The Life-Saving Magic of Words

How a Well-written Letter Changes Everything

Not all writing is equal. The operator’s manual to your vehicle is not the same as the ending to The Great Gatsby or the first few verses of Genesis. What we say matters, and it is not enough to do it almost right. As Mark Twain once remarked, “The difference between the almost right word and the right word is really a large matter—it’s the difference between the lightning bug and the lightning.” Choosing the right words can literally be the difference between life and death.

No one knows this better than my good friend Ray Edwards, whose latest book comes out this week. Read This Or Die: Persuading Yourself to a Better Life was a writing collaboration between Ray and myself in which we partnered to share his story of being diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease and how it made his life better.

After exhausting himself through various positive thinking strategies and faith healing techniques, Ray was forced to call upon an old ally in the fight for his life. As a seasoned copywriter with nowhere else to turn, he wrote himself a letter. Instead of persuading his audience to buy a new product, as he typically would, he endeavored to convince himself that this diagnosis of a terminal, degenerative disease could be the best thing to ever happen to him.

It took some convincing, but Ray succeeded in his mission; and the result was a better, richer experience. The book is his intimate and inspiring account of pulling off that persuasion job, and what that might mean for us.

Integrity Is an Inside Job

While collaborating with Ray on this book, I found myself more than once feeling emotional both about the story and the power of words to change a person’s life. In the book, Ray includes his letter to himself, walking the reader through the steps it takes to write their own.

This exercise, I’ve learned, is something akin to what soldiers do before heading off to war. They leave “death letters” to their loved ones in their lockers so that, in the event of their death, someone can send the letter back to their families. An Army Ranger once told me that nothing makes a soldier appreciate life more than facing his own death. Saying goodbye to your loved ones is one way to gain such sobriety.

Ray’s letter is something like a death letter but to yourself—a eulogy intended to serve as a wake-up call. Literally titled “Read This Or Die,” Ray called himself to account for the state of his life and what needed to change. Instead of making a list of goals or constructing a complicated life plan, he called “BS” on all the ways in which he was not living up to his potential. The letter includes specifics steps on what he can do to improve his situation, even if the circumstances don’t change.

What is so fascinating and challenging about this exercise is that you can dodge a lot of responsibility in your life when it’s being thrust upon you. You can pass the buck and shift the blame when someone else is accusing you of not doing more. But when you are the one acting as both accuser and defendant, it’s hard to talk yourself out of what you should be doing.

The word for this is integrity, an oft-misunderstood concept that in its simplest sense means “wholeness.” Parker Palmer wrote in a great book on the subject that “it is better to be whole than it is to be good.” Although we humans may disagree on our definitions of goodness, we cannot so easily explain away that visceral sense of being “dis-integrated.” That is, when we are falling apart, we know it. Our attempts to be “good” can easily devolve into self-righteous moralism, but striving to be whole is a lifelong move towards integrity.

When the Words You Write Talk Back

It is a painful realization to not be living up to one’s potential when you know that you can do something about it. Since publishing Real Artists Don’t Starve back in 2017, I’ve collaborated on something like a dozen books. All of these works, and the words they contain, have taught me something. Although I have enjoyed the opportunity to help authors get their words out into the world, each time I write a book for someone else, I wonder if I am hiding.

I talk myself into believing that this work is for a season and a necessary one at that. Most of the times, I believe me. But late at night and early in the morning, when my mind is clear and my conscience honest, I find myself feeling a little less comfortable with the choices I’ve made. I know I can be and do more.

I’ve considered writing a letter to myself as a personal challenge to myself to live a life worthy of my own respect. In recent years, I have found found that “goodness” is somewhat of a subjective goal as I have occasionally done things that others consider wrong but I can understand as being quite good. Conversely, I have been selfish and mean before only to be congratulated by others for what looks noble to them. It seems, then, that when measured from the outside, goodness is too low a bar to set.

We ought to aim higher.

What matters most to me these days is integrity: to live in a way that aligns with who I know I can and should be. Sometimes, this means I am good; other times, it means being honest about how bad I can be. Always, it means moving towards greater wholeness. It is only appropriate, then, that I recently began writing my “Read this or die” letter where I challenge myself to write my next book, to be everything I believe I am capable of becoming.

And I have my friend Ray—and this book we wrote together—to thank for that.

Why You Should Write Yourself a Letter

A well-written letter can change just about everything in a person’s life—from who you marry to the job you get to where you end up living for the rest of your life. The words we choose to persuade ourselves and others can have a dramatic impact, and we should be careful to not gloss over this importance.

“One day,” Jack Kerouac wrote, “I will find the right words, and they will be simple.” In my case, finding those words meant meeting my soulmate, beginning my life’s work, and more. For Ray Edwards, it meant reorienting his understanding of a debilitating disease and believing something good could come from something bad.

What might finding the right words mean for you? When there is enough emotion and persuasion behind them, what you say has the power to change everything in your life. What we say matters. Let’s try to not take this power for granted. The key to your next breakthrough may be only a well-written letter away.

Speaking of words, I’ve enclosed the first thousand from that brand-new book I mentioned. If you have ever faced a situation in life that feels hopeless, one in which wondered what power you had to change any of it, this is for you. Below is an excerpt from Ray Edwards’ latest book Read This or Die, which is already topping the charts.

“Introduction: Saved by a Sales Letter”

In May 2011, my body began to rebel against my brain. At a business conference in Las Vegas, I was in the audience taking notes, having trouble keeping up with the speaker. My mind would think what I needed to write, but then my hand moved too slowly to get it down. That’s odd, I thought. The person leading the seminar noticed I was having trouble and stopped presenting to ask from stage, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I said, distracted. “I’m just not feeling well.”

This statement was true, but something else was happening, too something that scared me. As I paid closer attention, I noticed my handwriting getting smaller and smaller, to the point of being practically illegible by the end of the day. When I returned to my room, I did some googling, and the number one result for my symptoms was Parkinson’s disease. I sighed. Returning home, I called our family physician in Spokane to tell him my symptoms. “Come in,” he said. “Let’s talk.”

During our visit, my doctor said, “You’re much too young to have Parkinson’s disease, so I want you to stop being concerned about that. I’m certain that’s not what it is. You’re forty-five years old, Ray. That can’t be what’s happening.”

I agreed with him, nodding, already feeling a small sense of relief.

“But to make you feel better,” he continued, “I’ll get you an appointment with a neurologist who can verify that, so we can figure out what’s really going on. I think it’s probably an impinged nerve in your shoulder.”

It was months before I was able to see that neurologist; and though I left that initial appointment with my family doctor feeling better, my symptoms only continued to worsen.

Something was definitely wrong.

On September 22, 2011, the day before my forty-sixth birthday, my wife, Lynn, and I went to see the neurologist. I didn’t know it at the time, but the doctor made a diagnosis within sixty seconds of seeing me. She knew the hallmark signs, and I had them all.

After five minutes of examination, she said, “I think you have Parkinson’s disease. This is serious. It is degenerative, which means it only gets worse. There’s nothing we can do to treat it or make it better. It is eventually going to make you dependent on other people to do the most basic of tasks, like getting dressed and eating. You’re going to have difficulty walking. You could be in a wheelchair or otherwise disabled in seven years. You have a limited window on your ability to function normally. There are medications you can take to treat the symptoms, but they only work for a little while, and they cause their own side effects that are problematic.”

“This is serious. It is degenerative, which means it only gets worse. There’s nothing we can do to treat it or make it better.”

Lynn and I stared at the neurologist, stunned. Surely, we thought, there had to be another way. Devout Christians that we were, we considered the diagnosis a test of faith, a good setup for our new career as healing evangelists. Once I got healed, I’d be able to use such a testimony for the edification of others: teaching and preaching and healing, just like Jesus.

My whole life, I’d prided myself on being a positive thinker, someone who could imagine a better future for himself and then create it. I believed in the power of prayer and physical healing, even modern-day miracles. I’d followed the self-help gurus for decades and taught their practices and philosophies in my own business. As an established copywriter, I thought you could convince anyone to believe anything. And here I was, sitting in a neurologist’s office, unable to accept what she was telling me. I was sick, and there was no getting better? Really? This, by the way, is the part of the grieving process they call denial.

The morning I experienced my first few shuddering tremors, a few months after that initial diagnosis, my coffee cup looked like one of those mud puddles in Jurassic Park, quaking with each unexpected vibration. A monster was, indeed, approaching. That was the first time I felt real, honest-to-God, gut-wrenching fear about what was to come. And as the reality of the diagnosis set in, I got scared—for myself, for my wife, for my family and employees and everyone who was depending on me. I wasn’t ready to die and certainly didn’t want to go this way, as a shaky invalid who can’t control

himself and is dependent on others. It wasn’t supposed to be this way, I thought. This isn’t fair. What did I do to deserve this? I don’t have to tell you that none of these thoughts made my life one iota better, but I still thought them. Then, after a long period of wound-licking, catastrophizing, and reflecting, I turned to an ally I never would have considered. It wasn’t faith healing or positive thinking that saved me. No, it was something far less conspicuous.

Writing.

I didn’t write my Parkinson’s away, but I used words to understand what I could and could not control. This was a long, difficult process. First, I questioned the diagnosis, trying to bargain with reality. I went for second and third opinions, looking for any “loophole” I could find and finding none. Then, I figured there must be a way out of this situation, some magic pill I could take to reverse the symptoms, a series of special words to recite that would convince God to heal this thing right out of my body.

As an entrepreneur, I possessed the audacious belief that I could fix almost any problem, which served me well in many areas of life for many years. But now, that belief only served to make me angrier. I couldn’t fix this, couldn’t fix anything. I was stuck and didn’t have any way out of a terrible situation. I was desperate. So I did something nobody would ever have expected.

I wrote myself a letter.

What Now?

All good letters, I’ve learned, end with a call-to-action, a step or two you can take right now to keep the momentum going. Here are a few to consider:

Pick up a copy of Read This or Die. It’s on sale this week and is one of the better looking books I’ve seen in some time (the design team did a great job). Ray is also giving away some great bonuses on his website for those who order this week.

Leave a comment on this post with a time in your life when a letter (or something someone said to you) changed your life.

Tell a friend about this book by sharing this post.

Thank you for reading The Ghost. This post is public so feel free to share it.

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© 2023 Jeff Goins
548 Market Street PMB 72296, San Francisco, CA 94104
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