I Was Going to Write You a Letter About Ego… But Then Natasha Lyonne walked in.
Letters to My Son… If I Had One By Fred Ferguson (GeezerWise)
Dear Son,
I sat down this morning to write you a serious, no-nonsense letter about ego.
Something full of grit and insight.
Something that would make me sound wise — maybe even a little mysterious.
You know the type:
“Deconstructing the House That Ego Built.”
Oh yeah. I was going to be deep.
I had my metaphors lined up.
I was ready to go full Zen Grandad on you.
But then Natasha Lyonne walked into my day.
No, not literally.
(I mean, that would’ve been a whole other letter.)
But I was listening to her on a podcast — and she said something that stopped me cold:
“Deconstructing the house that ego built.”
And damn if she didn’t beat me to my own punchline —
with more raw honesty, more bite, and more heart than anything I was about to write.
Now let me tell you about Natasha.
You might know her as the raspy, wisecracking genius behind Russian Doll or Orange Is the New Black.
She’s got that old-Hollywood-meets-East-Village energy — all smoke and soul and side-eye.
But what you might not know?
She had a hell of a childhood.
Tragic, unstable, and chaotic.
By the time most kids are riding bikes, she was navigating grown-up messes no child should face.
And yet here she is — not just surviving, but shining.
There’s something about her that hits me differently.
Maybe it’s the humor.
Maybe it’s the way she talks like she’s seen everything and still found a reason to laugh.
Maybe it’s because I see pieces of myself in her — and pieces of people I love.
But today?
Today I realized something I hadn’t said out loud before:
If Natasha Lyonne were my granddaughter… I’d be proud beyond words.
Not because she’s famous.
Not because she made it.
But because she remade herself.
She took that crumbling ego-built house —
the one full of pain and plaster and performance —
and she tore it down with grace, grit, and a damn good sense of humor.
And that’s what I wanted to tell you all along.
We all build things to survive.
We all live in structures we outgrow.
And sometimes, the bravest thing you can do… is walk back in with a sledgehammer.
If I had a son, I’d want him to hear this…
Heroes don’t always ride in on white horses.
Sometimes they stumble in, late, covered in cigarette ash and sarcasm —
and they still manage to light up the room.
And if you ever find yourself rebuilding,
look for people like Natasha.
Follow their lead.
And know that if you were my grandson…
I’d be proud of you, too.
This letter was written by Fred Ferguson (GeezerWise). If it spoke to you, I’d love to hear back—just hit reply.
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—Fred [GeezerWise]