Day 20: Can you write an authentic love letter?

Note: The Rules & Guidelines for the Yes Test can be found here.


A few days ago, I announced my intentions with the Yes Test on my humble, barely functioning public Facebook page. The response went about as expected. One friend messaged me privately and said, "So you only say yes to things.........feels like a slippery slope." A few others were curious, someone mentioned the Jim Carrey movie "Yes Man," but most did not care or respond. Good. I have my mother to deal with. 

Most of the time, my mom is my favorite person in the world. She's 60% hippie and 40% get shit done business woman, which is a combination I find particularly admirable, since most hippies are only efficient when they're trying to buy Burning Man tickets on layaway, and most hardcore business people have the warmth and grace of a dumpster diving raccoon.

She also knows how to irritate me from the depths of my soul, which is totally unfair because while she's irritating the hell out of me she's only just being her wonderful bohemian self, supporting me with platitudes like "well, I guess it wasn't meant to be" or "your soul is on the perfect path" and "if you would just stop resisting and let the Universe do it's job, you will manifest everything you need at the exact right time." At the exact right time every time, I yell into the phone and say, "How is that a helpful or actionable response for my problem?" And she counters with, "Obviously you're going to keep resisting and stew in your own bad mood for as long as you want, and then you'll pull yourself out of it. I've seen you do it before. I love you." 

It's usually at that point that I insist on ending the conversation out of my own rage. I'm angry right now just thinking about it, which again, makes zero sense because she isn't saying anything that isn't factual or entirely supportive, but god damnit, it's so annoying when she's right. 

I don't know why she puts up with me. 

I don't know why she puts up with me. 

I hadn't told her about the Yes Test, so she found out right along with the 374 others who pity "liked" my Facebook page and probably immediately hid it from their timeline. She texted me the next day, and said: 

"Here is my yes challenge question. Can you write an authentic love letter? (To a recipient -- person, place, or thing.) Out of your comfort zone. Follows your rules. If you don't want to, no one will ever know."

What the crap is this?

(I really wanted to say, what the fuck, Mom? But she gets very cranky when I swear, so I'm making a half-assed attempt to god damn sensor myself.)

A love letter? No, I don't want to write a love letter. But fine, okay, I have to because of this dumbass thing I've committed myself to doing. I'll write a stupid love letter...Ode to the Chickpea! I've been crushing hummus lately, and I'm really loving it. So creamy and savory and satisfying, made from tasty garbanzo beans that when you look really closely, look like a tiny little butt. 

Wait, it's supposed to be authentic. Butt shaped beans probably don't qualify. But I've never had any great sweeping romantic love in my life, at least nothing sustainable or worthy of a Johnny and June Cash love that inspired the greatest love letter of all time. Nor is there any particular thing or place that feels worthy of this request. An activity or cause? Nope. There's no question I hate deflecting more than, "What's your passion?"

I want to default to my dog, but that also seems like a cop out given that I gave her up to travel and she's no longer mine. I've spent the past 10 months getting looks from people who say, "Oh, I could never give up my dog. I love her too much to do that." Which is the polite way of saying, "Wow, you really are a selfish jerk." 

I'm also refusing to write a love letter to my mother, even though she is the person I love most in this world, and I know she knows that. I also know she doesn't want this to be about her, because that would be too easy. The point is, I assume, to counter the stream of consciousness that so easily poured out of me when I was asked to write about the last time I was free from worry, and I instead wrote 700 words on how I've never once been free from worry, so now I have to "shift my thinking" as she likes to put it and "focus on the positive." 

I...I need to think about this. Thanks, Mom.