A few years ago I was going through a box filled with cards from my childhood when I stumbled upon a few letters that I had written to friends when I was 9-years-old and never sent. The letters broke my heart and made something click for me as a writer.
But first, let me paint a picture of my 9-year-old self: I had just moved from my beautiful and beloved hometown in Central Wisconsin to the “big” city of Minneapolis. I left behind a house that I absolutely loved with a huge yard, surrounded by a woods, where my imagination ran wild. I left behind a school that I didn’t always enjoy being at, but felt comfortable in. I left behind friends that I loved.
I was scared to move from my quiet, little town to a city. And I was angry. I was so, incredibly angry that I had to leave behind everything that I knew and loved to go to this new place.