A Letter a Day
Never Underestimate the Power of a Compassionate Witness
By Cat Saunders
One recent Sunday afternoon in the midst of a brainstorm, I suddenly got
this idea about how to chase away the blues in a whole new way. What if
I wrote a letter to my best friend every day for 30 days?
I'd been thinking about doing another round of "morning pages,"
as described in Julia Cameron's wonderful book, The Artist's Way. In case
you're not familiar with her concept of morning pages, there are no rules
other than this: You write a minimum of three pages every morning by hand.
That's it.
You can write about anything you like, and you don't have to worry about
spelling, punctuation, or grammar. It doesn't matter if you write profanity
or sweet nothings, and the writing doesn't even have to make sense.
I like to think of morning pages as a kind of yoga (union) of head, hands,
and heart. I use them to clear my mind, acknowledge my feelings, and "take
the garbage out," so to speak. Morning pages lubricate my mental
and emotional machinery and keep the creative juices flowing. In effect,
they keep me "warmed up"—not just for other writing, but
for life in general.
As much as I value morning pages, I realized that Sunday afternoon that
morning pages weren't quite what I needed. I didn't really want to write
to myself. I wanted a compassionate witness.
Despite my daily regimen of good self-care, I knew one thing was missing:
I hadn't treated myself to any "Marla time" in months. "Marla
time" is when I sit down at my trusty IBM Selectric "purring
tiger" typewriter and write my heart out to Marla Greenway, my best
woman friend and favorite pen pal.
When I write to Marla, it's easy for me to whip out ten or fifteen single-spaced
pages at a time, and even then, the only reason I stop is because I get
hungry or my hands get tired.
Countless people in my life have complained, criticized, or shamed me
for being too longwinded (or "too much" in general), but Marla
devours every word of every page of my letters with gusto, and when she
gets to the end, she wants more. How cool is that?
It heals me to write to Marla because it's the closest thing I've ever
experienced to writing to myself only it's better, because it's someone
else. Not just anyone else, either, but someone who truly listens, and
listens with love.
I remember taking another longtime friend to dinner at my parents' house
twenty years ago, when I was 30. My older brother was also there. Afterward
in the car, my friend Joe asked if I noticed that my parents didn't listen
to me when I spoke. He said. "When you talk, everyone just ignores
you and keeps talking. But when your brother speaks, your parents put
down their forks and listen." I was stunned, not only because Joe
was right, but also because I'd never noticed what he described, because
it was "normal" for me.
Now I know it's not normal for people who say they love you not to care
what you have to say. Even so, because of such powerful early conditioning,
I still struggle sometimes to believe that Marla and others who love me
are actually interested in me. This is still a miracle to me!
Writing to Marla for 30 days was so healing for me that I decided not
to stop. The daily experience of writing handwritten letters—and
being received with genuine enthusiasm by a compassionate witness—is
doing a number to those old family scripts. And yes, I'm writing to Marla
by hand—three pages minimum, just like Julia Cameron's morning pages—only
I let myself do my "Marla pages" any time of day.
It's okay with me if I write on my IBM Selectric or my iMac or in smoke
signals, for that matter. However, there is something magical about writing
by hand. It slows me down and grounds me. It connects me more strongly
to the physical world, and I love knowing that the paper I'm touching
with my hands today will soon be delivered into the hands of a woman I
dearly love.
When I get scared that I'm "too much," I remember that I've
asked Marla to promise that she'll ask me to stop if she wants me to stop.
Otherwise, she can just sit back and receive.
Sometimes I still get blue, but writing to Marla about it changes everything,
because writing to her strengthens me.
This article was originally published by Evergreen
Monthly (June 2004).
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