Dear Stranger,

Hello. I don't really know how to start this (I've never done this before, you know). I'm already wondering about you; are you old, and wise? Will you read this and think, ah. I know the feeling. I've been there. I've done that. Or are you young, and naive, and will you say, oh my I don't know, I can't understand you, I don't relate? I think you'll understand. In my experience, we're all more alike than different. My problem is this: I'm not entirely sure who I am. Wait, let me specify: I know my name, I know my gender, and my family and my favorite color. I know my race, where I live, and how long I sleep at night. But what I don't know is this: I don't know who I like and who I don't like, I don't know what I want to be, or if I'm good enough to be it; I have only a vague idea of what I want to do, and rarely have the courage to pursue it; I don't know what real life is like, outside of my "perfect" suburban town, and I think that's why I don't know who I am; I don't know who I am in the context of the world. But maybe no one knows that. Or, maybe I'm just nothing, maybe my thoughts and questions and wonders are trite, trivial, shallow, commonplace. And that's why I'm writing to you, stranger! Nothing ever happens here, and especially not to me. So I wanted to hear what someone's life is like, someone who is probably completely and totally different than me, so tell me anything and everything, I'm curious. I want to know if people think like me, if I'm not as weird as I thought I was. I just want to hear your story. And your advice. But that's highly unlikely, so tell me whatever's on your mind. I'll listen.

Lots of [heart],

A Stranger

Discovering Our Love

Dearest Stranger,

I've known him my entire life. Ever since the day we were forced to take a time out together in kindergarten. We were napping buddies, dreaming side by side. Then we were best friends. We were each other's first kiss, under the bleachers at a football game in junior high. We went to senior prom together. We shared an apartment all 4 years of college.

Last month, I got engaged. He leaves next week for a year-long sabbatical that will take him all across the world.

Last night he told me the truth. For every plane, boat, and train, he'd bought 2 tickets. He wanted me to come with him. And I want to. It's always been my dream to see the world. He told me the story of how he fell in love with me, and I told him the story of how I've loved him all along.

So I broke off my engagement this morning and began packing. We leave in 5 days. We'll be visiting 17 countries. We'll be helping the poor, hitting the monuments all across the globe, and discovering our love.

You are the first, stranger, to hear about this. My own family and friends don't know yet. You're just so easy to talk to. Thank you, stranger, for listening.

Just Another Stranger

Time

Dear Stranger,

Thank you in advance for reading this. I have no idea who 'you' are, but in this strange world that we live in, it somehow feels so right to be writing to you.

I'm finding things pretty tough at the moment. My depression has had a sudden comeback for me, and I've always been one better at articulating myself in writing as opposed to explaining it. The place where I'm sitting writing this is so beautiful, and it's few moments like these when I'm able to stop and think for a minute. I'm at home, sitting in a room at the very top of the house, at a desk in front of this huge open window. It's very early morning for me right now, and as the city sleeps around me, there are birds EVERYWHERE in the garden. I'll let your own imagination take hold of all this, but its misty, and cold, and I can still see half of a moon lingering in the sky afar.

I've been really struggling to get out of bed recently, or pretty much function altogether. And it's time as a concept that scares me more than anything. Do you not think it somewhat strange that the world and our lifetimes tick by so constantly by this 'thing', that society have termed 'time'. In a way, us humans invented time, we based it on stars and suns and moons, and yet we still don't understand what they're even about. All a bit overwhelming really...

Anyway, I feel like you're reading my letter for a reason, one we could never explain, but a reason nonetheless. So thank you for being 'you'. If I could, I would give you a big hug/make us some tea/ whiskey/ tell stories next to a roaring fire/ go on a long walk/ swim in a river/ play you one of my songs/ listen to our favorite records/ dance to a vinyl until the sun rose/ etc, etc... but we can't. One day perhaps we will, but for now, I cannot express my gratitude on a greater scale for you listening to me, and hopefully putting a smile on your face.

Whether or not it is clear to you, the universe is unfolding as it should. Strive to be happy.

And here's to fearless enjoyment,

Love, me.

The Merciful Stranger

Dear Stranger,

This is harder than I expected. I guess I'll start by saying that I love to stand in the pouring rain. There's something so renewing about it. I am forever interested in reinventing myself. I believe that people are never done growing. Just as soon as you've learned something about yourself, there is always something else to keep searching for. I used to think that love could not be real. How could someone love you if you're never done finding out who you are? But love is kind. It allows someone to not only love who you are now, but also who you will be in the future. Accept those around you that you love. If you don't, you will never be able to accept yourself, or who you will become. I'd like to conclude by leaving an Emerson quote. "What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us."

The Merciful Stranger

Different Times

Dear Friend,

Do you ever find yourself wondering what it would be like to live in a different time? I do, but it's not some far-off time like the Middle Ages or the Renaissance. No, I wonder what life was like for someone like me in the 1950's and 1960's. How would my life be different? would I have had all of the opportunities to challenge myself? Most certainly not. What would my house look like? Who would my friends be? Mother, who grew up in that era, sometimes jokingly says she was raised Amish when she realized all of the things she was not permitted to do because, "What would the neighbors think?" How would a "Who cares what the neighbors think" go over in 1958?"

The thing is, I have friends who were alive then, but I feel silly and strange asking to reminisce about a time I wasn't even alive.

Do you think folks are more able to enjoy life now, with all of our many choices, or back in the 1950's and 1960's? Was it really more simple then, or are we fooling ourselves? I am sure we are preferring to remember the best of times over the more challenging times. This has been a missile of questions, and I hope it prompts you to think about times past, and maybe even contact someone from your past. Have a lovely day.

Best Regards,

Anonymous

Pinterest

I just joined Pinterest and I must say, I'm really enjoying myself so far. If any of you want to follow my board , feel free. :) If I like what you post, I'll follow back. You can also help support Letters From Strangers by repining any of the letters I have put up.

Have a great weekend,

Katie

Van Gogh Blues

At times I seethe into the depths of depression so far I feel as if I will never be able to climb out. My hearts spills out artistic verbiage and I feel as if I will never be able to share it with anyone. Is it worthy; my written thought; to share with the rest of humanity?

My faceless lovers and emotional expeditions thus far have defied me as far as the outsiders can see, and I write. School is a requirement of social norm status and achievement and I write. Childhood memories of anguish are remembered and I write. Joy of aspiring goals and fear of change exist and I write. Van Gogh painted, but I write.