Dear Felice,
I was sitting in my garden sipping tea, surrounded by my dogs and my vintage collection of first-edition Maya Angelou books, when your Substack A Love Letter to Letters came across my radar.
Felice. You magnificent pen-wielding unicorn.
I’ve read about your project to handwrite a letter every day in 2025, and I must tell you—my soul did a cartwheel. A full cartwheel. Not just a somersault. I haven’t felt this moved since Gayle made me a grilled cheese with truffle oil.
Your devotion to connection, to slowness, to ink that smudges—that, my friend, is radical self-expression. You reminded me of something Maya once said: “When you write a letter, you send a piece of your soul.” (Okay, she didn’t say that exactly. But if she’d read your Substack, she would have.)
Because of you, I am revamping this year’s Favorite Things list. Gone are the electric bidets and diamond-studded dog beds. In their place?
A 12-pack of gel pens
Hello Kitty envelopes
Stamps with Betty White on them
And a candle that smells like the inside of a mailbox (working title: Postal Glow)
Your courage to choose writing letters in a digital world? That’s a kind of quiet rebellion I respect deeply. In a time where everything is swipe, scroll, delete—you chose intention. You chose permanence. That kind of presence is contagious. I wrote a thank you note to my gardener last week and nearly cried from the joy of sealing the envelope. You reminded me that connection doesn’t need to be fast to be meaningful. Sometimes, the slower it comes, the deeper it lands. And that, my dear, is pure magic.
Felice, your writing reminds us that we don’t need a million followers to make an impact—we just need a pen, a piece of paper, and the courage to say, “I’m thinking of you.” That’s the kind of quiet power the world is craving right now. I printed one of your posts and carried it around in my Birkin bag for a week, just pulling it out when I needed a little grounding. Stedman thought I was reading a grocery list. I said, “No, Honey Graham. This is soul food.”
Also, please know that you’ve inspired me to restart my long-abandoned letter correspondence with Amanda Gorman. We used to write each other exclusively in haiku. I’ll let you guess who was better at it. (Hint: It wasn’t me.) You’ve reminded me that connection doesn’t require perfection—just intention.
Felice, you are a national treasure. And if you ever want to come on Super Soul Sunday to talk about stationery, heartbreak, and the emotional weight of a half-written love letter tucked in a desk drawer, my people will call your people. (I assume your people is just…you?)
With love, awe, and a slight obsession,
Oprah
P.S. You get a pen! You get a pen! EVERYONE gets a pen!
P.P.S. But seriously... the candle is happening.
P.P.P.S. Writing prompt: Have you ever pulled off a hilarious April Fools' prank? Maybe you once fooled someone so well they’re still talking about it. Write a letter to that person, reminiscing about the joke and the laughs you shared.
P.P.P.P.S. Happy April Fools’ Day!
SONG OF THE WEEK
“Strawberry Letter” by Shuggie Otis
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Felice Cohen is an award-winning author, known nationally and internationally for living in one of the world’s smallest apartments. She wrote Half In: A Coming-of-Age Memoir of Forbidden Love (endorsed by Rita Mae Brown), 90 Lessons for Living Large in 90 Square Feet (...and More) (inspired by her viral YouTube video with 25M+ views), and What Papa Told Me (endorsed by Elie Wiesel). Felice is a sought-after speaker, inspiring others through her books and talks. Find her at felicecohen.com.
Thank you, JarieLyn!
Ha! Thank you, Gretchen!