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My Thoughts on Paper Greetings
The other day, I reached out to a friend, Olivia, for her mailing address. We’ve met a couple of times in person after connecting through social media and our writing, yet I still had no idea where she lived. It might seem strange, but I wanted to send her a card.
Isn’t it odd to use email just to find out someone’s address for a note? Why not just write everything in the email? Here’s the deal: I’m not a digital native. I lean towards the old-school way of connecting—preferably through paper, whether I’m the sender or the recipient.
My first job plays a big role in this preference. I worked at a greeting card store during high school and part of college. I adored that job for many reasons: the organized chaos of stocking cards, the variety of customers, the temptation of the fudge counter (who could resist?), and my strict boss, who pushed me to be better prepared for the future. She even made us count back change to customers, a skill I wish was more common today. I became a whiz at gift wrapping and balloon bouquets, which was a nice bonus.
But what I loved most was the cards and stationery. I took full advantage of my employee discount, especially on Shoebox cards and Mrs. Grossman’s stickers. Whenever I had the chance, I’d buy cards for any occasion, stockpiling them in my closet for future use. These days, I’ve developed a taste for quirky cards from indie shops, and if I have my credit card handy, I can’t resist anything letterpressed.
Standing in front of a card display, I see life’s milestones laid out: Births, Birthdays, Weddings, New Homes, Bon Voyages, New Jobs, Get Wells, Anniversaries, and Sympathies. Lately, I find myself gravitating towards the latter. There’s something special about discovering a card that reminds you of someone specific. The satisfaction of finding just the right card for a friend’s birthday or a sympathy card for a coworker is unmatched. You write out your thoughts, place it in the envelope, and send it off with the mail carrier.
Receiving a card offers a sense of being cherished. It’s a fleeting moment of joy, but one that feels more meaningful than a quick text or email. Cards require more thought and intention. You have to plan ahead to ensure it arrives on time—something I admit I sometimes forget, but the Belated Birthday section has saved me more than once. And really, is there a more appropriate way to express condolences or gratitude than through a handwritten note? The recipient is more likely to open it at home, in a quiet moment, rather than while distracted in a grocery line.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve appreciated the ability to send quick birthday wishes via text at the last minute. But when it’s that late, we all know how it feels to hit send (sheepishly) or worse, to receive one of those last-minute messages. With paper, even if it arrives a little late, there’s more forgiveness. We can blame the slow mail service, and the sender gets points for the effort of finding a stamp.
I love the sound of ink gliding across paper, the feel of cardstock in my hands, and the taste of envelope glue (though that might just be me). I appreciate the handwritten imperfections in cards I receive. While we might criticize someone for a typo in an email, it feels endearing to see someone’s corrections in their handwriting. Those last-minute notes add a personal touch that technology can’t replicate.
Having grown up with handwritten notes, I cringe at the shorthand “HBD” for birthdays or the cold “so sorry for ur loss” when someone’s grieving. Whatever happened to taking a moment to write something heartfelt on a card, showing that you truly care beyond the fleeting seconds it takes to tap out a message on a phone? Writing by hand forces us to slow down, to think about our words. There’s no backspace button, so we must consider our feelings and express them clearly.
Sure, we can send more messages quickly through texts and emails, particularly to those who are merely acquaintances. We can edit and rewrite until we achieve that perfect message. But what do we lose in that process? Are we diluting our emotional connections?
Those little squares of paper with illustrations and heartfelt words have the power to uplift. I’ve seen it firsthand. I remember the joy on customers’ faces when they found the perfect card for a loved one. I also recall the solemn expressions of those searching for a way to express sympathy, even if the words weren’t their own. I’ve witnessed grandmothers splurging on extravagant cards for their new grandchildren.
I reminisce about a time before Facebook birthdays, when heartfelt wishes were etched on paper instead of sent through devices. I remember the joy of opening my mailbox to find a card, or better yet, a surprise from a friend who lives far away.
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In summary, there’s something irreplaceable about the tangible connection offered by a card. It’s a reminder of the thought and care put into a relationship, far beyond what a quick digital message can convey.