,
This is not a letter of enlightenment. Truth is, as I grow up, the more I realise I don’t know, and the more excited and inspired I am to keep growing. My father’s advice (your adorable grandfather) was “always be a student”. I hated hearing this as a kid. But now I see it’s because I didn’t understand it. Now I do – or I have some understanding of what he meant. But I came to this of my own, through my own experience. I’ve seen - and am seeing – how to keep learning, keep expanding, keep growing – is truly one of my greatest drives, passions and aspirations! This being said, I don’t feel anywhere near “there” yet, so I don’t have any teachings to pass on. But I surely and greatly look forward to many conversations with you, exchanging with – both verbally and non – in sharing thoughts, ideas, feelings, hugs… I’m actually so certain – and excited by everything you have to teach me... Perhaps it was never about achieving but about the becoming… and all of the love, bliss, peace and enjoyment felt along the way! What a journey life is! Mind you… a forever wavy, bumpy and surprising journey at that! Remember this flow always. When you’re on a peak, keep n mind the challenges and the energy that got you there… seek, find and employ deep sincere gratitude. Or – look for what that may be! And .. when you’re amid a rough season… remember, it’s part of the flow. It is just the flow… and the wave peak is coming right at ya… you just gotta ride it out! I’d love (more than anything) to say I’ll always be there I’ll be your wings, your summer, your solid ground forever. But, the truth is, I won’t. Because that’s how wonder-full life is: every changing. So, darling, I hope you practice well, believe in yourself, use all the support available and learn to ride for yourself. Cause, you, you will always have you. And I, I will always love you.
*I have no children. I am 32 yo.