Dear Wigleaf,

I'm student teaching at a high school, and my supervising instructor is a practicing Buddhist. On the wall behind his desk hangs an expressionistic print of the Buddha. His coffee mug bears a decal of the Buddha's silhouette with the caption "Let that shit go," and I wonder if it's technically allowed for teachers to have profanity on their belongings. He's in his final year before retirement, and he appears to be one of the most well-adjusted people I've ever met.

When I was a sophomore in high school, my English teacher was a similarly cheerful person. Her smiles and consistent positivity stood in sharp contrast to the gloom that hung over me that year. My depression and anxiety were making their grand entrances, driving me right to the edge of a suicide attempt before I thankfully landed in therapy. Years after high school, I learned that that English teacher had died by suicide after a long struggle with depression, which I never would have predicted.

Now I'm training to be a high-school English teacher, under the watchful gaze of my supervising instructor and his various images of the Buddha. I think of my old teacher often, and of the people she left behind—her students, her spouse, her children. I've never been particularly talented at letting things go, but I hope you are. I hope you throw this postcard away and move on to the next thing. I hope you have love and forgiveness in equal measure.

Sincerely,
Cameron