Letters to my Inspirational Synchronicities

Words are a powerful force within the world. Used every day, all day long, they are our primary means of connecting with each other. Along the meandering I have done in my life, seeking the path my soul has been calling me to take, there have been people, authors, musicians, doctors, lawyers, friends, enemies. All of these people have in one way or another brought some piece of the puzzle of my life, regardless of how big or small of a piece it was, back to me. After an intense life upheaval, I shifted my viewpoint, changed my perspectives that had become long outdated, and began the undertaking of changing my negatively conditioned mindset to one of positivity.

I had before been living a hypocritical existence. Preaching to my children, my husband, my friends, my family about believing in the goodness of others and themselves, believing in standing in truth, putting out positive vibes to the world because, “we get what we give,” all the while missing the crucial piece of that puzzle for myself: No matter how much we give to and believe in others, we must do the same, give the same, and most importantly BELIEVE the same in ourselves.

I gave unceasingly of myself to others, and it depleted me to the point of breaking. Mentally, emotionally, and physically. Never understanding why the Universe and the Divine had so unjustly turned a blind eye to me and allowed continued suffering to be my norm. Saying to myself and others, “These were just the cards I was dealt,” or, “It’s just the hand I was dealt in life,” spinning it as positively as possible when presented to other people while letting my inner truth be shriveled with negativity laced with a firm sense of Divine injustice.

As a lifelong seeker (even in my numerology breakdown, it is my soul urge and life path number, 7), I have always looked for the catalyst moments, the event that led to awakening to truth I could not see or understand prior. This was a course I had utilized when my son was born ill and needed emergent medical help within the first days and months of his life, it was what I utilized when my health became as fragile as a soap bubble floating in the wind, one wrong move and it would pop into nonexistence once more. This is why I can tell you that I don’t know that there was one specific thing that served as a catalyst for understanding that all those “Way too peppy, Self-Help people,” were 100% on target when they preach over and over and over about loving yourself, believing in yourself, prioritizing your needs, taking care of yourself, forgiving and being compassionate with yourself, and above all, being grateful for yourself. In the throes of Mercury retrograde in the fall of 2020, I was beginning to see the Bigger Picture of much of my adult life and trickling through after was the pieces from my childhood, the roots of all the insecurities and doubts that had somehow become the foundation of my belief in myself. My husband, David, had spent the past five years telling me who I am, through his eyes. Telling me everyday how beautiful, loved, weird, brilliant, capable, giving, amazing, etc. I truly am. I missed his messages time and time again, chalking it up to what he is supposed to say because he loves me (sorry honey!).

Until suddenly, one day it just clicked for me. Snapping into place unexpectedly, I heard his words, I read books that brought a clarity of who I am to myself, and I found THE KEY. Guys, I am not just touting words here anymore, I am not living the hypocritical lifestyle anymore, this is THE KEY! Love yourself, believe in yourself, give to yourself all the things that you give to others. Take that key in your hands! Do it! Right now! Stick that baby in the lock of your heart and open it to yourself! Commit, decide, and keep reaffirming these actions EVERY SINGLE DAY. That is growth, that is change, it is beauty, and you, my dear, you are beautiful!

So please, love yourself more, believe in yourself more, and take to heart me telling you that I too love and believe in you.

In sharing this with you, I also am making this page all about giving back to the people who have given to me, helped me, opened my eyes, opened doors of possibility, and genuinely brought me to tears both from mutual understanding of life stories, and the abundant gifts they brought into my life, wholly unaware of what they were doing.

I’m going to start off with a letter to a well-known blogger, media mogul, and author (all things I know solely because I was drawn to buy her book a year before I was in the right place of my life to be ready to actually read it), Rachel Hollis.

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Letters of Gratitude


Letter to Rachel Hollis

Feb 1, 2021

Dear Rachel,

I have been reading your book, Girl, Wash Your Face, for a couple of weeks now and am seemingly too quickly approaching the end (thankfully, I have your two follow up books waiting in the wings for the inevitable let down that occurs when finishing such a powerful book). Last night, I finished reading the two chapters, first about your brother and then about your journey as an adoptive family. Both chapters left me with too many words, and no other means of telling you than this just what the impact was upon me.

Throughout your chapter about the loss of your brother, and what you went through during it, I couldn’t help but think about the book that I have been so fervently working on. Your statement, “I don’t want to tell you about any of these hidden, ugly, dark truths . . . but I will.” (p.155) is truly the driving force behind what I have chosen to write about. The dark, hidden things people don’t want to, and too often choose not to talk about. The parts of themselves that fuel the actions taken by your brother, by my friend, and ones in which I myself have attempted. Suicide is talked about in mainstream media quite often, yet it is about awareness, about people caring, about people being there to listen, but it is not about what fuels it in the first place. Finding the desire to live while being crippled with having to overcome the desire to die for much of my life, and allowing silence to prevent me from healing fully, was a seemingly impossible way for me to meander through my life.

I did not want that to be the case any longer, and after a loss of my own, I began formulating how to talk about all of those parts, how to help others hear that not only are there resources out there for them, but that there are those who truly understand. Thank you for being someone who would view a tragic event, deal with the trauma of it, but use it as the driving force to keep going through life, no matter how difficult it gets. That is a level of inspiration for others that the world needs more of.

I wanted to share a little as well about your journey in adoption, as the birth mother in the situation. Please know that as a scared teenager, dealing with a pregnancy as a result of a rape, that a private adoption agency turned a traumatic event into one the the most amazing gifts I have ever given to another person (or in my case, three people). I was not equipped to be a mother (for a second time, though that is a story for another time), and I knew that it was not fair to this innocent child for me to try to be a mother to him. I could not provide for him, nor love him in the way that I was meant to. Adoption freed me to be able to love him without the fear of unwarranted resentment toward an innocent soul. I carry forward in my mind and my heart, the look of wonder and love on the faces of his parents, and it has been a saving grace for me throughout my life. No matter how hard your journey was, I know, having been a part of something similar, that you became the parents you were meant to for the daughter that was meant for you. Thank you, for being who you are. Thank you for loving children how you do. Thank you for telling your story and being an inspiration for me and others to tell ours as well, and to overcome a lifetime’s worth of lies.

With Gratitude,

Monica


Dearest Professor Rowling,

            I must begin with telling you, I hold no grudges about me not receiving an acceptance letter in my youth. Though I joke around that I am still eagerly awaiting it, I received something much greater. You gifted me with something. Something utterly unknown to you. How could you have known just what you were doing for a broken little girl, across the globe, and a complete stranger and no one to you? A girl who had been witness to the reality of sudden death, loss of innocence in the moment of an arrested heart, and brokenhearted truth of promises never to be kept.

            When Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone found me, I was living with a reality of no true safe place. What you gave to me was far greater than merely a safe space. All joking aside, my heart has known peace for what Harry gained, upon that letter he received at the young age of eleven, resigned to the state of his existence, is what you gave me at the 12-years-old. You gave me a home.

            It had been a year since my father had died, my sixth-grade school year had just concluded, and for the second year in a row, we were taking a family vacation. The summer after my dad died, we went to Michigan to reconnect with his family. The following year we were traveling back to the roots we all shared, Colorado. The state that brought my parents together, the state I was born in and moved from before I could form a single memory of it. The state that was another puzzle piece of who I was, where I came from, and another way of remembering and honoring my dad. I did this thing on vacations, as we would always drive wherever we were going, I would bring stacks of books. Getting into the backseat, I would arrange them at my feet, and delve into them whenever we exhausted all the traditional car games.

            My brothers had their own activities, whether it was to sleep, draw, or play on their Gameboys. Mom was driving, navigating via Rand McNally, being from a time well before GPS, it was all quite exciting, as you could guess. I had only known my small, provincial corner of the world. Our family vacations were always a new adventure. Mountains and trees, true beauty in nature, those things were not so easy to find in the land of wheat fields and gravel roads. We made a pit stop at a truck stop, one which had all sorts of interesting, out of the norm items. Tourist souvenirs, coffee cups the size of a newborn baby, discounted books, and candy, every kind of candy. Hey, I was a kid! It was like having the trolley come to me having been given full permission to choose whatever my sweet tooth or heart so desired.

            Despite the variety of gummy worms, chocolate bars, and every colored bag of Skittles imaginable I was drawn to the discount book shelves. I consumed books like they were oxygen and I lacked breath.  Every book I had brought with me, I had read at least twice prior, and at that point I was jonesing for a new book. Approaching my mom with trepidation, I held in my hands, two books. Only one. She would only approve me getting one.

            It had been a travesty at the time! There were two books, both looked so amazing. All I remember of the second book was there was a watermelon on the cover and the main character was a girl. I suppose I could try to look into it, try to find out what the book was, read it now, but it no longer holds weight in my heart as important. In that moment, I felt a tingling as I continued to gaze at the second book. I knew what I must choose.

            As you could have guessed by now, the book I held in my other hand, the one I chose, was the first book you published. It had fallen into the hands of a girl who had lost all sense of magic in the world, all faith in a potential reality in which everything was not utterly painted in the pain of loss. I opened my newly purchased book as soon as we got back in the car. It has now become the one book that I have read, re-read, and re-read throughout my life. I have waited in line for midnight releases of the new books. Embarked alongside Harry through all his journeys. I have taken all the quizzes, delved into Pottermore, and can safely say that I am a proud Ravenclaw, and honor those colors. Many people can say all these things, many people can say you inspired them, you wrote a majestic world, your allegorical breakdown is as timeless as the heroes of mythology, but I am not saying those were the most important takeaways for me.

            Lying in bed, searching for the right words to explain the purpose of what I am writing in this book, of why I am approaching it in the way I am, why I am writing these letters, and what I want in the end, and the best way I could explain it was discussing the meaning your books hold for me. That late night discussion with my husband felt like a hamster running on a wheel and never reaching a destination, until I brought up Harry and Hogwarts. It is the one absolute part of my soul he has understood about me since the beginning of our relationship.

`           Much like when I purchased Big Magic and brought it home, when I carried it from room to room without opening it, I do the same with Harry Potter. In times of darkness and sadness, when I feel as though I am just drifting from moment to moment upon the whims of the winds of change, lacking direction, roots, and a home, I will take the book off my shelf. Sometimes I will start it, sometimes I will just hold it, carry it with me, have it within my line of sight. I put it in my purse if I must leave my house, keeping it close at hand always. Why? You may wonder. Simply because it has become a talisman for me. It is my symbol of having a home regardless of the ups and downs in life. All that is required of me is to open the cover, turn to the first page, and go home.

            I tend to use books as an escape, but your books, your entire magical world, this is where my healing process truly began without my realizing it until years later. A magical world beyond all others, became the greatest source of soothing all of life’s pains, but particularly the pain of my first collision with death, my first moment of loss shaping my views on the world. You returned back to me a darkened piece of my soul, no longer black, and shriveled, but rather alive and vibrant with possibility and magic, adventure, and home.

            Many years later, the story of how you wrote it came out, you were a sensation in every aspect of the world, and your story felt intimately familiar to the life I was living at the time. So I took to thinking a lot of the time, before I would close my eyes and go to sleep, before I would get up in the morning and face the day and the same seemingly endless horror I was living, someday I was going to get out, write something, be something, do something, and you did it, you got out, got free. You saved me once with the books you wrote about a boy whose pain, loss, and confusion so similar to my own. Your life became the light I held onto in the darker times, knowing you overcame the obstacles placed in your way, and never quit, never gave up, and trusted in what you had written, was someday going to be me.

            I must give you love, honor, and gratitude, because you couldn’t have known your suffering in life made public, being scrutinized, sensationalized, and shared with everyone would be something that kept a young mother, trapped in a marriage of fear and desperate loneliness, looking for a way out which always seemed to point to some unhealthy means, your story would serve to keep hope alive in her heart.

            You couldn’t have known as you poured out Harry’s story on napkins, in coffeeshops, wherever you could get the words out, while rescuing yourself, that someday it would come to a lost little girl who had lost all her faith in the magical, in redemption, in happiness, and would reignite what was lost one spring day in her youth. You couldn’t have known everything would come together and the meaning I would garner from you and your words would be to this magnitude, yet it is important for me to share a simple fact in my life: you helped me save myself, you gave me something no one else could have for it was meant to come from you.

            Professor Rowling, I must give you gratitude, appreciation, and so many thanks from the bottom of my heart. You saved me, helped me save myself, and reignited a flame that grew into a passion. It was only after reading your book that I said, “I want to do that. I want to write something that makes someone feel how I feel, right now, in this moment.” Not to save someone or give them this or that or change the face of writing. In the depths of my heart all I wanted was to give something to a stranger, through the beauty of my written words, what they never knew they had been looking for, didn’t think they could find, didn’t believe was possible to hold within themselves, simply through sharing my story. It is my ultimate way of paying it forward.

            Perhaps all my writing will forever fall flat, but you never quit. You believed you had created wonder in a time the world needed to read it, and you fought for your purpose. That is what I want from my life and my writing. You have given me a home, hope, purpose, a goal, something to fight for, for myself when I too often lay down my life and my dreams for the people I love. Thank you for being one of my greatest teachers in this life, even though you had no idea you were teaching me what you were, you made a difference in my life.

With Gratitude,

Monica


Letter to Langhorne Slim

Dear Langhorne Slim,

There are so many words that I have wanted to find a way to tell you, show you, illuminate for you just what your music has done for me. The way that you have provided hope in the depths of the darknesses of the life I was living when I discovered your music has been almost illusive to put into words.

In 2015, the life that I once knew and believed would be what I was meant to live until I was nothing but a walking shell of a person in the world. In a blessed action of betrayal that shook my view on fidelity, love, family, and what it meant to be in a marriage and be a parent, my ex husband “George” took up an affair with a woman who pretended to be a friend to me, if only to break up an 8-year marriage, and insert herself into a pre-built family.

In the beginning of that time of my life, I was in the darkness. Having been told in implication of words that I was a failure because I did not manage to successfully commit suicide, I was searching for meaning in songs. This was a habit I had gotten into over the years to heal my heart, to bring me hope, to see some semblance of light in the cavernous blackness of my life. This is when I came upon Be Set Free.

Langhorne Slim & The Lost at Last Band – Sixth & I (sixthandi.org)

As I was in the backseat of my mother’s vehicle with her, my grandmother, and my aunt, driving down to South Dakota to say our final farewells to my great aunt who had passed away, I was losing myself in music. Avoidance was my nature, I did not want to discuss the bomb that had been detonated within my marriage, the betrayal I felt in my heart, nor the hopelessness of believing that I was incapable of being loved by another and that my life would forever be spent alone and lonely. The best way to avoid speaking in a small space with three very gabby women: headphones. Spotify was my best friend at the time and I had been listening to a lot of Indie Folk music, singer-songwriter, the kind of music that is birthed in the soul and poured out to the world through the lyrical heart of those blessed with the gift of rhythm and harmony. Such a beautiful thing it is to find the song that you are meant to hear when you are meant to hear it.

Little did I know that that song, your music would become as impactful as it has, nor that it would have led me right here, to this very moment, this very letter. I have been struggling with who I needed to give my gratitude to next. As you can clearly see from above, I am an avid reader, and there are so many authors that I know are meant to be included in this page, but something continually held me back. That is, of course, until I happened to get a response from your management agency this morning. Shock does not describe properly my initial reaction. Even the simple prospect of being able to use a small excerpt of your lyrics to aid me in providing hope for others who have suffered like me in life, the possibility of bringing more people to the song, the words, and the artist who has helped me believe that there is always the possibility of freedom from the constraints of our own minds, our own pains, our own traumas, it is a beautiful synchronistic gift back to you for all that you have gifted me with.

Alt Nation on Sirius XM has a program called Escapology with Mark Foster. During one of his programs he discussed a conversation he had had with a fan in the past (I do believe it was a conversation, but the details don’t matter so much as the message he put into the Universe that felt like it was spearheaded for me directly in that moment). Discussing the hesitance a fan had to write a letter such as this one, one of gratitude, one to highlight the meaningful interaction of chemistry with kismet, dancing with destiny, the person felt when coming upon one of the songs of a particular artist, and feeling as though the words wouldn’t matter to the artist as was quoted, “I’m sure that you get that all the time anyway.” Mark Foster’s response was the single most beautiful reaffirming statement that I wanted to hear, for these letters here, as well as the ones in my upcoming book, Chemistry with Kismet, are important for me to get out into the world. He stated, though I am paraphrasing, to just write the letter, send the tweet, say what you want to say. Every artist wants to know that what they are doing matters. More than money, more than fame, but the simple fact that their songs have helped someone else in some way.

Well, Langhorne, (forgive me here, but I feel urged to make this as personal as possible, and perhaps someday we will sit down and have a discussion about the shock and meaning when I read about your first name, it’s quite a funny story really) Sean, please allow me, in this very moment, to tell you thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Your music is of a different variety. Filled with true depth of emotion, simple yet deeply moving, it is a gift. You have a gift of musical healing for others. I have read interviews, read lyrics, and simply listened to the songs you have gifted to the world, and as an energy healer, I am telling you that what your music does for others is no small amount of inner heart and soul healing. Some people, whether living a spiritual life or not, never fully realize the gifts they have. Others, like me, have many gifts and struggle continually with finding a way to bring them to people because it is a calling from deep within my soul. Your gift is to heal with music, and your music has helped me to heal, helped my soul recognize that I was finally ready to open to my gifts, and helped me to bring my words and my story together to share with the world, simply because they have helped bring me together. Thank you for your gift. If you ever struggle to write as you did before, know that I too have experienced that, when the words simply cannot or will not flow and it feels as though a part of you has died. It is incomprehensible, and shattering, but if I can help you if those moments ever come again, I would like to share with you the lesson I learned when I could not write.

When you have a gift with words, when that gift is meant to be something more than perhaps even you are able to see, it will never be taken from you. When it feels as though you cannot touch, dance, or play with creativity as you once did, it is simply a sign of stillness. Something is formulating the in great expansive Universe, a build up of energy, working to come to you in the form of exactly what you need to move forward. It is the space of the void. A terribly uncomfortable place to be in, filled with self-doubt, self-sabotage, and confusion tied to a sense of loss. It takes a strength many learn while in that space we all have within us to be patient, and trust that it will always return because it is our gift and God or Source or the Divine or Spirit or even if you simply see it as the Muses, will never take from you or me, or anyone, the gifts that we are meant to utilize to help ourselves and others in this life. Thank you for being one whose gifts have helped me to rekindle my passion for writing, my hope and faith that freedom is possible without having to be released from this world, and simply for your music. It changes people for the better, and it changed me.

With Gratitude,

Monica

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