Anyone who knew me as a child probably received a letter from me at some point in time. I was always, and still consider myself to be, an avid letter-writer. And I'm not talking email. While that has an important place in today's world of correspondence, when I say "letter", I'm referring to a handwritten hard-copy one finds in the real mailbox at the bottom of their driveway. I have always thought there was something incredibly fun, even magical, about finding a letter waiting for you. It's something tangible, that was physically held by the sender just a few days before. I find letter-writing to be a very human method of connection.
But is that method obsolete? There are so many more convenient ways to connect with somebody--letters add days of chronological separation. If the goal is to relay events in real-time, letter-writing disappoints. There is the added effort that goes into mailing a letter, but is love truly measured by logistical difficulty?
I have two cousins in particular with whom I exchanged letters for nearly a decade: Jessica (on my dad's side), and Jorie (on my mom's). Our respective exchanges would have occurred 1990-1997, roughly. I still have most of the letters. (But how is that different than having my emails forever saved in my inbox--I frequently reread those, too.)
Maybe the time period was different then: long-distance phone calls on a land line were expensive, and email wasn't really around, or perhaps not widely used. (Not wide enough for ME to have access to it, at least.) Letter-writing really was my only viable option for keeping in touch with my cousins (who were also among my very closest friends). Maybe it was a product of my age, or lack thereof -- I didn't DREAM of having a cell phone until I was in college. Growing up, then, I didn't get cellphones for Christmas. I got stationery. (Which, incidentally, was on my Christmas list every year without fail.)
Perhaps it was something about the delayed gratification. There is a lot of waiting involved in letter-writing. When Reed was serving in Brazil, waiting for those letters nearly killed me, but they came. It was the same as a child--when a letter finally arrived, it was already long-expected (perhaps overdue!). With Jorie, who lived in Canada, a response could take anywhere from 3-4 weeks!
Maybe that's where the magic lies: in the waiting. In the deliberate slowness of a conversation. In the listening that takes two weeks. In reading and re-reading words from the sender, treating them as a little more valuable, because they took so long to get here. And then choosing your words just as carefully during your response, tucking them safely in an envelope and sending them traveling back to the recipient, who is no doubt already checking the mailbox.
Am I holding on to letter-writing as one holds on to an old blankie? It's no longer of any use, but I just can't seem to give it up. Any other letter-writing survivors out there? Or is this truly a dying art?
From left to right: My friends Elaine (holding her son Caleb, and Cal), Carolyn with her sons Connor and Nolan, and Shelly with Maddy & Lily. Aren't we a festive group? We had all-green food and then went outside to search for leprechaun poop (aka special green M&Ms).
