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Step Three: Change the Name to Stop Protecting the Guilty
Once you've fully expressed your thoughts to your NPP, cross out his or her name at the top of your letter. Write in your own. Now read the letter as if it's written to you—and instead of defending yourself, absorb it the way you'd want your NPP to: thoughtfully, openly, without resistance.

In the case of my rant at Glinda, my hypocrisy was obvious. I hadn't told the woman I thought she was vilely duplicitous—except when she wasn't there. In her presence, I was polite. In short, I was being friendly to her face, then attacking her (if only in my mind) behind her back. I was being, in my own words, "sneaky and manipulative and insincere."

As soon as I realized all that good advice was for me, my perseveration about Glinda turned into a humbling effort to be more honest and consistent in my relationships, with Glinda and everyone else. I almost stopped thinking about her—except as a teacher I could thank for helping me see my own problematic behavior.

When you read your NPP letter, it may be obvious you deserve the very feedback your inner bitch is handing out. If not, look more deeply. For example, if your NPP is a bully but you're a mild-mannered sort, notice where you've allowed yourself to be intimidated; cringing is half the bullying dance, and you may have been dancing it all along. Or if your NPP is fanatically controlling and you're generally relaxed, notice that you're trying to control this person's controlling-ness. If your NPP wastes money and you're frugal, see where you've squandered currencies other than money, such as time or attention (for example, by perseverating).

The wonderful thing about recognizing your own worst traits in your NPP is that your letter will be rich in good advice. By perseverating, you've explored all sorts of ways in which your target—that would be you—can do better. In fact, the bitchier you've let yourself be, the clearer the instructions.

Step Four: Choose A Positive-Perseveration Person (PPP)
Taking your own negative advice is strong medicine, but for some people the second half of this exercise is even harder to assimilate. Please persist through these last three steps, though, or you'll miss half the messages from your human mirrors.

For this step, choose a positive-perseveration person—someone you think about in a grateful, admiring, even envious way. Often these people will crop up in your solo conversations, but instead of ranting, you'll find yourself listening, repeatedly remembering something they said or did.

Not long after composing my letter to Glinda, I visited a dying friend I'll call Sue. Sue didn't want to talk; her esophagus was blocked, and although she was receiving fluids via an IV drip, her mouth and throat were terribly dry. I sat beside Sue for half an hour before noticing that my mind was repeating part of a poem from a collection called Thirst, by Mary Oliver: "Don't worry, sooner or later I'll be home. / Red-cheeked from the roused wind, / I'll stand in the doorway / stamping my boots and slapping my hands, / my shoulders / covered with stars."

I know this poem because I'm mildly obsessed with Oliver's work, in a way that definitely counts as perseveration. Phrases from her poems often fill my mind like looped recordings, repeating as tenaciously as my advice to NPPs.

To comfort myself as I sat beside Sue, I began silently reciting other Oliver poems ("When it's over, I want to say: all my life / I was a bride married to amazement." "And who will care, who will chide you if you wander away / from wherever you are, to look for your soul?"). After a while, though I hadn't moved or spoken, Sue looked at me, smiled, and whispered, "That feels good." Then she slowly relaxed and fell asleep.

I took out my notebook, turned to a fresh page, and began to write: "Dear Ms. Oliver, here is what I really think about you in my lowest moments."

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