The Seventh Letter

Tonight I got into a disagreement with a friend. So much so, that I found myself shouting. I haven’t yelled at someone since I was about thirteen. I’m not used to getting angry—just upset.
I left the house to go grocery shopping and decided (since it was next door) to check my post box. And there was this lonely letter—my seventh letter.
The first six letters came from people I knew—family, a camp friend, school friends, and a friend’s friend. This letter was from someone I didn’t know, someone I have never met and who has never met me. And all the way from New Zealand.
The letter is six pages long, and I just finished reading it. And wow. It is everything I hoped this project/experiment would bring—a window. I small snippet of someone’s life. It was beautiful. And sad. And truly, deeply personal. And the letter became more than just a window—it became a mirror. I saw so much of myself in the words that were written. And I crave to know more, to hear more from this person, and their life, their story. So please: continue to write. To all those who have yet to write, please do. I am here, waiting, to read all that you have to say.
And so, to give you a better idea of maybe what it’s all about, I’d like to share a bit of what was written:
“You said these letters must be personal. But me? I’m not really sure what that means. Maybe I’m just stupid, but I don’t think you can really define ‘personal.’ I think it has a different meaning for everyone, depending on who you are. Personal could mean anything, whether it be the details about yourself, your history, your feelings/emotions, or anything you don’t tell anyone about.”
And that’s absolutely true—all of it. Personal can be anything—it’s up to you what you write, what you say, what you divulge. Anything and everything, I’ll read it all.