The Forgotten Art of Letter Writing
One of my close high school friends recently moved to the UK. We still keep in touch, as I do with all of my friends who had the audacity to leave me and move internationally for a sense of adventure and change (can you tell I’m just a little jealous?). Although, between time differences, work schedules and general adulting, communication is tricky. Even when we do manage to catch each other, our calls or texts are a rush of quick life updates, power advice sessions, and “I have to go but we need to do this again super soon!”s.
When did we transition to scheduling phone calls weeks in advance rather than being able to just pick up the phone in our spare moments? When did replying to a text message become such an effort-filled task? I’m the first to admit that scheduling everything in advance is pretty much my entire life, and I’m terrible at replying recently. I just wish I knew the exact date and time when it was my last moment feeling like I had freedom over my schedule to just catch up with a friend or give them a call. I would have cherished it more than I did at the time.
That’s why, when my UK friend mentioned during our last call that she’s just gotten into writing letters to her friends back home, I was immediately on board. What a fantastically novel idea, I thought. So simple, and yet such an exciting solution!
I received my first letter from her a few weeks ago. I cannot explain the pure child-like joy I experienced when I saw a pink envelope in the mail addressed to me. It couldn’t be a bill, it couldn’t be an advertisement. It had to be something fun! Sure enough, I learned all about my friend’s experience so far, about the people’s she’s met and funny stories from her first week there. I couldn’t help but think these were certainly stories I would miss out on over text or call, which was a sad thought.
Writing back was more fun that I thought it would be! Picking the paper, the envelope, addressing all her questions, and writing about stories of my own in more detail than any short text message would be able to cover. It brought me so much joy thinking about her reaction when she finally receives my letter, and how reading and replying might allow her the 10 mins in her day to finally sit with a cup of coffee and nothing else to do but write me back.
A moment of peace.
A moment of reprieve.
A moment to breathe.
I certainly hope it does, because that’s what this activity did for me.
Sending the letter to her proved to be more difficult than anticipated, though. Did you know, at least in Australia, how stringent the rules around sending letters internationally are? I rolled up to the post office to buy stamps, only to find out they’d run out of stamps (shouldn’t have surprised me so much - no one really sends letters anymore), needing to answer a bunch of questions about my letter, and be printed a special stamp-like sticker. The kicker? It cost close to $4.50. To send a letter. Just a piece of paper in an envelope.
To my embarrassment, I’d forgotten how to send a letter! Forgotten! I had to Google where to address all the things. This one’s on me, though.
Although it got me thinking, how many kids are growing up without knowing how to do this? How many of us have forgotten the experience of physically writing a letter? Of addressing it and sending it and patiently waiting for the reply weeks later? How many of us have forgotten how to send anything in the mail? Aside from the odd wedding invitation, I receive most of my invitations hand-to-hand or via text message these days. The immediacy of it all is obviously very convenient, but it’s doing nothing for my goal of practising patience, of enjoying the small things in life, of maintaining meaningful connections in an intentional way.
So, if I can offer any unsolicited Big Sister advice to anyone reading this, it’s this. Write a letter to a friend or family member, either interstate or internationally, and practice the wait of the reply. Enjoy reading about their stories in detail and take time to ask them meaningful questions. Sip a tea or a coffee and make a cosy activity of it, if only for 10 minutes, and watch it open your eyes the way it did mine.
xx
