Is there a pill for this?

Maybe, hopefully, one of the pills I am already on.

I listen to Tom Brady’s interview. Give 100% effort. How many times have I heard that phrase? It is total lip service from, like, 99% of the population. Not Tom Brady. I finally read a sports illustrated without sending it directly to the recycling. It was the Peyton Manning sportsman of the year issue. That man, the quarterback of one of my team’s rivals, is incredible.

Forget the football and the injury and the recovery. He writes handwritten answers to a large portion of his fan mail. He takes notes on the envelopes so he can remember them. He writes to his equipment managers, his teammates, his ex-coaches. He calls fans who are struggling. His utter preparation does not have a singular football focus. It extends beyond his inner circle.

I have a no thank you note policy.

I devised it due to my hatred of thank you notes which stemmed from laziness and dislike of disingenuous sentiment. I thought I found the answer in a Shel Silverstein book when I was in third grade. I still remember the poem:

I wanted small pierced earrings, gold

You gave me slippers, grey

My mother said that she would scold unless I wrote to say

How much I liked them

Not much.

I ran into the room, booked marked by my index finger and never opened it to read it, I remembered it from my very first glance. After recitation I beamed at my mother. Can I write real thank you notes? No. In fact not.

So I still dislike them.

It odd though, after reading the Manning interview I wonder why. Perhaps because they are expected. And because of that I feel they lack meaning. Peyton’s notes though are spontaneous, or more aptly planned but unexpected.

In any case. I am leaving behind the weight loss, healthy eating, time outdoors resolutions of years past.

I resolve to write thank you notes. For gifts, parties, and general gratitude.

So please, don’t send me anything, invite me anywhere or be nice to me.

The following two tabs change content below.
Anna Rosenblum Palmer is a freelance writer based in Denver, CO. She writes about sex, parenting, cat pee, bi-polar disorder and the NFL; all things inextricably intertwined with her mental health. In her free time she teaches her boys creative swear words, seeks the last missing puzzle piece and thinks deeply about how she is not exercising. Her writing can be found on Babble, Parent.co, Great Moments in Parenting, Ravishly, Good Men Project, Sammiches and Psych Meds, Playpen, Crazy Good Parent, and YourTango. She also does a fair amount of navel gazing on her own blog at annarosenblumpalmer.com.

Latest posts by Anna Palmer (see all)