I’ve learned the hard way, the growing up way not to send every letter I write. There have been many I have shredded, trashed, rendered unreadable in ways most likely to insult you. A famous Coloradan burned a letter during a period of drought. Fires were banned across the state. People were warned against having a campfire. The famous person torched theirs at a campsite in the National Forest and ended up torching 138,114 acres of land, stretching across four counties, resulting in 8 deaths and the loss of millions of dollars in property losses and time in Jail. We still see the scars, miles upon miles of mountainous terrain slowly coming back to life, never to be what it once was, at least in my lifetime.
I’ve been tempted to write a letter to an entity, a person of whom has trampled on my soul. Their behavior so unpolite I am without the nerve to match the effort. That and it is just not my style to lower myself to their standard of social interaction.
Even though time has marched past in a rhythm normal to daily life, I find my own thoughts from time to time, stuck in the audacity of their unkind actions. Writing that unsendable letter could help me to cleanse my head and be rid of the past. It’s just that I have done so, because of the same folks numerous times, yet here they come again. And they will be back, clueless as usual to my seeming indifference to what they have to say or do. I do not respond to their emails, invitations, expectations I should accept their insensitive behaviors and join them in the dramatic, traumatic pace of their lives. We all have downs and ups, gains and losses, challenges and effortless wins. Yet, in their minds, other people do not matter. Nada, nothing, zip. Their lives should have more value to me than my own, it appears.
So, I won’t go there. There are too many others glad to see me, happy to hear from me. Curious and caring enough to really listen to how I am doing. Thank Goodness for them.