Dear Walt Whitman,

Dear Walt Whitman,
You have recently given me a good dose of encouragement and perspective. Though we do not have a lot in common (I am female, straight, alive, and generally unappreciative), I feel that you related to me in a way today that allowed me to accept what I have secretly known all along: Nothing new is happening to me. Though I am in some ways unique, all of my worries, fears and discoveries are old hat. I'm not alone, I'm going to get through it, people understand and its going to be okay.
Thank you,
Myself

Trippers and askers surround me,
People I meet, the effect upon me of my early life or the ward and city I live in, or the nation,
The latest dates, discoveries, inventions, societies, authors old and new,
My dinner, dress, associates, looks, compliments, dues,
The real or fancied indifference of some man or woman I love,
The sickness of one of my folks or of myself, or ill-doing or loss or lack of money, or depressions or exaltations,
Battles, the horrors of fratricidal war, the fever of doubtful news, the fitful events,
These come to me days and nights and go from me again,
But they are not the Me myself.
~excerpt from Song of Myself, W.Whitman, 1881