Have you ever wondered what stops you from trying something new? Surely, at some point in your life, you’ve wanted to take on a challenge but talked yourself out of it. Maybe you wanted to start a garden, throw pottery, or take up the electric guitar. Finding the push to step outside your comfort zone can feel unnerving. The fear of not being “good,” or not knowing how to start, can convince even the most driven of us to stick to what we already know.
Twenty years ago, an English teacher at Xavier High in New York City challenged her students to write a persuasive letter to one of their favorite authors, asking them to visit the school. In return, they received a beautiful lesson in making art and feeding their souls from one of America’s greatest writers.
Most students expected their written requests would go unanswered. Maybe they would get a polite “No, thank you” in return. A handful of classmates, however, received a powerfully crafted piece of lifelong advice. One that’s still circulating online two decades later.
A long-shot letter to a literary legend
Five Xavier students decided to aim high and reach out to legendary author Kurt Vonnegut. At the time, the celebrated Slaughterhouse-Five and Cat’s Cradle novelist was 84 years old. Of all the authors the students wrote to, Vonnegut was the only one who replied.
In his letter, dated November 5, 2006, Vonnegut explained with characteristic humor that he no longer made public appearances, joking that he’d come to resemble “an iguana.” He apologized that, because of health issues, he couldn’t visit the school. To make up for it, the writer delivered a short meditation on the purpose and power of making art. Even if nobody else ever sees what you create.
The real assignment was never about becoming famous
Vonnegut’s letter encouraged students to “practice any art,” regardless of their natural talent for it. The goal wasn’t mastery or recognition. It was the creative process itself. As he put it, making art lets a person “experience becoming, to find out what’s inside you, to make your soul grow.”
He didn’t just offer the idea in the abstract, either. Vonnegut suggested small, everyday creative acts: things like drawing a picture of their teacher, singing in the shower, or dancing home from school. “Pretend you’re Count Dracula,” he joked. The goal was to see what happens when you let yourself create without rules or repercussions. Then the novelist gave the students some homework. The assignment was to write a short, rhyming six-line poem as best they could. Then, once finished, they were to share it with no one and tear it to pieces.
At first glance, it’s a strange instruction: destroy the very thing you just worked to create. But that was exactly his point. The poem wasn’t meant to be published, graded, or praised. Its only purpose was the experience of making it. To wrestle with rhyme and rhythm and, in the process, learn more about your own mind. Vonnegut believed that personal discovery and growth were their own rewards. He shared that one should practice art “not to get money and fame but to experience becoming.”
Twenty years later, Vonnegut’s advice letter still resonates. In a culture obsessed with metrics, followers, and perfectly polished finished products, the author argues that the act of simply attempting to make something helps you understand yourself a little better—which is the true prize.
Read Vonnegut’s letter in full here.
