T
here was a letter for me in the mail. I waited for my turn to dig through the old mailbox at the front of the barn. Each letter was sweetly decorated with the campers’ names surrounded by glitter, stickers, and colorful designs that turned the letters into the most perfect present. It was one of those lucky days when I saw my name on one of them; I immediately looked to the return address and ripped open the envelope seal. I became ecstatic to read all about my friend who had taken the time to write to me and keep in touch during my time away. I had been at a sleep-away camp on a farm in Pennsylvania and, being in the middle of nowhere, receiving a letter was the best feeling in the world. 

That feeling inspired me to reciprocate it, so I began to spend time writing letters to my family and friends. I would lie down in my bunk with my pens and paper to fill up pages with what I did that day. I’d write about my new discoveries of the week, and what I was excited to do when I got back home, and as my correspondences developed, I’d respond to the questions asked and curiosities raised by the letters I had received from others. These handwritten exchanges kept me connected to the outside world during the entire month I spent at camp without my phone or access to any other kind of digital communication. During that time, I began to treasure the act of letter writing and learned that letters are an invaluable gift, one of the most sincere ways to show someone how much you love and care for them. Letters are so special that I struggle to ever throw away any of them. Somewhere in my room, there is a bin filled with practically every and any card or letter I’ve received. 

As much as I appreciate letters, though, it sometimes troubles me that we don’t value them as much as we used to. As time has tumbled forward and new forms of communication have emerged, the popularity of letter writing has decreased. Now we hold our pen and paper in the screens we tuck inside our pockets, toss next to our beds or hold up to our ears. Enveloped in our digital technologies, I fear that we might be losing something significant in our pursuit of efficiency. Although I will forever be grateful for the speed of text messages and their convenience, they will never be able to hold the same significance and intimacy of a card that is signed, sealed and delivered personally to you. 

Enveloped in our digital technologies, I fear that we might be losing something significant in our pursuit of efficiency.

When you receive a letter, you receive far more than just words or a piece of paper. You receive the way that someone writes, how their hand fills a page, how they stuff what they want to say into the margins, the corners, around the sides and all the way to the opposite side of the paper, trying their very hardest to use up all of the blank space. Even the paper itself is distinctive. Every letter comes with a different piece of paper. Sometimes a card is glossy and cream-colored, and sometimes a notebook page is torn or crumbled. I remember receiving a handmade letter, embroidered with purple string outlining the shapes of the states, labeled with California (home) and Pennsylvania (camp), and covered in drawings of cows. Letters are immersive experiences, a way to physically feel and touch someone’s affection. 

In college, we live among the past, studying old books and words that might have been written decades or centuries ago. Like books, letters hold onto our shared histories. In these physical artifacts, the future can connect to the past. Reading the words we have written and exchanged with one another gives us a material tether to history, allowing us to dive deeper into the shared stories of our past. In my history class, we often read letters by historical figures and I always find these readings the most fascinating aspect of the class. Reading first-hand accounts offers an intimate view of historical events and how people were personally affected by them. Beyond the facts, letters allow me to deeply conceptualize the emotional and human aspects of history. 

Reading the words we have written and exchanged with one another gives us a material tether to history, allowing us to dive deeper into the shared stories of our past.

Some say that letter writing can be healing, an act that helps us work through our difficult thoughts and emotions. I’ve grown up with a journal next to my bed. My mother has taught me the power of writing as a coping mechanism from a very young age. In times when I can’t stop spiraling about a persisting thought or situation or I’m confused about choices I’m making and the overarching question of what I’m doing with my life, I turn to my favorite impartial listener, my notebook. As I continue to navigate all of the different relationships in my life, I have found solace in my notebook. It’s a space where my stream of consciousness can spill out onto the page, and writing it there allows me to get a grasp on how I’m actually feeling. Sometimes, it helps me finally see the true root of a problem. My notebook has also given me the gift of being able to look back on what I’ve written, seeing how life evolves and how problems often become resolved in the end. Writing gives me an outlet for both outrage and reflection.   

Letter writing can offer us a place to get in touch with the unresolved parts of ourselves, the thoughts that won’t leave unless marked down on paper. It creates a place to talk, in some sense, to our younger and future selves. In high school at the beginning of freshman year, my class was given an assignment asking us to write letters to our future selves who would receive them during senior year. As 14 and 15-year-olds, we took the time to really contemplate our future selves, how we wanted to act, how we hoped to feel, the goals we hoped to reach, and the friends we hoped would stick around. At the time, I admired and looked up to the seniors. I always saw them as cooler, wiser, and smarter people than me. Picturing myself as them, in the same place only four years later, seemed impossible and inspiring at the same time. It made me curious to see how I would grow into myself, and what kind of senior I might become. I wrote to that person, imagining some parts of myself fading away as other parts began to shine through, becoming who I had hoped to be. Writing out my aspirations gave me what I needed to turn my words into action.

I wrote to that person, imagining some parts of myself fading away as other parts began to shine through, becoming who I had hoped to be.

There is an intimate, human quality to handwritten letters. They can create a material connection with others from miles away that can forever be held and looked back on. These letters also in time can serve as written records of history, tangible reminders of the past. In our movement towards digital technology, we risk the loss of one of the most treasured forms of human communication. Letters are not only valuable for the receiver but also for the giver. Writing awards us with a space to be free with our emotions and current annoyances. And these kinds of letters don’t always need to be sent in the mail, sometimes they can be stored away just for ourselves. As we continue to text, call and send emails, maybe also go out and buy yourself a notebook to leave on your bedside. You might just need a pen and paper to find a remedy for that tiny voice in your head that is keeping you from embracing the present moment.