Letters

The handwritten word…

My favorite part in the letter writing ritual is prepping for it’s journey. I start by proofreading my letter—my handwriting is sloppy. I fold my letter in perfect thirds, and package it so the first page is the first thing the recipient sees. I run my fingers around the sharp edges of the envelope. I place a stamp in the top right corner, just as I was taught in grade school. I lick the back of the envelope, taste the residue on my tongue, and feel it drip down my throat. Licking the envelope brings back memories of watching Mother do the bills at our dining room table. She’d always let me lick the envelopes before she dropped them in the mailbox.

I’m on a campaign to rescue the United States Postal Service. This year, I’ve spent $19.80 mailing twenty handwritten letters to family and friends; that’s an average of two letters per week. I could have sent a message on Facebook for free, but I decided to pay money to send my correspondence.

But why?

A few months ago, I wrote a story about my friend, Derek Langford, who committed suicide. After his death I learned I needed to better maintain the “cords of friendship” with both friends and family.

I started by sending more emails—something besides the typical “how you been” variety. But I remembered it’s easy for an email to get lost in the cavalcade of messages cluttering an inbox. Email has become tantamount to postal junk mail. The majority of emails I receive are rewards offers from La Quinta hotels, birthday notifications from Facebook, or receipts from iTunes.

A phone call was my next option. It’s a great way to call and say I love you, but you can’t replay a phone call unless you’re taping it. On the other hand, a memorable email can be saved for later viewing.

But neither of these options was good enough for me. It’s what I had tried for the past ten years with varying results.

Steve Jobs was obsessed with the packaging of Apple products—he believed it conveyed a sense of quality and thoughtfulness on behalf of the creator. Apple still agonizes over the packaging of iPods, iPhones, and iPads. Jobs wanted it to feel like a ritual when an Apple customer opened a new device. I wanted my friends and family to feel that same ritual when they received a message from me.

But how could I do that?

Part of getting our messages to resonate—to convey that we care—is to make our communication stand out. And so I took a lesson from Steve Jobs and adopted a solution that would allow me to control the “entire widget.”

I was going to write handwritten letters.

How often do you check your mail—postal or email—and feel disappointed when you receive nothing but junk? Imagine the surprise of receiving a handwritten letter. It’s like sending out a packet of happiness to be redeemed at a later date.

After I drop a letter in my mailbox, it’s nice to know the message I sent isn’t going to be transmitted instantly. It’s like a middle finger to the gods of the internet.

It takes time to write a letter: to gather your thoughts, and write them on a piece of paper with no backspace key. And if you’re purchasing stamps to send a letter—at forty-nine cents a pop—they’re going to know you care when you could have simply logged into your computer and sent a message for free.

But then your communication wouldn’t resonate—you’d be the same as everyone else.

Handwritten letters can make a comeback just as vinyl records have in recent years. There’s a personalized quality in vinyl records that’s missing from Internet radio, just like there’s a personalized quality in handwritten letters that’s missing from emails.

Set a reasonable goal. Write one letter a week or month.

Email and text messages are filling up your relationships for the short term; a handwritten letter is the oil change that keeps it running for a long time.

So put the pen to paper and your thoughts in ink. Sign the bottom. Fold the letter. Lick the envelope.

Place a stamp in the top right corner. Remember how to address an envelope. Google how to address an envelope. Run your hands around the sharpened corners. Walk your letter to the mailbox. Put the handle up.

And wait.