(Written May, 2005)
My sister laughed at me when I told her.
“You WHAT?”
“I saved all my mail.”
“Who saves their mail???” She cackles even louder. But not in a mean way.
Yes, it’s true. All the letters I have ever received—letters, cards, and notes—from the tender age of 8 have been saved and organized into bundles marked by each year. Why, you may ask, did I go to all that trouble? I don’t know. But I’m glad I did. In the past couple of weeks, I’ve been slowly readings them all (starting from the beginning), and it was like unearthing buried treasure.
It began with those cheesy, tiny little Valentines kids passed out to the whole class in grade school. Then birthday cards and Christmas cards (from only aunts and grandparents at first, until I gradually made more and more friends). Then came the long, newsy letters and post cards from friends and family on vacation in all parts of the world.
I rediscovered and laughed over all the teenaged angst from my friends in high school (“I’m going to DIE if Andy doesn’t like me….”).
I revisited the forgotten late-night ramblings from friends in college dorm rooms, struggling with their identity, their relationships (some with their sexual preferences), and being in total awe of all the new learning and worldliness they were experiencing.
It was interesting to see the “tone” of my siblings go from youthful and naive to more mature and responsible as they married and became parents. Heartwarming to see a scribbled picture from a three year old niece who is now a young professional in Washington D.C.! Humbling to see how I had offended others by being a little too limited in my beliefs about their life choices. It was also pretty weird to go back, knowing the outcomes of many events (such as divorces, love affairs, births, suicide etc.), and see all the telltale puzzle pieces to these outcomes, scattered throughout the years. I want to show certain people what their dreams and desires were, once—some that came true and others that completely changed. I know mine certainly have, and I wondered what it would be like to read all of my own letters to others—out in the world somewhere. (But most likely rotting in a trash heap—because who else saves their mail except whacked little me?)
“You probably feel like you’re reliving your life,” my mom commented, as she watched me grab another pile out of the huge Tupperware bin.
Yes, I thought. That’s exactly what I’m doing. And it was so much more enriching than watching TV or spending time on the Internet.
Letter writing is a dying art. It was such a fun way to find out how distant loved ones (or even local ones who felt like using their new stationery) were getting along. To see their personal handwriting, which often gave away their feelings or personality… a coffee stain, a stray crayon mark or blurred words where teardrops might have fallen…you can’t get this in emails—which so swiftly and completely replaced letters in such a short period of time. (My letter bundles went down to half their sizes, after 1999). And even though emails are faster and more efficient, nothing but NOTHING beats opening the mailbox and feeling the thrill of finding a letter from someone in the midst of junk mail and bills!
Someone gave me some stationery for a going-away gift recently. I do believe I’m going to use it. Just picturing the smile of delight on the face of the recipient will make it worth the extra fifteen minutes, the stamp, and the cramped hand.
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