Thank you Letter to a Mentor

This is a thank you letter I wrote to the first person who opened me up to writing.  It is a way to acknowledge and gain the wisdom and strength for a talent or gift I've been fortunate enough to express and hone in this lifetime.  Many women writers have to carve out time and space in their homes to write in the middle of raising kids. I am fortunate I don't have to worry about that extra distraction and really have no excuses not to write.

What is one talent you have been able to develop in your life. Who would you want to thank as the first person who gave this to you? Is there a letter you would like to write?

Dear Mr. Curtis,

Although you were a rigid and harsh teacher, you were the one who pushed your students to excel. Being in your classroom of gifted students, or was it underprivileged smart kids now that I see the mix of who we were then, I knew there was something more that I was to become than the kid struggling to get through her day because of the problems at home. I just didn’t quite know what it was it then, of course.

But I must say, I was surprised that you picked me to go to the Author Authors’ conference in Grade 6. Was it because I did well at public speaking? Or maybe it was because I was a volunteer “Bookie Monster” at the school library. I really don’t know to this day.

But it did surprise me that you saw this potential in me, because I frankly didn’t. I knew I was good at math and I knew I could make a presentation. But I really felt like I had no voice at home and needed my mom to write my speeches. So it was strange you sent me. But I’m glad you did.

I have had a love/hate relationship with writing all throughout my life.  It seems to follow me, wherever I go.  But it’s something that I have to do, for some reason.  

After leaving your class, writing continued to haunt me. I even had a best friend who gave me journals throughout high school to write in. And thank goodness she did. They were my saving grace in the midst of a chaotic home.  I’d say that it was my journals that kept me connected to my truth and my voice and were my source of guidance.

I even worked for writers’ organizations and have learned about the business of writing.  I have slept with writers, befriended writers and met really noteworthy writers. They have been all around me, wanting me to belong in that circle.

And you know, English was my worst subject of all of them in high school. I got 70%s rather than 90s, which were my usual grades for math. It really doesn’t make sense that I’m choosing to write, other than somehow needing the challenge to master something really, freakin’ difficult and the part of me that can’t handle being bad at something.

Even the whole lifestyle of a writer freaks me out, quite frankly. Living in a way that is frustrated and lonely, hoping someone accepts you, having to come up with ideas only to be criticized or persecuted. For what? The fleeting satisfaction of a quippy statement or finished project? It’s an endless battle of words, concepts, ideas playing out. For what, ultimately? A need to have endless conversations with oneself hoping someone will listen? Trying to get someone to know you in a different, more intimate way?

I’ve come up with a million excuses not to write. Well, what happens if I go blind? Or get arthritis in my hands?  Or I just plain ol’ suck at it and I’ve wasted a ton of energy?  Or I’ll get persecuted and thrown into prison because words can be dangerous. 

But since you sent me to that conference, I’ve had some ridiculous need to express something through words, create something or publish something. I’ve even tried to let go of the English language by immersing myself in Spanish while living in Mexico. I resisted teaching English as a second language to make a living because I just wanted the bloody words to go away. These words have just clouded up my mind and show how little I know and how inadequate I feel. They’ve caused me a whole host of inner problems and interpersonal conflicts with miscommunication.

But this writers’ itch just won’t go away no matter how many mantras, yoga poses, meditations, and personal growth work sessions I do.  I have to put my thoughts and feelings on paper and make sense of them.  I have to feel like someone’s listening, even if it’s just myself. I need to have a way to tune into my truth and feelings even if chaos and conflict are happening all around me. And writing does it. It gives me the sanctuary of my words and affirms that my life has dignity. Writing has helped me see clearly the path ahead, helping me see the mystery and the power of telling tales to teach about lessons on the soul path.  I have even helped people through my writing of blog posts and facebook posts and emails. I have been able to hear others’ voices through their writing and see their humanity and struggles.  Without writing, I know I would have felt all alone with myself and couldn’t connect or communicate with others.  It would have been a lonely world.

So, Mr. Curtis, I have to thank you for seeing something in me I didn’t see in myself, giving me a lifetime of trying to master and reject and reclaim who I am through this gift and curse of writing.  It’s helped me keep my sanity and understand deeper truths about myself and life.  Without it, it would have been a cold, empty world of math and accounting. You gave me a gift like no other and that has helped me become a more self-aware and conscious person, because you saw something in me I couldn’t see in myself making me into a better human being. For this, I thank you.