Write Into Vintage May 22 2013, 0 Comments
This is my face every time I receive a handwritten letter:
I don’t even have to know what’s inside the envelope. Seeing my name scrawled across the paper in an unfamiliar, looping cursive catapults my mind into imaginings of a star crossed lover, an inheritance from a Great Aunt I never knew I had or the lost confession of Audrey Hepburn admitting that I am her illegitimate child (sorry Mum).
I suppose that over the generations, letter writing has become a lost art. The appreciation that someone took the time to consider what they wanted to say, rather than simply typing out their immediate thoughts and pressing send, is too often forgotten.
You see, writing requires effort. Not only do you need to capture the words you want to convey, or choose the perfect piece of paper - you also have to find an ideal writing spot to settle down into for hours on end.
Then, after all the time and effort that goes into channeling your head chatter and packaging it up, you have a physical representation of your emotions you now need to deal with. Do you or don’t you send it? Hmmm… decisions, decisions!
And yet, some of the most thrilling moments in my life have been the dropping of a small, but often thick, rectangle package of feelings into a post box and walking away not knowing what will become of it. This somewhat underappreciated, old-school form of communication seems to carry with it something more than what the stamp is entitled to send.
By writing a letter, you can capture a little of our lost innocence in the inky words. It somehow seems more pure to pour your heart out into an envelope and embrace the sacred time between now and when your message is delivered than typing into a machine that buzzes with a reply almost instantly.
Above all else though, is this – when you sit down and pick up a pen, you are about to send another person the most powerful form of magic in our lives – someone, somewhere, at some point in time, was thinking about you. And that sentiment will never grow old.