Do you remember when opening up your mailbox and peeking inside with heavy anticipation was such a joy? Clicking on your inbox is not quite the same. Most of us click that icon with dread. I miss the days of snail mail. When I was in boarding school mail call was the highlight of the day. It made for a long afternoon when my mailbox was dusty and empty. Writing letters to friends was cathartic procrastination. I have an entire drawer full of stationery that is yellowing with age. In fact, I still have some from boarding school with my name embossed at the top in purple lower case letters. Those stationery sheets are 30 years old now. It’s sad really. I never used them up.
About 20 years ago my father gave me a large binder stuffed with every letter I ever wrote to him. It’s both bemusing and horrifying to read back on those words. My 15-year old self comes alive in those pen strokes. I recognize some tattered fringes of the girl I was. There are prescient messages in my words from so long ago. Those letters will be my legacy in ways far deeper than my blog and digital life can ever be. A part of me went into the writing. A clickety clack keystroke just isn’t the same. I believe hand writing is to be cherished, and the art of letter writing to be revered.
I sound like an old fart saying I want to go back to the old days, which is not entirely true. I am, for instance, writing this blog post with the benefits of voice dictation and my iPhone. The irony is not lost on me. I’m no Luddite but I do miss the hand written word. I’d love to go back to that, even if it’s a simple postcard.
Now, who wants a pen pal?
