Among other things.

To my feet.

Dear feet,

I am sorry that I have neglected you. You must feel really tired.

Even though it might seem like I don’t appreciate you even slightly, I do.

Know that there is a warm epsom salt bath in your (very near) future as a thank you for moving me from place to place.

I get that a letter from me is hardly a substitute for some real attention. A start?

To my day.

Dear day,

Wow. Already here.

I must admit to feeling just the tiniest bit apprehensive about your arrival, given all the things that want doing and saying and thinking and deciding.

If there is any way you can offer me reassurances, yay.

Here’s what I would like. I would like you to be filled with trust and a sense of being grounded. Stability.

And I will do what I can to stay aware of where and when these qualities are showing up, as well as the times when I’m having difficulty connecting to them.,

Open to being surprised about all sorts of things today.

To my resistance.

Dear resistance to writing these letters, hi.

Yes, you have a place too.

Even though you worry about me becoming (more of) a hippie tree-hugging yoga teacher, I want you to know that you are not in danger of losing me.

You know me. And in all of the wild things that have happened over the past several years, you know that I have not lost my sense of humor.

I have not lost my sarcastic bitchiness and I have not lost my impatient eye-rolling. Right? It’s still me.

So even though you think that if I let myself write little letters to things that may or may not be able to respond, I will become someone who is gullible, easy to deceive, easily hurt …

This is not what’s going on here.

Thank you for trying to keep me from losing myself. And please know that all these things I experiment with are not intended to turn me into someone else. They’re helping me to get closer to myself.

And yes, I get that you think I might discover that my “true” self is an annoying, preachy, holier-than-thou person who wears white robes and speaks only in ridiculous cliches about how life is a blessing. Oh god what if that happens.

It’s not going to happen, sweetie.

I know who I am. And the essence of me — the core Havi-ness — isn’t going anywhere. I am allowed to contain contradictions.

Oh yes. I am allowed to be a yoga teacher and the Head Shivanaut and a bad-ass pirate queen and someone who writes letters to her day and someone who thinks this is stupid, all at the same time.

I hope this explanation makes it easier for you to let me write these, because I really want to write them.

p.s. I won’t tell anyone how much you like talking to trees when no one’s watching.


Dear trees,

I love you.

Morning yoga practice.

Dear morning yoga practice,

I know you miss me.

Maybe not as much as I miss you but still.

Know that when I do a calf stretch on the stairs, or a lazy forward bend while standing in line, I am thinking of you and we are together.

Every piece counts. And yes, you are allowed to feel frustrated that we don’t have as much time together right now.

Working towards it. Coming home to you.

To my bed,

Dear bed,

Please hold me in love and comfort.

To my body,

Dear body of mine,

You are loved.

Even though you might feel pretty annoyed with me right now, I just want you to know that I am with you.

I will get you pillows and baths and yoga and time. And napping.

I will feed you and clothe you and whisper things to you. Sometimes we will fight. Because I forget.

And sometimes we will have long, unhappy discussions. And sometimes we will cry.

I’m with you. You are loved. Even when I say harsh things. Even when I cannot like you or myself.

This doesn’t have to make sense.

Tonight’s sleep.

Dear tonight’s sleep,

Help me feel safe.

If you could be restful, restorative and take care of me, that would be awesome.

If there is anything that needs processing (and I’m just going to assume there is lots of that), please let it happen gently and thoroughly, without disturbance.

Missed connection.

Me: Sleepy woman in her 30s. Green eyes. Wearing a purple dress and extremely hot red boots.

You: My afternoon nap. Skinny. Cute. Nice smile.

We looked longingly at each other but I had to catch a cab and then do a bunch of things. I wish I’d had the courage to just say what the hell and take you right there in the middle of the day.

That would have been great.

Find me?

Comment zen for today.

You can play too! Extremely brief (or long, rambling) letters to editors, internal or otherwise, are all welcome.

We don’t give advice and we don’t edit for each other. We respect the fact that we’re all working on our stuff and that sometimes it’s hard. xox

The Fluent Self