11/22/10

There was also a drawing of a British T-Rex on the back, but I could not get the image to scan clearly. Click this letter for the enlarged version.

Email Submission: 11/16/10

"Hello Stranger

Its been a while since I wrote my first letter. Well I know I'm not getting any from you since I'm sending this digitally. But it's ok. Just knowing that you're reading this right now, makes me happy. 

I've been on the computer for hrs now, just doing the usual stuffs, watching videos, facebooking, browsing for all different kinds of stuffs. Amazing how technology can take so much of your time. 

I mostly search for things that has something to do with nature and animals. I just love nature. I love animals. I wish I could be like tippi, living in the jungle right now. Animals are such amazing creatures. I just don't understand why some humans regard them as with no emotions. If I ever could I'd like to be a vet or a volunteer to a wildlife project or something. 

Amazing how animals can show you love and affection. You can be yourself with them, they give you no judgements like humans can sometimes do. 

Simple things like walking in the bushes, feeling wind, the grass underneath you feet, big trees, birds humming, sweet smell of flowers.. Happiness ^^, I'll be spending a week in an Island soon! I wish I can take you with me. 

I hope you're having a wonderful day yourself dear stranger. I wish I can share this wonderful day with you. If you're feeling low right now, pls. get a pen. Write to me. I'm here waiting to listen. Share your thoughts with me.. till my next letter ^^,

Love from a stranger (;"

10/31/10

10/24/10

"Dear Stranger,

Like the many letters that came before mine, I must admit to being slightly nervous.
I didn’t think I would be—after all, if you have read so many others than the fear is
mutual, there is no need to express it. This last statement is false and a pattern I seem to
follow for life: if someone else has done it, felt it, gotten through it, then I should be able
to avoid it, right?

My mother struggled from depression when I was younger. She divorced my father for
some various unknown reasons—at least, unknown reasons to my seven-year-old self.
Her decision has changed all the rest of my life and while I at one point determined that
to be good, it is difficult not to see the bad right now. I am suffering from depression and
I cannot help but think that I am becoming my mother. I attempt to tell her how I feel but
she keeps asking if I have done this or that to make it better. I know she means well but
all I hear is my own failure in avoiding this state of being. I am lonely and uncertain and
a thousand other emotions that a thousand other people have felt before. How can I know
I am so similar to strangers like you without feeling like a face lost in the crowd? How
can I bear to be different if it means I risk standing alone?

At every corner I turn I keep hearing the same message: “ Live life more forward.” I hear
it in the words of William Blake and the loud, chaotic, deep-thinking symphonies of
Mahler. My voice teacher tells it to me two times a week—that's right, I am a singer and
a pretty good one at that although I don’ t think I will be able to perform for a profession
since I have passion but not THAT much passion for it. That last sentence was a run-
on and I am fighting the urge to go back and fix it—Live life more forward. Even in my
physics professor tells us to “ dare to be correct!” It’ s as if the whole world keeps spinning
a circle of words around me. Live life more forward.

In that vain I wish to tell you more details. I could go on about the pain and the loneliness
but the truth of the matter is that the thing we think is most secret is really the pain
everyone shares. If you know yourself then you know how I hurt and if you have ever
been betrayed or adversely effected by someone important to you, you know how long
it stays. I do not need to talk of these things, you know. We all know. And we spend our
whole lives afraid of what it might mean to shout that to the world. I KNOW AND I AM
NOT AFRAID OF WHAT WE SHARE!

So, instead, I will arm you with the strongest weapon you have: what makes me happy.
If you know that, you can take it away but I don’ t think you will. I love to sing. I love to
sing to myself because it is my way of connecting to the world. At one point I wanted to
be a poet because seeing the way my words could find that shared meaning it someone’ s
heart made me glow inside. I stopped writing because I did not believe I could make that
shared feeling complex enough for modern society. Live life more forward. My favorite
part of singing is when you finish a piece, especially a sad one, and you see the eyes
moist in the room (the ones other than your parent’ s although that is more legitimate than
I usually give credit). In that moment of moist eyes there is a collective still before the
clapping begins—that is how you know you have moved someone, anyone, the room.
Those moments of silence are sacred moments. They are the look in someone’ s eyes
when you put words or a voice to something they did not know how to say themselves.

That’ s the truth about art: we are all saying the same thing in different ways until we can
finally communicate with each other. We may try to burry it in complex metaphor or
process or narrative but in the end we are simply trying to put voice to the longing in all
of us: “ Someone, give a damn about me in whatever form that may come.”

Look, I tried for details and ended up in the abstract one more. I must admit, I don’ t know
many things about myself. Actually, it’ s more that I know many things about myself
but each day I can only seem to name a few. My head is easily overwhelmed with too
many “ shoulds” and “ coulds” and “ mights.” I think less often of who I am and more
often of the me I should/could/might be if I could change one more thing. I am guessing
you share this trait. I may be wrong but I am probably right. Live life more forward.

I love dogs more than cats but given my tendency to sign up for too many things, cats
are much easier. It doesn’ t really matter right now, though I can’ t have either while I am
moving around so much. My father is veterinary professor and he taught me to never buy
a pet until I could actually afford to care for one—I don’ t know where I will be in the
next ten years but I know it won’ t be very stable. Still, I miss having something warm
and soft to pet and someone that loves you simply for feeding them. Pets are the best.

And now, because I think I have rambled on longer than I should (more for need of
sleep than for wanting to quit) I give you one more detail: wool socks are the best part of
winter.

Thank you for being a therapeutic tool. I will not pretend to be interested in your reply:
the next person will be interested enough for the both of us. Good luck. Live life more
forward.

Love (as much as you can love anyone),

The person in the mirror"

9/26/10

"Hello, you.

I have so much to say, and yet only a lifetime to say it. My hand will start aching very shortly, so we must begin!

Who am I? I am me. I wear tie-dye pants and I have a garden. I hate my dad, & I don't know why. Perhaps it's because he made me this. Lately, I have discovered that everything I really want in life – everything I ever needed – was right in front of me when I was little, and for some reason I let it go. I used to want to be a math teacher, and I used to swim, and I used to be me. Then somebody told me I had ADD, that somehow I was special, and it was know I was special that made me want to be the same. I was not pressured. I was compelled. It was the worst thing that ever happened to me.

Of course, I am me now, and I am happy with me, so whatever events transpired to make this happen must have not been too bad. There have been some bumps along the road. Last month I flew across the country to tell the women I loved that I loved her. She said that she no longer had feelings for me. I had hoped to remain friends; alas, the world doesn't work that way. I'm done fitting molds though. I have moved on to someone new, someone who's favorite movie is Mulan and someone who thinks a zombie apocalypse would be great.

I hope that you find the courage to be yourself, to move on, to take life slow. Plant something. It's soothing, really, and it doesn't take a lot of work. Plus, if you plant a vegetable, you get to eat it later. You get to eat something that you grew.

Oh, and please, tell someone that you love them. It really does mean something.

Sincerely,
Me

P.S. I'm thinking about shaving my head."

Digital Submission: 9/22/10

9/21/10

(The older post wasn't functioning properly, so I had to repost this letter. Sorry!)

New Address

Hello Strangers!

I changed dorms this semester, so I have a new mailing address. Don't worry, all mail going to the old address will still be forwarded to me.

Remember to read the terms before sending me anything.

Also, I would like to thank everyone who has submitted so far. This has been an incredible experience for me. Please keep writing, drawing, and taking photographs!

9/16/10

"To my dear, dear Stranger,

I read so many letters on here that say “Though I'll probably never know you.” Well this is my attempt to rectify that. I hope that in return, you would write a Stranger telling them who you are. Well, shall we begin?

I am love. I have a great capacity for love . I will automatically love you because you're human. Our flaws and our aspirations create in us such beauty, that every single one of us is a work of the most divine art, and worthy of love. I love you, for you are special as well.

I am rage. I also have a great capacity for anger. I inherited my father's temper, and sometimes have a short fuse. I can sometimes get angry over the small things, annoyances only to anyone else. I recognize this flaw in myself, and attempt to work with it every day.

I am anxiety. I battle everyday against fear and anxiousness. It was a gift from my mother, teaching me as a child to fear the world, fear failure and success. It paralyzed me for the longest time, until I learned to channel it into something wonderful. Ambition.

I am hope. I was given an unshakeable optimism, and sunny outlook. It's a counter to my anxiety and it helps me to move forward with life. Never a dull day in my life, you see? Hope allows me to love, fear, and rage against that wonderful, fickle, terrifying, beautiful thing known as tomorrow.

I am conflict. Having such deep emotions opens you up to being so very conflicted at time. Love wars with Rage while Hope struggles with Fear. At least Creativity give it all an outlet, a way to channel it's energies into something constructive. It's a good thing, a little conflict.

I am human. All there emotions instill in me the undeniable fact that yes, I am indeed a human being, and that is the most wonderful thing in the world. It's the mundane facts as well as that contribute to our humanity. I'm 24 years old, living in a small town called Winchester, in the state of Virginia. Look it up! I'm finishing my associates degree at Lord Fairfax Community College, then going on to a four year school. For what degree? I don't know yet. All I know is that I love life, and I shall endeavor to forever do so.

Who are you?

All my love,

The Lost Stranger"

9/5/10

"Hello, dear friend!
    It's difficult for me to think of a suitable start to this letter to you – someone I have never and will never (both assumptions) meet. However, I suppose I should not worry since I will never know your judgement of me.
    I would ask who you are, but something tells me I will never get a reply, therefore I will tell you about me: I am a female and 18 years old. When I was 10 my father died, and in the years following years [sic] I have struggled with mental illness (panic, anxiety, and depression); however, I have also become stronger through these experiences. In the last two years I have travelled overseas alone for months at a time, and in 2 days I leave for my first year of college in a location that is an 11 hour car ride from home. I suppose if I were to give any insight based on these experiences, it would be never to give up your dreams and that the human condition is amazingly resilient, making nothing impossible. If you ever struggle, know that this earth can be cruel, but that it is only a passing thing – you are here for a reason and are truly irreplaceable. When you feel alone, know only that I am thinking of you and care deeply about you. In time you will get the happiness you deserve.
    As I write you this letter I am sitting at my computer desk, my facebook profile open while I watch “Life After People” on the History Channel. I enjoy watching such shows. The Discovery Channel and National Geographic are my favorites. My favorite TV prgram ever created is “Band of Brothers”, and if you have not yet seen all things international, my favorite film is “Das Leben der Andven” (The Lives of Others) also definitely worth a watch. I suppose those are all things you don't really care to know, but, friend, I have decided to share them with you. Maybe you like them as well and, in fact, feel a minor connection to me. Maybe if we really met we would actually be friends. Life works in mysterious ways, and maybe some day we will unknowingly find one another, and should you get to know me you will recognize me as the stranger from whom you got that letter all that time ago. Maybe... maybe not. It's fun to speculate, though, isn't it? When you put this letter down, I wonder if you will ever think of me again? What will you do with this piece of paper and the picture sent with it? Only you will know the answer to these questions. I just hope that you've found this letter interesting and were not disappointed by its contents. If you were, I apologize, and I promise that my next letter to a stranger will be better. For now I suppose I should let you be, though it pains me to bring our short encounter to an end. I hope it has been as memorable for you as it was for me.

<3 your friend."

Write a letter to a stranger.

8/31/10

"

8.25.10

Dear Stranger,

I am in love with winter.

I like to help people. I have few gifts or strengths or talents (or maybe more, I doubt myself often,) but one thing I'm really good at is caring about people in pain. The kind you sometimes see in someone's eyes when he or she isn't completely focused on hiding it. You distract them for a second and then there it is – that shimmer of pain, that sinking feeling, that hole. I make stories in my head about people. A grouchy lady at the checkout counter? Don't hate her. Maybe she's losing her family. Maybe she was happy once. Maybe she was in love and thought she had everything. Maybe she clung too tightly, and he didn't understand why or how she could do that, so he left her. Maybe her son blames her for it. Maybe now this job is all she has, and her son secretly hates that she'd cling to a job like that – hates that she's the grouchy bag lady. And the seeds of not-understanding are blooming inside all of them, and the flowers are those glimmers of pain in their eyes. Why do I think these things? These are terrible things. You'd think it'd be easier to imagine happy stories. At least, it'd feel better, right? But nope. I don't even have to try. In a split second, a story unfolds and untwists and it's there before me like a book.

I think I think those things because maybe, if other people feel such terrible things, my own pain will pale in comparison. I suppose it's worked, because my own pain is nothing compared to those invented pains. And I'm a pretty happy person. Maybe the reason I want to help people is because I want all their problems and pain and sadness to just wash all my problems and pain and sadness away. But that seems so selfish, so I hope it isn't true.

I don't like that kind of pain. That empty pain. Abandoned and hurt and confused pain. Hole-in-my-heart pain. It doesn't hurt like a knife, it hurts like a disease. Slow and dull, but crippling. It grows bigger and bigger and eats away at your insides until there's nothing left and you're dead. Actually dead or metaphorically dead, it doesn't matter. You're dead.

The cause of all this pain, I think, is just other people. And how sad is that? Sometimes the dead-on-the-inside people just infect other people, and the death spreads. Sometimes two people just don't know what they're doing or why they're doing it or why they feel those things, and the pain is the stuff that fills the gap they make when they leave each other. There's nobody to blame, because they both thought they were doing what's best.

There's the other kinds of pain, too: injury, hunger, sickness, separation, loss, to name a few. I'm pretty sure these kinds of pain are on a deeper, more basic level. By that I mean they are more natural to the human conditions, (whatever the heck that is.) They're easy to feel. We feel them often. They hurt just as bad as any other kind of pain. But they seem, to me at least, to be more pure. They're a lack of something vital. Nourishment, health, loved ones. We can fight to protect these things. Not violence, fist fights, wars, etc. We can struggle. We can struggle to protect our loved ones and keep them safe or alive. We can't always win, but we can always try. It hurts to lose, sure, and it hurts to see other people lose, but that's Life. Capital L life. And in a way, it's beautiful.

That other pain? The empty pain? That's not life. Not Life. It's Death. It's the opposite. It's what sneaks into our lives and stops us from Living. It makes us forget what's important. It makes us take things for granted. This bad pain is a weight, and of course what happens when you hold onto it? You sink. When you hold on to the good pain, when it holds onto you, you wake up. You fight it off. You get angry, get passionate. You care.

And I wish people cared like I care.

I once went camping in the mountains in the middle of winter, all alone. I took a tent and a little stove and a knife and some firewood and some matches and a hell of a lot of warm clothes. The campsite was closed for the winter and the campsites were buried in feet of snow, but I stayed anyway. I spent an hour scraping snow out from under a whispy Douglas Fir until there was enough dirt showing to pitch a tent. The ground was so frozen I could barely hammer the tent stakes in. The stove could barely heat the water faster than the bitter air was freezing it. For two days and one night, I ate when I could and slept when I could, and when I walked where I could. It wasn't really 'survival,' but it was camping. And I froze my ass off.

It was the quietest two days and one night I have ever experienced. No. Sound. The woods and the mountains were asleep under their blankets of frost, and I slept there with them.

I never once thought about the girl who liked me, but whom I didn't like and I'm not sure why, even though I should have liked her, because she liked me, damnit, why didn't I like her back? Why was I instead chasing after the girl who wouldn't ever even dream of being romantic with me? Why was my life becoming some cliché sitcom? Why wasn't I really happy with work? Why wasn't I happy at school? Why wasn't my life where I wanted it to be? Why did I feel worthless? Why had I made the choices I did? Where was my life headed?

I didn't think about any of that. Instead, I thought about staying warm and staying fed, and I shivered and made footprints in the snow.

Love,

Alive."

8/25/10

"Dear Stranger,

First off I want to thank you for listening to me ahead of time. Its nice to now that there are people out there (other than me) that want to know who the strangers you come across every day really are. Not just the standard okay you five people without thinking when they ask how you are. But the truth. I just want to thank you for your kindness and/or couriousity.
 

I always wanted to do something like this. I would be sitting on the bus on my way home and I would start to think. (Which can get pretty dangerous for me because once I start I never stop) I think, what if I just blurt out to the tired looking woman in the waitress uniform how my day was. Or tell how I had to take care of myself after my father decided to kill himself when I was six and my mother locked herself in her room for the next seven years and did crack. Despite how much I want to tell all of my secrets to strangers, I never did. At least till now.

Well that is probably the longest introduction to a letter I have ever written and that you will probably ever read. I wish I could read your letter, just so I could know a little about who I am writing to. But its probably better that I don't.
   

I am the girl sitting quiet in the back of the class. I read too much. I own too many books. I dance it out. I think too much, I talk too little. All of my dreams are of going somewhere exciting, somewhere new. I can't make up my mind. I love music. I love movies. My mother is now the closest thing I have to a friend. I love art. When I say some thing I think is funny no one laughs, but when I don't think what I said is funny everyone else does. I laugh at my own jokes. Despite all this I have no idea who I am.
    

Well stranger this letter didn't exactly turn out how I thought it would. But I still like it. I'm going to end my letter to you here. I may not know you but I still hope your living a happy, fufulling life. That is a goal that everyone has and I hope you've acheived it. If you haven't yet thats okay too. Because you'll get there. I sure hope I do. Now stranger, I'll never forget you and please don't forget me. Live, Love, Laugh, and be Happy.

Love and hugs from,

The girl in the back."

8/14/10

8/13/10

Write a letter!

8/9/10

"Dear Stranger,
    To be honest, I feel a bit nervous writing this. I keep wondering who you are, what you're like, your life. I am sitting on a stool at the kitchen bar-counter. Writing this letter. I have Dear Reader playing on my iPod, putting me in the perfect mood. Behind me are the bright yellow dining room walls, and even farther, my village. The tiniest town I have ever seen (don't blink or you'll miss it!), but I love it with all my heart. What about you? Where do you live? What do you look like? These thoughts keep going through my mind. I wonder how old you are? Do you have any hobbies, any loves?

    I know that we will never meet, and if we did (by some miracle), I would not know you were the person, the stranger, I once sat down and wrote to. And you would not know that I once sent an anonymous letter to you. But that doesn't matter, not in the slightest. All that matters is that we connected. When my pen hit this paper, and when your hand touched the envelope, we made a connection. Even though we may life in different parts of the country (the world!), we have touched the other's life. In ten, twenty, even fifty years, neither of us may remember. But that does not matter,  because this connection will last. It may be strongest now, in this moment, but perhaps later in our lives, we will find ourselves thinking of each other. I pray that we do.

    Thank you so much for unknowingly touching my life. And thank you for allowing me into yours.

    I love you.

    -Just another face."

Be a stranger. 

Email: 8.9.10

"Dear Stranger,

It's hard to write this.  Not hard as in too painful, the kind of pain that makes your chest heavy and eyes move slowly, but hard in this shit is just too difficult to start.  Like an essay for a class about a topic that you don't care about.  Like proofs in geometry.  At least, I remember proofs being hard.  Maybe a better word would be difficult.  This is difficult to write.

The only time I get self-conscious is when I become self-aware.  You know self-awareness?  The supposed human-specific trait that separates us from animals?  I say think of your favorite song, and, even though the song will not be physically playing, you can hear it in your head?  Or I say think about how you look right now from a bird's-eye view, and you could picture it, in your head?  That's self-awareness.  And whenever that randomly happens to me, I may be at work, at the gym, on a date (especially on a date), or hammered drunk in the backseat of a friend's car, I become self-conscious, even borderline embarrassed.

There was no point to that paragraph, just thought I would let you know.

I should tell you what I am afraid of, I suppose.  I am afraid of being average.  Makes me seem kind of pretentious, doesn't it?  Maybe I should try and be more specific.  I want to change the world.  I do not want to slave and drudge and hate my job until I reach retirement age and then leave it all alone.  I do not want to live in a simple house with nothing to look forward to after work except a cold beer, the game, and weekends (although, every now and then, that would be pretty nice).  I want to be remembered.   My father gave me some advice, "Whatever profession you choose, you work until you are the best in the world at it."  That is good advice.  But the pressure that indirectly puts on me scares the hell out of me.

Back to being average.

I don't want to just get married and have 2.5 kids and a dog and live in the suburbs somewhere.  I want to be excited.  I want to live adventurously.  I want to have stories to tell.  I want to be...interesting (like that dude in the Dos Equis commercials, only, like, way better, somehow).  I am afraid that if I don't hurry up and figure my shit out that I will end up not having reached the full potential of my life.  And, I mean, shit, we only get like, one of those, right?

That self-awareness comes into play with the very irrational fear of inadequacy I just admitted to you.  Sometimes (usually when I am driving home from work) I become self-aware about my current state and it gives me a pseudo-anxiety attack.  And I get scared.  It's not like I know what I am doing, right?  Each decision I make is no better than an educated guess based on absolutely no precedence.  But this feeling has a bi-polar switch to it.  If I get lows, I get highs as well.  Sometimes I get self-aware and I feel like I could strangle the world with my bear hands (that's not a typo.  Literally.  "Bear" hands).

But I cannot pretend like my life is just a trial after a tribulation.  It's not.  Both my parents are alive and in good health still (knock, knock), my older brother is my best friend, I have many good friends that I will probably know for the rest of my life, I have a decent job in a good area.  Then why the self-awareness freak outs?  People I confide in, such as yourself (I like to imagine you as someone that could be described as "innately inconspicuous," am I close?), say that everyone goes through stages like this in their lives.  Maybe you are going through such a stage yourself, in which case, this letter is very serendipitous.  Maybe you're not, in which case, um, you can file this under the "whiny bitch" pile and be on your way (you're such a jerk for doing that, by the way).

I also cannot pretend to be extremely deep or existential (I feel that makes letters like this seem contrived.  I am not going to try and stitch together vague metaphors about the world or human existence.  Those people seem boring.  Does that make me a dick?).  Maybe I just like good, optimistic stories about something funny rather than a sad sermon on how fucked we all are.  I like to think I am a useful member of society just because I care.  There goes that pretentiousness again.  Damn, I think I may really be a dick.

I judge people.  I say horribly racist and filthy things.  I think inappropriate thoughts.  I like to drink too much.  I curse.  A LOT.

But I open doors for strangers (+1 if you smile at me.  And if you're a cute girl, well, it's a done deal).  I say please and thank you.  I smile and say hello to strangers (such as yourself) on the street.  I love my family and friends.  I listen when you talk.  I read.  A LOT.  I enjoy running around like a little kid with a cape on.  I like thinking big thoughts.

I also talk way too fast.

Which is why I typed this.

Now, please, tell me a funny story.  I got one after you.

Sincerely,"

Write a letter to a stranger. 

8/8/10

Transcription:
"My Dearest Stranger,

    People wait lifetimes and pay thousands for a chance like this. A chance to pour their heart out to someone without fear of judgement.
    But I'll be honest with you, my stranger, you terrify me.
    Who are you?
    What's your life like?
    Do I know you?
    Have we passed on the sidewalk?
    Do you hate me?
    What is your story?

    Everyone has a story. That's my job telling stories, and let me tell you business is down.
    I write to you stranger looking for hope.
    My bank balance is 0. I have no car, no house, no college degree. I was uprooted from everything I knew and love and moved into a $320,00 house where I'm not welcomed, into a neighborhood with four story houses, where people don't appreciate my worn out cowboy boots and hot pink nails.
    You don't realize how much you miss something, love something, till you lose it. I miss my friends, my car, my getaways, my cat.
    She died while we were moving here. I wonder if we had stayed if she'd still be here. I guess it doesn't matter now.
    I miss her so much. I still cry about her. It's been a month. They tell me it gets easier. I wonder if that's true.
    In the midst of all this Stranger, I have lost my words. My words, my life, my career.
    So I beg dear Stranger, tell me a story, your story.
    Fill it with adventure, romance, intrigue.
    Fill it with your heard, your soul, everything I'm currently missing.
    So my stranger we come to the end. I've never been good with goodbye's.
    I wish to leave you with some type of advice, some kind of comfort. But nothing comes to mind. So stranger simply know that I love you and I'm thinking of you. Wherever you are. And stranger, please never forget me.

Your loving Stranger."

Be a stranger! 

Facebook Page

Hey guys, I just created a Facebook page. Please help me promote this project by liking Letters From Strangers. :)

7/25/10

Looks like my scanner is having some problems, but I'll try to either get it working or gain access to a new one within the next couple of days. In the meantime, here's an email from a stranger:

"Hello Perfect Stranger (=
I don't really know what to write, I just know that I want to. I guess because It's just amazing that somehow I'll be able to share my thoughts to someone who I really don't know. Instead of just keeping it all to myself.
I have this small blue notebook that I carry with me all the time. I write words, quotes and phrases from books that I've read or movies that I saw, and my own. Those that can sometimes be stuck in my head and I needed to write them down so I can get them out.
I hope you're feeling fine, wherever you are in the planet. I'm here in my room, at our house, in this country. It's been raining a lot, well because it's the rainy season. I use to hate the rain coz it makes everything gloomy. I'm just starting to learn how to accept things as they are. It's never easy don't you agree? I just finished reading a book, on one part I've read something and I just had to agree the book is right:

Our disappointment comes in essentially two ways. When we're experiencing pleasure we want it to last forever. It never does. Or, when we're experiencing pain, we want it to go away-now. It usually doesn't. Unhappiness is the result of struggling against the natural flow of experience.

Just thought to share it with you. When bad things happen, we can try to deal with it gracefully. It doesnt mean that we're not hurting or not affected. We can make the pain be lighter if we try to accept what is happening and take time to stop and breathe and know that it too shall pass. We just have to let it happen.

I wonder when will I meet you (= I'd love to hear your story.

Till my next letter,
PerfectStrangerjustlikeyou"

7/23/10

"Dear Stranger, (7/4/10)


See everything. Do everything. Don't try to get in trouble but don't miss out because you're scared. Sing even if you suck. Be quiet sometimes. Be loud sometimes. Take risks. Learn to live without sleep. Find humor in every situation. Play the games you played when you were a kid. Don't be embarrassed to like the things you do. Know who your real friends are. Spend time with your parents. Don't hold in your anger. Don't hold grudges. Forgive but don't forget. Skip class every once in a while. Do your homework. Have unusual talents. Be nice. Be yourself. Smile. Meet new people. Take a road trip. Watch as many movies as you can. Don't pass out with your shoes on. Dance like an idiot. Dance in the rain. Just dance. Talk to strangers. Go to concerts. Spend a Friday night at home by yourself. Dress up for no reason. Wear sunscreen. Turn the volume all the way up. Learn how to cook. Stay in touch with your high school friends. Brush your teeth. Laugh when you're not supposed to, loudly and unstoppably. Love deeply. Listen to people when they talk and hear the things they don't say. Learn another language. Do something stupid. Do something illegal. Do something stupid and illegal (but don't get caught.) Make a mix. Get a pet. Hold onto your siblings. Don't gossip. Go away to college. Act crazy. Defend the people you love. Fight your own battles. Stop worrying about the future. Travel. Stay out all night. Obsess about something pointless. Make your own money. Shower every day. Fall in love. Don't dye your hair too much. Make a scene. Avoid all-nighters. Drive fast. Experiment. Realize that whatever is bothering you will go away. Life may suck today but it will get better. Read books that aren't for school. Speak your mind. Give peace a chance. Go to church every once in a while. Remember life is short. Don't just exist. Live. Do what you want to do, not what other people are telling you to do. Don't pretend to be someone you're not. Have fun. Never give up. Learn all the words to as many songs as you can. Don't be ashamed of your body. Cry if you need to cry. Beat a video game. Don't forget what's really important. Realize your friends will be strong when you can't be. Question authority. Try new things. Don't judge people. Break the rules. Dream. Experience as much as you an. Explore the infinite abyss. Seek your great perhaps. Take pictures. Make mistakes. Remember everything. Regret nothing.


Love Alyways,"


Note: Letters From Strangers doesn't urge you to do something illegal, I'm just sharing the wonderful letter I received. ;)

Be a stranger.

Follow me on Twitter!

It can be unpredictable when I will receive new letters in the mail, so I've created a Twitter account that you can follow for news, updates, and heads up about new submissions!

Follow FromStrangers on Twitter!

Feel free to send questions or comments my way on Twitter as well. :)

7/4/10

 




  
"Dear Stranger,
    Ok. This is the fifth time I've started a letter to you. Let's hope I make it past four lines this time. Currently, I'm seated at my wooden rolltop desk, surrounded by crumpled up balls of paper, and my little portable radio. It's set to 90.9, which is the classical music station out here in nowheresville.

    A rather long pause has occurred between these two paragraphs. I stopped to turn the radio to 88.5, which is our local NPR station. They're currently talking about a beachtown in Maryland that is losing money because of its parking meter system. I'm sure you love to hear all about that, but I digress.

    Did you know that the three top activities in a human life are work, sleep, watch T.V.? Television is the #1 past time of the civilized world, but it's slowly losing this championship to the internet. The very word “media” is changing its definition. That is why I'm very glad to be writing this letter. Some things deserve to stay a way of life. Letter writing gives you a sense of intimacy, of love and commitment to a person.

    And that is where I've been writing to. To tell you that I love, that I care about you, and that it will be alright. Everything will always be alright.

I love you.

The Lost Stranger"
    

6/27/10

"Dear Stranger,

Stop. Take a deep breath. Hold it. Hold it until you think your lungs will burst. Let it out. Relax. Breath in again.

Sometimes we forget that. Exactly what breathing feels like. The sensations we experience. Right now, I am laying on my stomach in my bed. I'm in my room with blue walls & black furniture. In my house in a town I call Bumblefuck. I feel the air circulating around me, pushed by a little fan. I feel the freedom of my bare feet dangling over the edge of my bed. I feel the ache in my chest & stomach from the loss of the boy I love. I taste the lingering sweetness of fresh strawberries &  vanilla ice cream. I smell the coconut shampoo used to wash my hair. The comforting scent of clean laundry coming from my pillows. I hear my dogs barking & my healthy lungs working. I see my book shelf, covered with thousands of pages with words that tell stories of all kinds. I see my shaking hand slide across the page that you now hold. 

Have you let go of that breath yet?

Your life will be difficult. You might get scared & feel like it's impossible. But you have to believe that somehow, someday, everything will be okay. And to get that far, you have to breath.

So get comfortable. I mean really, I-never-want-to-move-from-this-spot comfortable.

Ready? Breath.

What do you feel?

Taste?

Smell?

Hear?

See?

Is it beautiful? I hope it is.

Love always, "

Want to submit a letter?

6/20/10

Before I post today's letter, I would like to pose a question. Does anyone think I should post digital submissions as well as physical ones? It would be more convenient, but I think it would subtract from the novelty of the site. I would love to hear your thoughts.

So, *drum roll* here is today's letter! It's interesting to note that the handwriting is seemingly female:

"Dear Stranger,

    I want to tell you about a girl that somehow stole my heart, a friend that isn't even aware of my love for her. I slept beside her last night just breathing- drinking her in. Feeling the heat roll off her in waves to crash into me, my fingers twitched with wanting desire – the urge to touch her -where? how? what to say? I've been struggling for breath since she took my breath away. Gasping lungs, breath hitched; the thought of our first kiss.
    I wish I could describe her to you – indulge you in my fantasies but you could never see her like I see her, I don't think anyone can. I see past every front she throws up – I see into her – the core of her – hot against my cold skin. The taste of her – raw on my tongue, from another wasted fantasy. Wasted because she's not interested wasted because I get so jealous just thinking about it. I love her – I hate her. I hate the way she says THAT name like a secret with just a ghost of a smile over her lips – a hushed sound – protected and guarded – I want to be her secret! I hate her for hating herself for not listening when I says she's beautiful for disregarding every long lingering glance. THEY'D NEVER SEE YOU LIKE I DO – you're beautiful. You dress yourself up for them but for me you can be natural, true and pure. You can throw your hair up in a scruffy pony tail leaving just your fringe and a scattering of hair loose – you can forgo the eyeliner – your eyes are so stunning alone – you could dress in rags and for once not look 'perfect' and I still wouldn't find a flaw – my hands would itch to run through you hair, lips demanding tastes! Side bye side our hands brush and you recoil from the cold but you smirk to yourself at the lingering feeling – I love that look- That saucyness – bold as brass – washed away to a violent blush if I only quirk my eyebrow at you. I love your innocence, that naivety so nice – so sweet. So young yet worldly – live before – broken in.
    I want you to know that it hurts when you date
    I want to confess how hot I find your teeth
    I want to tell you that I drown in your eyes,
    I want to tell you!
I promised last night;
    “If her lovely eyes are open I'll tell her.” - Your eyes were closed leaving me with the hushed sound of your breathing and the kiss of your breath. I watched your chest rise – quicker than mine – I saw life flow through you – bursting out your pores – A sun – radiating your glory. I could just talk to you all day – snuggle into pillows and whisper to you until morning.

I'd never let anyone hurt you- I'd protect you – especially from me. You'd never have to fear this voice or these eyes because when I look at your smile, I falter and my voice cracks. Because when you look at me I have to reconnect my sentences – Dot my T's and cross my i's – Sometimes you're too perfect to be true, and I cling to the knowledge that no one knows you like I do. You relax in my presence – recline into my embrace – words flow between the gaps in our persons – so close but so far apart. I feel the distance in our silences how far I can travel yet you stay grounded for your next word – I long to unleash you – release you – free – wild abandon. ME – Chose Me!

BECAUSE WHEN I'M NOT WITH YOU – I'M NOT LIVING – I'M NOT BREATHING AND MY HEART IS NOT BEATING. EVERYTHING BUT TIME STOPS! TIME DRAGS ON AND ON – MAKES ME CRAVE YOU MORE – IF I HAD BREATH TO SCREAM – I BEG YOU TO RESTART MY FROZEN BODY – BREATHE LIFE INTO ME AGAIN. POUR YOUR BLOOD INTO MY MOUTH AND DRINK YOU LIKE A DRUG – LIKE OXYGEN. SURVIVING ISN'T THE POINT; YOUR LOVE IS DESTRUCTIVE – DESTRUCT ME!! ASSEMBLE ME – ID LAY CRUMPLED AT YOUR FEET- WAITING FOR YOUR GLORIOUS LUNGS TO DISPERSE THAT BREATH YOU STOLE IN OUR FIRST KISS – HEAVENELY TORTURE – HEAVENLY PAIN – WAITING FOR THE WARMTH TO DIFUSE THROUGH MY CAPILLARES TO MY SWELLING HEART – WAITING FOR YOUR BAITED BREATH TO SPILL SWEET OBSCENITIES INTO MY ATTENTIVE EAR – YOUR WORDS LIKE POISON (?) TO MY LIPS DRAW OUT SUCH VULGARITIES (?) AS THIS:
    I LOVE YOU

    I need you to feel me too – feel the core of you against my own – our souls CRUSHED TOGETHER – US. Flawless in lines of pale and tanned where you stop and I begin.

    So Stranger if you ever see her (you'll know) tell her how much  she is loved because it's lonely on my side of the bed.

Love from the laughter

xxx
<3"

Here is a description of the project, and the address to submit your letters to.

6/13/10

"Dear Stranger,

I want you to know that there are beautiful things in this world. There are sunrises and sunsets, flowers and snowflakes. There are fresh apples, fields of grass, and bridges over still water. There are strangers who stop to hold the door, and writing on walls.

Sometimes I forget.

- Anonymous"

(I'm out of town and do not have access to my scanner at the moment, but I will have an image of this one up ASAP.)

6/7/10

"Dear Stranger,

I feel like a useless pebble mixed in with the sand. How would I ever be noticed by the vast ocean? Among so many others, what are the chances of someone picking me up, and admiring me? Putting me in their pocket like a good luck charm. Something to cherish. There is no one I have loved more than this one flawed and lonesome stone. I was only a pebble to him too, but I will carry him for the rest of my life. 
 ~A Stranger"

Have a story you want to tell? Send in your letter!

Update 5/31/10

And the accompanying letter...

"Dear Stranger-

Hello there. I feel like i should start by telling you a few things about myself. My name is unimportant but you should know, I love creaky stair cases, i have a love hate relationship with cheep vodka, like most people my age. I dream about Paris and as I write this letter im watching my favorite movie., Drop Dead Gorgeous. You should rent it... its hilarious. As you can already tell from this letter I don't really care about imperfections, I cant spell very well but my imperfections don't define me so who really cares.

So my new friend, who I just found out is an inspiening poet & philosophy major just told me about “Concentrism” a theory about sharing one center, and the best way I can do that with you is by telling you a few of my favorite memories...

So I was in europe this last summer and I took a weekend to travel to Brussels by myself. It was incredible to feel compleately renewed by being alone in a new country. One morning I was having a coffee and waiting for a museum to open and I asked a lady to take my picture. She was also waiting for the museum to open up so we started talking. When the museum finally opened we went inside and I noticed that all of the information about the art was not in english so my new friend and I walked through the museum and she translated it for me. Its amazing how people allow you to learn so much. Life is all about relationships, and it is the people in the world that make it worth living in.

When I was in highschool I moved to new zealand and went to a bording school for 5 months. Living with the same people allows you to get to know them very well. My good friend Ryan was such an awesome guy. I spent 5 months getting to know him and when I left to come back to the united states he wrote me a letter that I read on the plane. He told me in this letter that he loved poetry, but he has never told anyone beside his family, I had no idea. At the end of the poem he quoted a poem saying “two paths dressed in a wood, and I took the one less traveled by and it has made all the difference.” Kind of cheesy but true. Just because we are socialized to think one way or act one way does not make it right. Sometimes you just have to do shit just because you can an because you know that any experience can be changing.

If there is any parting wisdom I can leave you with its to live fully, embrace the unknown, and find yourself. & Write often.

- a fellow stranger."

Send in your letter! 

As well as an other letter...

"Dear Stranger,

I feel like I'm losing my mind. I have no one here to vent to, at least, nobody who can really, insightfully listen. I promise you I'm not an emo kid, just a 24 year old guy feeling lost and somewhat lonely. I should finally start my real college career soon. Going to school in August. I spent my after high school years bumming around community college and trying to “find myself.” We see how that turned out, huh? I wonder how you feel. Whether you're older or younger, experienced or fresh-eyed, loving or callous. I often wonder what the stories of other people are, the random people you see on the streets, the reasons they are where they are today. I wish I could record the lives of others, because everyone has a story to tell. This is part of my story, this letter. It's an embodiment of hope, of love. This letter is my attempt at being human again, or maybe, for the first time.

The Lost Stranger"

Submission 3/3/10

Front:















Back:















The accompanying letter:

" Hi. I don't know you. And I know that this might never mean to you what it does to me.

But:

I feel like writing so I'm writing to you. Do you love getting mail as much as I do? I really like it. I peek through the little glass window of my mailbox every time I pass it, hoping to have something waiting for me. But usually there's just a bunch of fliers stuck in there, trying to get me to rush a sorority or join the engineering club or something. Neither are likely endeavors for me.

Anyways, I was thinking about a lot of things yesterday at the coffee shop in front of the fire. I could see people outside walking through the cold through the flames. Their breath clouding out in front of them, turning into thoughts they hurried through. I noticed this one boy, though, in one of those hats that look silly on everyone but people still wear anyways, except he could pull it off, and he wasn't carrying anything or looking at the ground and I thought maybe it was you. But he kept walking and I kept sipping my tea- so I know it wasn't.

What do you think of right before you fall asleep? Sometimes I think about really gorgeous lines and colors and patterns, and then I wonder if I'm some kind of artistic genius and I should try and draw them out, but it never works that way. Sometimes I think about owls, or the beach at Grand Haven, that one I used to hike to with my old boyfriend. ->

And sometimes I think about dancing at my wedding, you know, the lace and baby's breath and blades of grass on my bare feet all swirl together,and then I get all embarrassed for being the stereotypical "wedding dreamer girl." And then I realize how silly it is to get embarrassed about what you think about by yourself before you fall asleep. I'm not really embarrassed anyways.

Last night, I actually thought about how horrible it would be if someone ordered chicken McNuggets and instead of chicken McNuggets there were a bunch of live gerbils in the box. Terrifying.

Do you have a favorite feeling? Maybe the one right after you wake up from a lazy Sunday afternoon nap and your bed is all warm and nice. Or maybe the feeling of not knowing what will happen next. How about the feeling from too much coffee and a cigarette? That's one of my favorites- jittery and calm all at once. Or maybe you like it when you get confused or frustrated or sad for no reason and then you realize how very little it matters, in the scheme of things.

Today, I was walking uphill, against the wind and everyone around me had their scarves basically choking the life out of them and I just couldn't help but smile at all of them - even the ones that glared. I don't know, I guess it was one of those little affirming, cheesy as fuck moments that people have far too infrequently that makes you relaly, genuinely happy to be alive. The snow was sharp and in my eyes and making my hair frizz out of my hood like goddamn octopus tentacles or something, but I've never felt more beautiful. I realize how corny that seems.

And then later, on the phone, my mom asked me if I was in love. She said I was acting like people who have just fallen in love act. She was kidding but:

I think I am in love.

Anyways, I'm tired now, so I'm going to go lie down in my soft little bed and think about some more weird shit.

Wherever you are, whoever you are, I hope I know you.

I think I do. "

Follow this link to submit your letter!

First Submissions!

Transcription:

" Dear Stranger,

I don't know what to say so bare with me.

You could be any; age, skin color, height, weight, hair color, blah, blah, blah.

While reading this you could be; picking your nose, wearing your favorite jeans or not, reading this out loud, eating an apple or petting your pet???

Anyway, I hope this letter finds you in good health.

All the best,

Little gray haired 50 something- Lady"