Early Observations

“Ah, this is not the end. No it is not even the beginning of the end. But it is perhaps the end of the beginning.”

–Winston Churchill

A common question I get is, “How is your project going?” Some people are fascinated and want to talk with me in great detail, which is very gratifying to me. So it’s time to provide an early update.

It’s hard to believe I’m already one-third of the way through my six months. I write this from a hotel room in Denver. Yesterday I read my letter to my brother Brian. Tomorrow I board a flight to San Francisco to see Robert, my best friend from childhood. By the time I get home, I’ll have visited six family members plus four friends.

So I’m going at the rate of five letters per month. I already have trips to five more friends scheduled in the next month. So it looks like I’m on pace to see 30 people. I’m satisfied with that.

Onto the observations:

It’s too early to know how this project is changing me.

My goal for this project is to shake myself awake; to engage with others and with life again. My coach calls it my “soul desperation.” I like that because that’s the way it feels to me.

I have to be honest and admit that I am still in soul desperation. There was a brief period after I got back from Mississippi where I felt more passionate about life and relationships. This was after delivering letters to my mom, my dad, my sister, and Jim in quick succession. I would have to describe this passion as a “high” because it kind of wore off after a few days.

I have to be patient. There’s a reason why the project lasts six months, and not two months. I’m even prepared to go beyond six months if there’s more gold to be mined.

Emotional work exhausts me.

One day in Mississippi, I delivered the letter to my sister Sandy, then I drove nearly four hours round trip to see Jim. When I got home that evening, I collapsed into bed and slept for 11 hours. Then I was wiped out for the entire next day.

So I’ve resolved not to do more than one letter in a day, or to read my letter after a long travel day. It makes my trips lengthier, but it’s necessary for me.

I also notice this emotional “drain” when I facilitate weekend workshops. Yes, the hours are long—up to 12 hours per day for three days. But I’m part of a team of facilitators, so I only have to be at the front of the room for a few hours each day. Yet I still feel exhausted.

I’ve learned to take care of myself at these workshops. I sleep in and arrive later than others because I don’t need to be involved in the early morning planning sessions. I go to my room and rest in the middle of the day. I take longer meal breaks. I go back to my room and go to bed sometimes even before the sessions end.

I feel selfish given that others stay engaged the entire time. It’s a good discipline for me—to take care of myself even if people might judge me for it.

As much of a stretch as this project is for me, it’s a bigger stretch for the people I’m visiting.

I’m asking a lot from people. Just because I’m willing to get crazy outside my comfort zone doesn’t mean I have a right to expect my family and friends to do the same. As I go along, this process gets easier for me, but not for the people I’m going to see.

So I’m very grateful that nobody has turned me down yet. I can sense the trepidation in many people when it comes time for me to read the letter. I’m reminded that I’m about to take them out of their comfort zone, so I need to be gentle and reassuring.

I can sense that people are afraid of what I might say. So I make it a point to be universally positive (while still being genuine and honest). From reading the very first letters, I realized that a negative comment would stick out, kind of like those “opportunities to improve” people get in a performance review. These letters are NOT performance reviews.

Most people visibly relax once I get into the letter. Humor helps. Often I’ll stop reading so we can talk a bit.

Only one person hesitated when I asked if I could publish the letter, and even he/she ultimately agreed to make it public. Everyone has been very gracious given the personal nature of the letter.

Interestingly, I get some of the most nervous reactions when I ask to take a picture to use on the web site. But I think it’s simply that they didn’t prepare to be camera-ready. They always look fine to me.

Some things simply don’t belong in the letter, and I need to remind myself of that. In some of the early letters, I found myself writing passive-aggressively. In other words, if I wanted to write about something honest, but negative, I addressed it indirectly and subtly. But peoples’ radar is finely tuned to subtlety.

Thankfully, I always write a letter and then sleep on it and ask myself if I really feel good about what I’ve written. This allows me to police myself and remove those “digs” that make it into the first draft. If I don’t think it’s appropriate to say directly, then I don’t try to bury it in the subtext either.

I need to allow for a response.

An early mistake I made was to not explicitly ask how the person felt about the letter immediately after reading it to him/her. As often than not, tears were shed by both of us. In at least one case, I simply assumed that the tears were positive. After leaving their house, I realized my mistake: I actually didn’t know what was causing this person’s tears. I had to contact this person after the fact to make sure he/she was OK with what I said.

Another question I’ve learned to ask right away is if they want to say anything in response. After all, I’ve just read them 1000+ words about our relationship. It’s only fair to give them a turn, and they certainly must have something to say.

So far the experience has been universally positive. I’ve been fortunate and grateful, because the nature of risk is that it may not always turn out well. Because I’ve grown accustomed to positive responses, the first negative response may come as a shock. Then I’ll need to remind myself that I’m taking this risk because it is worth it.