I’ve been hung up on moving forward with Reverb ever since this particular prompt popped up in my email. I appreciate the spirit in which these types of “things” are given, the sort of inspiration they are supposed to light, but… well, I find them a bit too Oprah with a pinch of Hallmark. They’re just not me. It feels like I’d be sending myself junk mail.
I was caught in the crosshairs of a Reverb dilemma — Fulfill the whole Reverb quest of authenticating myself and write the prompt, layering on the warmth and fuzziness and mushy-gushy love I could probably find deep inside of myself if I authenticated hard enough? Or just toss of a fluff piece, filled with Redi-whip delight, fake airy sugar that dots all the i’s with hearts.
Eh, no thanks.
I don’t write like this. I don’t write forced emotions and I’m not Redi-whip. Why on earth would I ever write a letter to myself forgiving myself? That makes no sense to me. That’s why I keep a journal — to record not only my life’s events, my responses to them, how I’ve grown from them and what I still need to work on. I’m terrible at checking the mail that the real post office delivers me. I can’t even imagine what it would be like if I wrote something to myself.