some open letters

To the lady on the airplane who freaked out because she had to sit next to me and moved to another seat, saying, "I'm sure you're a nice person and everything"--have you never had to ride in a crowded bus or subway?  Sometimes we have to touch strangers.  You won't die from my shoulder brushing yours.  Maybe you never had to ride the bus or subway.  Maybe you always had your own car.

To the lady in Sacramento who yelled at me for crossing the street in a crosswalk as the red hand blinked, which happens after the white man glows--have you never used a crosswalk before?  How can you not understand the difference between a blinking red hand and a solid red hand?  Have you never walked in a city before?  Maybe you always drive.  Maybe you've never had to walk before?

To the spouse who comes home and wants attention while I'm writing--please let me write with minimal interruption.  I will pay attention to you later.  Sorry if I yell.

To the self who blogs every day at dangerouscompassions--it's okay to hold onto anger for years.  If you feel it, don't deny it.  Maybe one day it will dissipate.  Or maybe you let go of so many things every day, those few things that continue to piss you off are the huge examples, and it's okay.  No biggie.  Do your thang.

To the reader who popped by for the first time or has been with me from the beginning--you are loved, you are beautiful.  You're beautiful like a dark red quilty coat on a snowy day, like tea for the tea-starved.  Like the needed hug.