As he writes from somewhere in Brazil, “Talking and writing are exercises of thinking, with the latter being, by many orders of magnitude, the more rigorous. One of my more adventurous friends finds a way to send me postcards from the furthest corners of the world. There are so few occasions to pause and reflect, to form insights and show gratitude to the people around us. Having proof of a life well lived never hurts. My friends roll their eyes and say, “She’s in that kind of mood.” For some reason, it is of the utmost importance to keep documentation a trail of breadcrumbs for those who follow behind. There are evenings when friends are over, and I start pulling letters out of the shrine to tell some story I haven’t thought of in years. I keep everything.Įvidence reminds me of where I’ve been, who I’ve met, and who I’ve loved. An easy way into my life, or at least to be saved forever, is to send me a note. They’re all stuffed between books on my shelf in a section my friends call “The Shrine”. I’ve collected correspondence from over the years-brief notes, postcards, hand drawn maps directing me to bars around the corner.
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