Letters

Over the past weeks, I have been so happy to receive holiday greetings cards from so many of my family and friends. To be honest, the tradition of sending Christmas cards is something that I long ago failed to make habit and to this day, just never seem to get done. However, I love seeing the photos and reading the greetings from others and would feel a special thrill going to the mailbox each day and knowing there might be something better there than the cable bill, the utilities bill, and a stack of direct mail catalogs. 

When I got together with my family to celebrate Christmas, my sister handed me a large envelope. Inside was filled with letters that I had written to her in the years when we still actually took the time to write a letter. The letters document some of my life as I went through college and became a young mother. On Christmas Day, I settled in with a glass of wine to read through them and felt oddly voyeuristic looking backwards into my own life. I read about the classes I was taking (and the classes I was choosing to skip). The letters chronicle my day through Psychology, Criminal Justice, and Chemistry. Noticeably missing are any letters written during my Astronomy class (or as I liked to call it "naptime"). The letters reveal to me what I know now to be true - but wasn't willing to see at the time - a college relationship that was doomed to fail - but was recounted in these letters in a way that made me laugh out loud remembering some of the most ridiculous situations that relationship brought to me. Throughout the letters, I reference so many long-forgotten worries. "Thanks for listening to me vent."  "Know that I stand by you with whatever you decide to do." Cryptic allusions to situations that I can no longer remember but at the time, seemed so very important. 

Reading through these letters, I was struck by two thoughts. First of all, it was so strange to read about myself with such distance. These letters were somehow different than any kind of diary or journal entry. Those types of stories are written for yourself only - but letters are written to tell the receiver who you are and what matters to you. I would have thought that since these were my stories, I would have remembered them more clearly or felt some of them more deeply but instead it was like reading the stories of a person that I only once knew.

Secondly, and maybe because I received them during the holidays when my mailbox was fortunate enough to receive holiday greetings from those I love, but I was so saddened by the loss of the simple act of writing a letter. I still share my stories - whether it be on facebook, or in private emails and texts, or in blog posts that are really written more for myself than for anyone else. And though our electronic and social media histories will probably outlive us all, those communications feel so immediate and somehow not quite as worthy of preserving. To hold a letter that someone wrote to you is like holding a piece of their time and you can take it out to read as often as you like, and can tuck it away into a keepsake box to be read and enjoyed again years later. 

It seems at this point that I should make some kind of declaration or New Year's resolution - to change my ways and begin to write letters once again. And who knows, maybe I will write some letters in the coming year. But chances are, like many resolutions, other priorities would take precedence and the goal of letter writing would just become a fallen resolution. So I'm going to be kinder with myself. Instead, I will give thanks for the letters that I've saved over the years and will read through them occasionally as a reminder of the journey. I'll be grateful for the stories that I have to tell and for the stories that others share with me. I'll appreciate the reminder that some worries that seem so important to us today, will be completely forgotten in a matter of time. I'll always wonder what amazing lessons I must have missed in Astronomy class. And I'll look forward to the occasional thrill of opening your mailbox to be greeted by an envelope addressed to me from someone I love.

I hope that you experience that same thrill many times in the year ahead and hope that you days are filled with stories to tell.