A Letter I Didn't Write

I still have chills. They won’t go away.

I have abandoned my former blog idea today for a better idea. No, it’s not an idea…but an occurrence, something that struck me so hard, as so few things do, that I’m still sitting here dazed.

I was at my computer applying to jobs while watching Californication, which is quickly becoming one of my favorite shows. Long ago—at least in terms of blog life—I posted my favorite television quote, from Everwood.

Today, the end of an episode of Californication made me sob. Not just cry—but really, really cry. Like my eyes are red cry. Maybe it’s because I haven’t really slept in two days, or because my mind is so filled with thoughts, or that I haven’t really cried in over a year despite how I insist it’s good to cry. There’s no shame in it. But, really, it’s that Hank Moody’s letter felt so close to me, almost as if his words were mine, as if I was suddenly hearing myself talk on television, and these are all the words I was supposed to write. It was one of the most surreal moments of my life. I feel sick.

He’s an author in the show, and like all good author’s, he’s a tortured soul, a broken spirit.

The quote is a letter written by Hank to his divorced wife. The letter is from a flashback, from before they were married, when they were separating after their brief encounter with one another. Hank wrote the letter before he and Karen parted ways—they get back together, eventually.

Here’s the letter. 

Dear Karen,

If you’re reading this it means I actually worked up the courage to mail it, so good for me. You don’t know me very well but if you get me started I have a tendency to go on and on about how hard the writing is for me. But this, this is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to write.

There’s no easy way to say this so I’ll just say it, I met someone. It was an accident, I wasn’t looking for it, it wasn’t on the make, it was a perfect storm. She said one thing, I said another, next thing I knew, I wanted to spend the rest of my life in the middle of that conversation. Now there’s this feeling in my gut she might be the one. She’s completely nuts in a way that makes me smile, highly neurotic with a great deal of maintenance required, she is you, Karen. That’s the good news.

The bad is I don’t know how to be with you right now. And that scares the shit out of me. Because if I’m not with you right now, I have this feeling that we’ll get lost out there. It’s a big, bad world full of twists and turns. And people have a way of blinking and missing the moment. The moment that could have changed everything. I don’t know what’s going on with us, and I can’t tell you why you should waste the leap of faith on the likes of me, but damn you smell good. Like home. And you make excellent coffee. That’s got to count for something right?

Call me.

Unfaithfully yours,

Hank Moody.

Art can touch us on a very profound and sometimes personal level. When it does, it’s magical, an experience that can never be replicated, something you will always remember, that will last with you forever, no matter what happens, no matter what other pieces and fragments of your life you forget. I just wanted to share this, knowing I will appreciate it far more than anyone else.

I’m out of words to say.