January 29, 2013


[…] Perhaps all the dragons in our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us act, just once, with beauty and courage. Perhaps everything that frightens us is, in its deepest essence, something helpless that wants our love.

So you mustn’t be frightened, dear Mr. Kappus, if a sadness rises in front of you, larger than any you have ever seen; if an anxiety, like light and cloud-shadows, moves over your hands and over everything you do. You must realize that something is happening to you, that life has not forgotten you, that it holds you in its hand and will not let you fall. Why do you want to shut out of your life any uneasiness, any misery, any depression, since after all you don’t know what work these conditions are doing inside you? If there is anything unhealthy in your reactions, just bear in mind that sickness is the means by which an organism frees itself from what is alien; so one must simply help it to be sick, to have its whole sickness and to break out with it, since that is the way it gets better. […]

- Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters To A Young Poet
Borgeby gard, Fladie, Sweden, August 12, 1904

April 17, 2012
Dear Me: More Letters to My 16-Year-Old Self

Chateau E
June 12, 2010

Dear sweet, naive, 16 year old me,

You poor sap. I know you won’t believe any of this, but you should. How can I get it through your thick, acne-pocked skull? All the stupid things you are so worried about really aren’t very important at all. In fact, they are the opposite of important. What if I told you that all the “winners” around you right now were actually the losers? Well, I just did tell you that, but you still don’t believe me because I’m an adult and 16 year olds can never trust adults.

What if I tried to explain it this way: That feeling you’ve never been able to put a name on — it feels something like, let’s say, a bone-crushing insecurity and cluelessness about your place in the world — just forget about it! That’s right. You can forget about it and go about your days — confident with the knowledge that it’s all going to work out just fine. Because as you get older, you will figure stuff out. A lot of stuff. And that bone-crushing feeling will slowly dissipate. I’m sorry. I can’t remember if you knew what the word “dissipate” meant when you were 16. You will feel it less and less as time goes on. That’s what I meant to say.

And all those “winners” who appear at the top of their games and lives are indeed, just that: at their peaks! It’s all downhill for those idiots from here. Ha! Come on, let’s have a laugh. At their expense! It’s okay. You’ve earned it!

While YOU get to do the opposite: Things will just get better and better for you. And here’s the best part: It turns out that girls like geeky smart guys much more than dumb sports guys. For many reasons. You’ll see. So relax, man. Just relax. And I can even pass along this shocking piece of information: You will enjoy your life in your 40s! You heard me. It’s gonna be great!

Now, I’m not saying it’s not going to come with some serious bumps in the road along the way, but don’t worry. Those bumps are the very thing that will make you a better person along the way and make you appreciate yourself and the world around you more and more. So you can stop worrying about the mean kids around you and stop putting any energy into being mean yourself. Ignore all that crap and enjoy the nice things in your life. Now how ‘bout a smile? No? Well, you ARE 16. I get it. But I can tell you’re smiling just a little on the inside.

Sincerely,

(Signed, ‘E’)

A Fully Grown Man Called E

eels

(Source: amazon.com)

9:34pm
  
Filed under: letter self 
March 3, 2012

A book is like a man—clever and dull, brave and cowardly, beautiful and ugly.

- John Steinbeck

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Filed under: John Steinbeck letter quotes 
February 15, 2012
The most beautiful death

The following letter - an incredibly moving, detailed account of Aldous’ last days - was written by Laura just days after her husband’s death and sent to his older brother Julian.

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Filed under: letter Aldous Huxley death