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My Thoughts on Paper Correspondence
Updated: Jan. 16, 2016
Originally Published: Sep. 24, 2015
The other day, I found myself reaching out to an acquaintance for her mailing address. We’ve met face-to-face a couple of times after connecting through social media and our writing endeavors, yet I still didn’t know where she lived. Unbeknownst to her, I wanted to send her a thoughtful card.
Isn’t it peculiar to use email just to ask for someone’s address to send a simple note? Why not just share my sentiments in the email itself? Here’s the thing: I’m not a digital native. I lean towards traditional means when it comes to social interactions. I enjoy sending and receiving greetings on paper—not all the time, but often enough.
My first job undoubtedly shaped this preference. I worked at a greeting card store during my high school years and partway through college. I loved everything about that experience: organizing cards, interacting with a diverse clientele, the delightful fudge counter (oh yes), and the strict yet invaluable boss who prepared me for adulthood. She taught me practical skills, like counting back change, which I wish more people practiced today. It was there that I honed my gift-wrapping skills and balloon artistry. Plus, having a little extra cash in my pocket was a definite perk.
But what I cherished most were the cards and stationery. I took full advantage of my employee discount, especially for quirky Shoebox cards and Mrs. Grossman’s stickers. Anytime I had the chance to give someone a card, I seized it. I even hoarded cards in my bedroom closet for future occasions. My tastes have evolved since those days, and now I favor unique cards from independent bookstores and quirky gift shops. And if I have my credit card in hand, don’t let me get too close to anything with beautiful letterpress!
When standing in front of the card display, I see the entire spectrum of human experience represented: Birth, Birthday, Wedding, New Home, Bon Voyage, New Job, Get Well, Anniversary, and Sympathy. Sadly, I find myself gravitating towards the latter categories more as time goes on. Yet, there’s an undeniable joy in discovering the perfect card that reminds me of someone special. The satisfaction that comes from selecting just the right card, whether to celebrate a friend’s birthday or to offer condolences to a coworker, is unmatched. You put pen to paper and send your thoughts off with the postal service.
Cards and letters allow the recipient to feel valued and cherished upon opening their mailbox. It’s a fleeting moment, but one that’s likely to be savored and perhaps even saved, unlike a quick message that disappears into an inbox. It is, quite simply, a special experience.
Unlike digital messages, the act of purchasing and sending a paper card requires a different level of thought and intention. You have to plan ahead to ensure it arrives on time—at least three days before a birthday, for example (thankfully, the Belated Birthday section has saved me more than once). Is there really a better way to express condolences or gratitude than through a handwritten note? Recipients are more likely to open cards during a quiet moment at home rather than while distracted at the grocery store checkout.
I appreciate the convenience of texting a nearly forgotten birthday wish before the clock strikes midnight. However, we all know the feeling of hitting send on a last-minute text (sheepish) or, worse, receiving one as an afterthought. With paper, even if it arrives a day or two late, there’s a broader margin for forgiveness. We can blame the postal service for any delays, and the sender earns points for the effort of procuring a stamp that hasn’t expired.
I relish the sound of my pen gliding across paper, the light weight of cardstock in my hand, and the distinct taste of envelope glue. I love seeing the handwritten errors in the cards I receive. We often criticize someone for not using spellcheck in an email, but it feels endearing when we notice a handwritten correction, like “you’re” changed to “your.” The difference seems arbitrary at times. Those last-minute notes reflecting the sender’s thoughts are delightful. I adore a well-placed P.S. that flows onto the back, complete with an arrow guiding me.
Having grown up in a world of paper, I cringe at the abbreviated “HBD” for birthdays or the impersonal “so sorry for ur loss” when someone is grieving. Full words seem to be disappearing. What happened to investing a few dollars in a card and writing something heartfelt on cardstock to convey genuine sentiment? When we use our pens to express emotions, we take time to think. There’s no backspace option. We must pause to consider our words, creating a space in our minds and on our desks to articulate our joy, concern, or sadness.
Of course, digital communication allows us to send messages rapidly, especially to acquaintances. We can edit and rewrite until our words are perfectly polished. But I wonder, at what cost? Are we diluting our emotional connections in the process?
Those tangible pieces of art and prose uplift people. I’ve witnessed it firsthand. I remember the joy on customers’ faces when they found the perfect birthday card for a loved one or the solemn expressions of those searching for the right words to acknowledge a loss. I can still envision grandmothers purchasing extravagant cards for the arrival of new grandchildren.
I grew up in an era before Facebook birthdays, where heartfelt wishes were delivered on paper instead of screens. I’ve seen the magic that unfolds in card store aisles, and I know the happiness that comes from opening a mailbox to find a card, or better yet, having a friend send one even from miles away.
This article was originally published on Sep. 24, 2015. For further insights, check out this post on privacy policies and explore more about navigating your couples’ fertility journey. Additionally, the CDC offers excellent resources for those considering pregnancy and home insemination.
Summary:
This reflection emphasizes the enduring charm of paper correspondence in a digital world. It celebrates the thoughtfulness involved in selecting and sending cards, contrasting it with the impersonal nature of texts and emails. The author shares personal anecdotes from their first job at a greeting card store and expresses their belief in the emotional weight of handwritten notes. Ultimately, the article advocates for the beauty of tangible greetings that foster deeper connections.