Oh how I miss sending and receiving letters. Every time I pull out the contents of my treasured boxes, the touch and the smell of the paper alone is enough to make me swoon. I am transported back to the time I was 8 years old, and received a birthday present of stationary - creamy paper, smart envelopes, and a pretty design of a young girl on both, all carefully embossed with the word “Sarah” on it. Oh, the delight I felt!
A letter I find written 30 years ago from my best friend then (and best friend now) fills me with joy.
One I read from my sister (sent to me as a university undergraduate) saddens me - we were close, years ago, and now barely speak.
And then there are the letters I have from people I loved who are no longer with me - a friend who died of cancer, my adored grandmother and the co-worker who taught me that commas belong in pairs…
I have not written a letter in several years now. To whom would I write one at this moment, if I so desired? To my parents? (“You tried your best, but since you’ve cost me thousands in therapy bills, may I have a cheque please?”) To an old pal from university? (“I am so sorry for the things I said...I regret them immensely and, after 13 years, I still think fondly of you.”) To my best friend (“You’ve been my rock, my great supporter, at my side through the best and worst moments in the last 35 years”)
I ask myself why I might find it easier to convey such complicated (and deep) feelings on paper, rather than through the internet. There is more than one answer but, essentially, I have come to the conclusion that letters touch the soul - both when written and when received. After all, reading a letter is a completely emotional experience. Every person’s handwriting is different, just as is their DNA. A letter cannot be replicated (unlike an email). The ink smudges, the crossed out words, the creased sheets of paper, the stamp on the envelope. Every letter I have in my boxes is a one-off, never to be replicated.
The letters I have sent and received in the last four decades have left their mark - this much I know.
They have been carried around, read again and again, savoured like a good Chianti or a small square of dark chocolate. In a world where everything is so impermanent, this is infinitely comforting to me.
Tales of love, longing and loss...tales of hope, despair and wonder.
Tales that touch us at the deepest level.
No wonder, then, that I am thrilled at the idea of there now being a National Letter Writing Day!
Moreover, a letter connects its writer and recipient in a way that few other things do. In person, we often feel a great deal of pressure to present a certain image, act in a certain way, or say the right thing.
With a letter, we can take our time, sit and ponder, find the ‘bon mot’.
We have time on our side and - worst case scenario - we can crumple up the paper and begin again. Why can’t it be that easy in person?
This year’s date (for anyone interested) is Monday 7th December 2020.
I’ll end this piece with a wonderful quote from Catherine Field, writing in the New York Times:
“A good handwritten letter is a creative act and not just because it is a visual and tactile pleasure. It is a deliberate act of exposure, a form of vulnerability, because handwriting opens a window on the soul in a way that cyber communication can never do. You savor their arrival and later take care to place them in a box for safe keeping.”
And that’s exactly what I’ve done - a box which I can pull out, when I’m feeling sad or simply nostalgic, and find myself transported back to times long ago, and memories that will never cease to make me smile.