Into the past

Last night I went back in history. In my quest to streamline my life, I decided to sort my two gift-bags (small size!) of letters accumulated over the years. I didn't expect it to be such a reflective experience, but those letters brought back memories. People I didn't remember being close with; personal and deep thoughts, shared over distances; friends I'm no longer close with, or some I've newly re-found. I was happy to discover that I did correspond with friends; that I tried to maintain relationships, and support those who were far away from me. I was more bemused to discover how intensely I took communications, and life. I was intense! Heart-baring. Wow.

What was truly amazing was the realization that that form of communication no longer exists. The feeling of urgency about getting someone's postal address, or you might lose touch with them forever and never be able to hear from them again. The time put into composing a letter. The sense that there was a minimum length that was acceptable. Picking up a letter at different times to continue writing. The sense of a special bond that arose from these communications - hand-written, directed to you, containing more than the words: pictures, personally designed envelopes, doodles, those individual touches that let you know someone was thinking about you and wanted to share with you. And those letters as a network connecting you with a few precious individuals in widely dispersed locations. Without the letters, how could the friendship be sustained? And finally - waiting. Waiting weeks or months for a letter. Knowing that if you wrote to someone, you could reasonably expect to wait weeks if not months to hear back.

Something is different between those letters and email. Something about the space - the time delays - chances for reflection - handwritten missives compared to typing - makes them a particularly strong form of connection. Or possibly: I'm just not a teenager any more.