Beginning something personally significant — something that connects us to the deeper layers of ourselves — can be surprisingly hard. At least, it is for me.

This post, which I hope I will complete, touches some of the more vulnerable areas of myself, areas that are still evolving, growing, maturing. I’ve been postponing it since yesterday, when the idea of writing a letter to London — the city where I live — first came to me.

The inspiration came from a short LettersLive video I stumbled across on YouTube, in which Benedict Cumberbatch invites you to write a letter. I was intrigued, I was curious. I’ve always loved the intimacy and richness of letters — I may have been a little charmed by his moustache — so I clicked!

“London is one of the loves of my life, it’s always been a part of me, it’s where I was born, it’s where I live. It’s where I eat, sleep, and work, and pray. It’s in my bones, it’s the background noise of my life, literally — the hum, the sirens, the buses exhaling as they pull away. And I’ve seen it from stages and street corners, I’ve seen it in its chaos and its calm. And it’s the city that shaped me really.”

Oh no, this was a love letter to London! I do not love London. At least not yet. Not in the way Cumberbatch does.

Though I’ve lived here for nearly two decades, I still carry many mixed feelings. As an immigrant I’ve had to navigate the layered complexity of planting roots in a new country, a new history, a new culture. This takes time, patience, love.

Sigh. How does one write to a city they haven’t learned to love yet? That’s the question that brought me here, exploring this — with you — on this page. One letter at a time.

An entire day passed between having the idea and sitting down to write. As it happens, I’m currently reading I Hope I Screw This Up: How Falling In Love With Your Fears Can Change the World by transformational comedian Kyle Cease. Chapter 4 came to mind — the one I most needed to remember when I found myself not able to move forward:

“chapter 4

Extreme Progress

Because chapter three was so long, I figured that I’d make this one really short so you could feel like you’re making progress with this book.”

When we’re facing something difficult — like writing from the bottom of our hearts — we all need some encouragement, some empathy. Kindness. But mostly, we need to take it slowly. One step at a time. And sometimes that means writing a very small chapter.

What’s the worst that can happen?
Only one way to find out.

So here it goes…

Dear London,

I remember the first day I landed here — to live.

I had never visited you before, but life’s circumstances decided that you would be my next home. I flew from Cyprus, where the day reached 38 degrees. It was hot! I needed to cool down, and you certainly offered that, with elegance and generosity. For the first time in months I got to wear a long sleeved jumper. That felt… cosy.

My first outing was to the local park in Streatham Common. Streatham. Common. Such unfamiliar sounds.

I loved the red brick buildings on the way, the greenness of the grass, the coniferous trees… green everywhere! I loved the view! It felt alive, promising.

And yet… here I am, years later… with all these mixed feelings… What happened? Where did it all go?

[to be continued]

Phew! That was actually not as hard as I thought it might be. It actually felt good! I am now curious to see what else have I got to say, what else needs to be communicated, and to whom exactly?

There are many studies on the therapeutic effect of writing letters. For instance Writing to your past-self can make you feel better or Dear John: Letter Writing as a Narrative Therapy Intervention, a paper that explores how,

“Letter writing has been shown to be an effective intervention for individuals when navigating complex emotions, such as grief, guilt, or loss or shame.”

Renown psychotherapist Esther Perel has spoken about the many kinds of letters she’s encountered in her personal and professional life:

“I owe you an apology.
I owe you a thank you.
I owe you an explanation.
I owe you the truth.
I owe you respect.
Can you help me?
I love you.
I miss you.
I’m leaving.
Why did you leave me?

And so I’m writing to you.“‍

What about you?
Have there been letters in your life that moved you deeply — ones you’ve received, or perhaps ones you never did?

Are there letters still waiting to be written — to someone you’ve lost, someone you miss, someone you need to thank… or maybe even to a place, a version of yourself, or a moment in time?

What might happen if you wrote just one line of it today?