The days are short, bleak and cold. Thanksgiving is almost here and Christmas is on the way, but there seems to be a pervasive feeling of gloom throughout the air. People are ready for the semester to just up and die already and get on home for a nice break away from presentations, meetings, tests and the like. However, since there is a solid three weeks until that becomes a possibility, I have found — ahem, “rediscovered” — a small thing that can turn any blasé day into a day that is mostly blasé, but punctuated with a small moment of joy.
No, not referring to the new Starbucks Chestnut Praline latte or the incoming deluge of Christmas music and movies (though those are a reliable pick-me-up any day). What the world really needs is more letters. Not texts, Instagram tags or tweets — good old fashioned, inconvenient letters.The kind that take a solid two days to travel the incredibly long distance of say, Jackson to Starkville. The ones where you have to sit down and organize thoughts and, God forbid, actually write these thoughts down on paper. Don’t be scared. No one will be grading you on your thesis this time.
There’s something very satisfying about having correspondence with someone more or less on a constant basis. It makes coming home from an unendurable day of work or class a bit more enjoyable, especially if you expect a package or letter. Opening a letter is definitely one of the most underrated pleasures in the world, ranking somewhere above a really good sneeze and perhaps somewhere below the smell of freshly mown grass. It’s like a tiny present, and it’s a nice excuse to make an event out of something.
Imagine it; letter in hand, you walk to the kitchen to make a small pot of coffee. As the coffee brews, you pick out your favorite mug and pour a cup before leisurely striding over to the couch, letter and coffee in hand, to sit back and open and read the contents, punctuating this action with swigs of coffee and pillow readjustments. This is just one way to do it. A professional letter-opener could easily make this a 30-minute affair, depending on how leisurely he or she pours the coffee or whether or not he or she lights a candle, etc.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like letters are just chock-full of vital information. Nowadays it’s so much easier to just call someone if there is something crucial to tell them. Letters are, without a doubt, archaic, and there is no doubt in my mind that sometime in the future they might not exist, at least not in physical form. However, there is something so charming and enjoyable about receiving and sending mail, a practice brimming with all sorts of customs that just feel so darn satisfying. The picking of the stationary, the writing of the letter and the placement of the stamp before sending it off through the labyrinthine channels of the post office are just a few acts that really help turn a bleak, November day into a bleak, November day where you sent a letter. That’s something, right?
If you happen to find yourself with a severe case of the winter doldrums this year, I highly suggest enlisting a willing friend or family member to engage in a trial run of snail mail correspondence. It’s an opportunity to write about things that perhaps don’t often make it into text form, or perhaps are hard to mention in a conversation. Letter writing allows one’s creative juices to flow, and though it might be a bit inconvenient to purchase stamps and stationary, it’s one of those things that, once it begins, it’s rather hard to stop. And if nothing else, it gives you an excuse to take a moment or two and sit down and do something unrelated to school or work. Plus, letters are tangible, sentimental pieces of a private history concerning you and your correspondent and allow for a way to connect to a past self without wading through 12,345 Gmail messages to get there.
