Picture your day thus far. You woke up and checked your email, which included one from The TIG. You texted your friends, and played catch up, not even fully using words, but instead with stylized cartoonish graphics that have somehow made the leap from schoolgirl favored to middle aged appropriate (cha cha-ing dancer & jazz hands, anyone?). I use them too, but it’s not lost on me that the emoji of it all is kinda random, right? Then there’s Twitter and Instagram, the direct messages and comment boards — the constant carpel tunnel inducing typing, and hunching over a phone/a laptop/an “i”anything, so much so that life (that connection) is all done through a device.
I’m admittedly a Luddite (ironic considering I’m now the girl with a lifestyle website, I know), but if given the option between fingers to keyboard, or pen to paper, I will always choose the latter. Because amongst the throwback things that I love (a ’62 porsche speedster à la Dylan McKay in 90210, a bevy of Vargas girls, a Busby Berkeley film, or cooking over a charcoal grill), what trumps all is my love of writing (and receiving) a handwritten note.
Let’s take part A of that equation – the thoughtful meditative moment of penning your words onto stationery (from G.Lalo to craft paper), licking and sealing an envelope, dropping it into the post, and knowing that it will be met (whether in some other part of town or some other part of the world) with a smile.
Now part B – a trickier explanation, because I can’t write this impartially. I am a gal who just loves getting mail. Oh my god, I absolutely relish it. I know my mailman’s name, I race to the door when mail comes (usually just fliers or bills), but I always hold out hope that there will be a letter. A sweet letter. And that I will have the tactile experience of un-creasing the paper, reciting the words, and holding someone’s thoughts in my hands.
Let someone hold your thoughts today. Go write a letter.