Call me old-fashioned, but I still delight at finding personal letters in the mailbox. There is just something uplifting about a handwritten letter.  A letter is testament that thoughts of you inspired someone to reach out across space and time to make a connection.  Knowing that someone sat down, put pen to paper, and composed a message especially for you feels like a personal affirmation, tangible evidence of your significance in their life.  

This once customary, intentional manner of corresponding is fast becoming a lost art, replaced by impersonal, group emails and hastily typed, misspelled, grammatically incorrect, emoji laden texts.  Don’t get me wrong.  Discovering email in my inbox can also be satisfying.  And the convenience of texting cannot be denied.  But letters are still my preferred mode of written communication.  These days, finding a hand-addressed envelope among the circulars and bulk mail feels akin to unearthing hidden treasure. 

Every couple of weeks, for the past few months, a bulky Manila envelope has shown up in the mailbox from a familiar return address, Averill Park, New York 12018.  My one remaining, eighty-eight year old, paternal aunt has been sifting through a lifetime of accumulated possessions in preparation for selling her house.  Each envelope has been carefully filled with cards and letters she received from me dating back to 1966.  I can’t help but laugh at those earliest samples of printing by my six-year-old hand.  Letters from two years later reveal that I was learning cursive in third grade.  Discovering that she had saved my letters, just as I had kept hers, was added confirmation of our mutual affection.  Chronologically arranging her correspondence to me alongside mine to her reveals our lives in letters. 

Letters have long played a crucial role in human history. They’ve served as primary sources of information, provided personal accounts of historic events, and given voice to the thoughts, feelings, and experiences of ordinary people that might not otherwise be documented.  These intimate accounts of notable events, as well as everyday life, lend a more personal perspective as well as a broader understanding of social, cultural, religious, and political trends.  By chronicling current as well as events of the distant past, letters have offered insights into history be it of an individual, interpersonal, national, or global nature.  Letters have been invaluable in piecing together our human story.   

On a personal note, letters were the basis for my parents’ sixty-five year marriage between a Navy veteran of the Korean War from upstate New York and a farmer’s daughter in her senior year of high school from eastern Kentucky.  As a member of a letter-writing family, I started exchanging correspondence with my paternal grandparents, aunts, and cousins as soon as I learned to print and spell.  Regular letters, birthday and holiday greetings seemed to diminish the thousand miles between us.  Their devotion to staying connected taught me that the quality of relationships is not dependent on how far apart we are, but by the effort we make to stay close.  

Belonging to a letter-writing family meant trips to the post office were eagerly anticipated.  I remember finally being tall enough to retrieve the mail from our top row box, having memorized the combination after years of watching from below as my father turned the dial, right, left, right.  Such a simple pleasure.  Even now, strolling out to check the mailbox is an errand I relish in my daily routine.    

Kinfolk are not the only circle with whom I’ve exchanged written correspondence.  Sitting beside my desk is a hand-painted, wooden chest filled with cards and letters from acquaintances and friends from every locale I have called home.  During the pandemic, in May of 2020, I reached out to my then 98-year-old, third-grade teacher after finding a newspaper clipping recounting our 1969 May Day celebration.  Slightly uncertain how my attempt to reconnect would be received, I was positively giddy with Miss Oliver’s reply.  She assured me my effort was both welcomed and appreciated as it, “gave me a lot of pleasure, and I love you for it.”

Over the next four years we wrote to each other faithfully. In her third letter, she referred to us as pen pals.  In her fourth letter she gave me permission to address her by her given name, Gladys, elevating my status from former student to friend.  In the throes of those lugubrious months of national unrest and social isolation, our letters were a lifeline between us.  

When her arthritic fingers no longer allowed her to write, I continued to do so.  Phone calls became her mode of reply.  Upon learning of her death in September of 2024, at the age of 102, I reread some of Gladys’ letters.  Through our postal tete-a-tete, I came to know her as a person rather than a role.  The thirty-eight years and hundreds of miles that separated us were diminished by the close bond we forged. I was struck by how often Gladys mentioned that our correspondence “meant the world” to her and did her “a world of good.”  The same was true for me.    

Whether employed to provide information, recount events, air grievances, extend condolences, proclaim love, or simply stay in touch, the potency of the written word is not to be underestimated.  Thoughts expressed in a heartfelt letter can kindle feelings every bit as fervent as those evoked during a face-to-face conversation.   When face-to-face encounters portend the inhibition of candid disclosure, a letter may more readily convey the desired message.  Letters remove the element of an immediate reaction, giving both the sender and the receiver a chance to think, reflect, correct, and edit before initiating or responding to an exchange.  Ironically, while letters presume some degree of physical distance, they can promote a deepened sense of connection.   

Apparently, there is a tendency to be more honest and forthcoming in written communication.  Recent findings indicate that the brain is more engaged when writing by hand, allowing for more intentional consideration and emotional authenticity when articulating thoughts and feelings.  Perhaps we feel more accountable for what we say when we put it in writing.  It’s hard to deny the handwritten word.

In and of themselves, words have no inherent meaning.  They are merely combinations of symbols on a page or sounds emitted from the mouth.  It is the meaning that we assign to them that determines their significance.  Their power is derived from the circumstances, including the underlying emotions and relationship dynamics, within which they are expressed.  When J. K. Rowling’s beloved, literary character, Dumbledore, claims, “Words are…our most inexhaustible source of magic.  Capable of both inflicting injury and remedying it,” the author reveals a well known, yet frequently ignored linguistic property.  Whether in literary dialogue or actual interpersonal communication, words, their presence as well as their absence, have the capacity to create or destroy, depending on how we wield them. Choosing to use words for the purpose of the former rather than the latter, while not magic, can be a superpower worth cultivating.

As with any form of communication, whether verbal, typed, or handwritten, the greatest challenge is matching our actions with our words.  When the two do not jibe, the discrepancy creates confusion, disappointment, and distrust lending to the erosion of relationships.  When our deeds affirm our words, we reduce the likelihood of miscommunication and misinterpretation that separates rather than brings us together. 

Although this essay has been sitting in an unfinished documents file for months, after recently reading The Correspondent, a novel by Virginia Evans comprised entirely of letters and emails exchanged between the protagonist and various characters, I felt compelled to return to it and finish.  While the book contained numerous noteworthy passages, the one that struck home was, “Imagine the letters one has sent out into the world, the letters received back in turn, are like the pieces of a magnificent puzzle…links of a long chain…isn’t there something wonderful in that, to think that a story of one’s life is preserved in some way, that this very letter may one day mean something, even if a very small thing, to someone?”  So the next time you feel the urge to reach out and touch someone, do it with a letter.  No matter who they are, near or far, choose your words carefully.  Use your power wisely.  Embrace the enduring custom of documenting your life in letters.