There’s a romanticism that comes with the written letter.
This came to mind with Mark DeLong’s piece for Three Quarks Daily; his piece initially explores handwriting as a technology that is both utilitarian and demonstrative of the writer’s personality (if one can read their unique font, of course!). Then, he muses on the art and value of letter writing – and what has stuck with me is the following:
“…when I handwrite a letter, my hand moves to draw a thought for a specific person. A person who may live thousands of miles away soon (or maybe soon-ish) will grasp the same paper and decipher a personal message from my distinctive and messy hand.”
Regardless of the relationship between sender and recipient, the written letter stands out amongst the “immedia-sea” of artificial art and content creation as a profoundly romantic act of rebellion.
By romantic, I mean that there’s a certain indulgence in allowing oneself the space to collect thoughts and emotions before committing ink to paper. (Sure, one could rewrite the letter until words are perfect – but there is no deleting the thoughts once sent, unless they are burned in a dramatic display.) There’s further spend of one’s finite resources – time, space, stationary – that speak to the underlying dedication to and value for the relationship with the recipient. It is a commitment that is unavoidably diminished when one uses an email or a text to share their thoughts (as we all do – as even I am doing right now).
And by rebellious, I think of how letter writing defies the quicker options – the newer, more convenient technologies – that are foisted upon us. How our relationships are encouraged to exist through social media channels; how bonds invariably become reduced to passive scrolling and the haptic perception of active participation by feeling that “thumbs up” when a button is pressed.
One of my husband’s dear friends is, by this definition, a hopeless romantic. Living and working abroad for several years now, in a job that affords frequent travel, this friend has faithfully sent over 100 postcards to each of his oldest friends. Nearly 40 years of space and time bound in short mindful acts to paper. They have a group chat, mind you, but I think that makes these notes – a social media post’s worth of thoughts on each card, and which could have been sent in as texts in the chat – even more special.
My nan was another romantic in this fashion. Tight, tiny cursive that packed on white or pale pink A6 stationary, or on postcards, with the date in the corner, and plenty of xxx’s and ooo’s after her name. When she travelled, she felt it was important to let people know she still carried them in her heart. I tried to mimic her, sending her letters or having pen pals through school programs, but got out of the habit as I got older.
After reflecting on Mark’s post, and in a time and space in need of real connection, I rather like the idea of starting up again. Letters are a gift of thought, over minutes and hours, placed delicately onto pages. And I feel that we need more romantics these days.
campfire notebook. 