Kurt Vonnegut’s Last Lesson: Make Your Soul Grow 988
In 2006, a group of high school students in New York received an assignment from their English teacher. The task seemed simple: write letters to famous authors and invite them to visit the class. The students chose a variety of literary giants, hoping their words might reach someone. Most letters disappeared into silence. But one reply came back, penned by the hands of a man whose career had already defined American literature — Kurt Vonnegut, then 84 years old.
The students likely expected a polite thank you, perhaps a brief note of encouragement. What they received instead was a letter that has outlived both the moment and the classroom, a letter that distilled a lifetime of wisdom into a single, unforgettable lesson.
Vonnegut began with gratitude, thanking the students for remembering him. But almost immediately, he pivoted to something deeper, something urgent. He told them not to wait for fame, recognition, or wealth to validate their creativity. Instead, he urged them to practice art in any form, no matter how humble or imperfect.
“Practice any art,” he wrote, “no matter how well or badly. Not to get money or fame, but to experience becoming, to find out what’s inside you, to make your soul grow.”
It was not a suggestion. It was a plea.
Vonnegut had lived long enough to know how easily society reduces art to a commodity — something to be bought, judged, ranked, or ignored. But his message to the students was radical in its simplicity: art is not about who sees it. Art is about what it does to you.
To illustrate his point, he gave them an unusual assignment. He instructed them to write a six-line poem. Not for a grade. Not to submit. Not to impress. He told them to make it as good as they possibly could — and then tear it up. The point was never in sharing it, but in creating it. The reward was the act itself, the joy of pulling something from within and giving it form, if only for a fleeting moment.
He urged them to experiment wildly, without fear of judgment. To dance in their living rooms. To sing loudly in the shower. To draw crooked lines, paint abstract shapes, pull silly faces out of mashed potatoes. It did not matter what they made. What mattered was that they made something.
Vonnegut, who had lived through war, fame, criticism, and old age, was reminding them that art is not a product — it is a practice. It is a way of living deliberately, of cracking open the human heart to see what lies inside.
One year later, in 2007, Kurt Vonnegut passed away. But his words to those students have been passed down, shared, and repeated thousands of times since. They have spread far beyond the classroom in which they first landed, inspiring generations of people who never wrote to him at all.
The brilliance of his message is its universality. You don’t need to be a novelist to heed his call. You don’t need talent or training. You don’t need to make anything beautiful or lasting. You only need to dare to create, and in creating, to let yourself grow.
In a world that prizes likes, shares, and external validation, Vonnegut’s lesson feels even more urgent today. Too often, people silence their creativity because they fear it isn’t “good enough.” But Vonnegut’s reply cuts through that fear: it does not matter. Art is not about the product. It is about the process, the discovery, the joy of saying something that only you can say — even if no one else ever hears it.
That was his gift to those high schoolers: permission. Permission to try, to fail, to play. Permission to live artfully, not for applause but for themselves.
The letter remains timeless because it captures a truth many forget: making something, no matter how small, is an act of becoming. Each brushstroke, each note sung off-key, each line of clumsy poetry is a step toward knowing yourself better, toward stretching the boundaries of your own soul.
Vonnegut’s life was filled with books, essays, and speeches that challenged, entertained, and provoked. But in that simple letter, written to a handful of teenagers, he may have left one of his most enduring teachings.
Practice art. Make your soul grow. And remember that the reward is not what you hold in your hands, but who you become in the act of creation.
That is where the beauty lies. That is where the joy endures.
And perhaps, that is the greatest lesson an author can leave behind.
A Love That Finds Its Way: The Story of Us and Our Rescue Journey 712
I glance down at my phone and see “Husband” calling. My heart skips a beat, my pulse quickens. It’s not typical for us to call each other — we usually text throughout the day, checking in and chatting. If he’s calling, something must be wrong, especially since we rarely call when he's at work or school unless there’s an emergency. There's no missed notification, no prior messages to explain the call. My mind races, and my heart bursts with worry.
I answer the phone immediately:
Me: Babe, are you okay?
Him: Listen, I’ve only got 30 seconds. Are you listening?
Me: I hear you, go ahead!!
Him: I stand in front of a box with abandoned kittens. One of them didn’t make it, but two are still alive. I’m supposed to be welding, but I’ll figure out a way to syringe-feed them until I can get them home. Can you pack whatever they need before I come back?
Me: ... omg yes!!
Him: I gotta go, I just wanna make sure they stay warm in my jacket.
He hangs up, and I sit there, stunned, torn between wanting to laugh and cry.
As I sit there, thinking back on all the times people have told me I was crazy for helping animals the way I do, I realize something they don’t: the animals find me. And now, I've met a man — a man who animals also find. A man who, at that moment, was standing at work with two abandoned kittens tucked into his jacket, prioritizing their warmth and survival over everything else.
I think back to when we first met, how I knew he was something special. I never imagined I’d find a partner who shared my love for animals so deeply. But here he was, a man willing to sacrifice his own comfort to make sure these two tiny lives had a chance at survival. He removed his jacket to create warmth for them, just as I would have. It’s in moments like this that I realize just how perfectly we fit together — our hearts both open to helping others, to giving our time and energy to the creatures that need it the most.
Since we’ve been married, we’ve opened our hearts and home to more than 300 kittens, cats, and dogs. They come to us from all walks of life, finding their way to our door, needing love, care, and a safe place to land. It hasn’t been easy — the sleepless nights, the endless feedings, the emotional toll of seeing animals in need. But every time we take in a new one, it feels like we’re doing exactly what we’re meant to do. We’ve fostered more than we ever thought we could, giving them hope, helping them heal, and eventually sending them off to their forever homes. And it’s not just us helping them; they’ve changed us in ways we never expected.
As I pack the supplies for the kittens — bottles, blankets, warm towels — I feel that familiar rush of love and excitement. We don’t do this for accolades or recognition. We do it because it's what we’re called to do. We do it because when you open your heart to help others, those in need will always find you. They always know where to go, and we’re ready to help.
Our home is filled with the sounds of purring kittens and barking puppies. It’s filled with the warmth of knowing we’re doing the right thing, the best thing. As I think of my husband, taking care of those two tiny lives, my heart swells with pride. Not only is he the love of my life, but he’s also a man whose compassion for all living creatures mirrors my own. Together, we’re building something beautiful — a life dedicated to love, kindness, and animals.
Let me remind you: what is meant to find you, will always find you. And sometimes, that means finding a partner who shares your deepest values, a partner who will stand with you in the face of a cold, hard world and help those who can’t help themselves. That’s the kind of love that lasts. 🥹🤍
This is the life we’ve chosen — one filled with purpose, filled with love, and filled with the little souls who need us most. The animals that find us aren’t just saved; they’re a reminder that in this life, the best things are always the unexpected gifts that find their way to your door.
