When I say Write me a letter, I'm asking to see you.

To meet at a place on the page in which we hover above our lives, seeing with clarity who we are and the capacity we carry.

I want to see you. Not How are you, I am fine, but the real version of yourself. Let's have a conversation, slowed and real, in which we talk to each other by talking to ourselves.

How are you?

It's the first question and the last. It's the start to finding the buried treasure, the buried you, beneath the barrier and disguise, the hurts and worries, all the secrets and shame.

How am I?

All of us are small and uncertain, clouded and confused. You know this, don't you? Each of us struggles and hurts and hides. You feel more than the smooth surface of life, and still you cannot yet grasp how deeply we are each of us knitted together in our aloneness.

My dear, young friend, I am writing you a letter. In every line, I'm looking for you.

With love,

Drew