At 43, I find it easy to split my life into two distinct phases: the era of letter writing and the world after it. During my youth, I was an enthusiastic correspondent, reminiscent of a Victorian writer. I kept in touch with school friends throughout the long summers, and then connected with those I met during vacation once the school year resumed. For an entire decade, I exchanged letters with my best friend from third grade, who moved abroad when we were just eight years old. I even wrote to a boy at an English boarding school who sent me delightful blue aerograms that made my heart race; he always signed off with “LOTS of LOVE,” yet seemed indifferent whenever we met face-to-face.
Recently, I stumbled upon shoeboxes meticulously labeled with the letters and journals from my past. My journal entries, chronicling the seemingly mundane years between 10 and 18, far exceed my correspondence in volume and are even more cringeworthy to revisit. The shoeboxes also contain notes that my friends and I would secretly pass to each other in class on crumpled scraps of paper. Among them are letters from my first boyfriend, who had a hint of the German Romantic spirit, even at 15. His handwriting—cramped and in all caps—stands in stark contrast to my flowing cursive. Thankfully, my letters to him have vanished, but his still manage to make me blush.
This treasure trove of words has a profound impact on me as I navigate my 40s. The sweet, silly, and even painful reminders of friendships and loves from my youth are invaluable. I feel fortunate to have experienced such deep connections, even in my teenage years. These letters and diaries anchor me to a past that is quickly fading as my own children approach their own tumultuous yet beautiful adolescent years.
However, the most overwhelming emotion these shoeboxes evoke is a sense of loss; neither I nor my children will create such emotional archives again. Digital communication, while convenient, lacks the heartfelt effort that made our letters and journals so special. No blog entry, Facebook post, or Instagram photo can capture a moment in time as effectively as a handwritten letter or diary entry. I find it hard to believe we will revisit our digital footprints decades from now. Are we really going to scroll through 20 years of Facebook updates? Most of our online interactions are meant for a vague audience, unlike the intimate writing crafted for a single recipient or just for ourselves.
My generation, standing on the brink of middle age, uniquely bridges two worlds of communication. We are among the last who truly understand what has been lost. Our children will likely only write letters when they’re at summer camp—if we’re lucky enough to receive them, we’ll probably share them on social media. They won’t have keepsakes filled with the notes of bygone friendships or boxes overflowing with love letters that leave them breathless years later. I cherish the fact that I do because looking back at my own words and those written to me is both precious and bittersweet—reflecting on who I was and who I have become.
For more reflections on the journey of parenthood, check out this insightful post on intracervicalinsemination.com/blog. If you’re considering home insemination, Make a Mom offers an excellent resource on the topic. Additionally, ACOG provides valuable information regarding treating infertility.
In summary, the nostalgia for the heartfelt communication of handwritten letters serves as a poignant reminder of how connections and self-expression have evolved. While the digital age offers convenience, it lacks the depth of personal archives that shaped our identities and relationships.