The Letter Jar

Monday Letter Lore: "I Dont Know What Art is All About"

2011-07-11T10:00:00.022-05:00

Georgia O'Keeffe, 1918

There are careers, and there are passions, and then there are the friends who help you sort them out.

I've been told I'm very good, and I'm fairly compensated, in my career in non-profit member communications. And while I do like my job, I can't say I love it.

What I love is handwriting letters to friends and family and endeavoring to inspire others to do the same. These activities are my passion, but I often do wonder, am I really any good at them? (The inspiration part, I guess. I'm willing to believe that I'm pretty good at writing letters.)

I felt a little bit better about my self-doubt when I read the subject of this week's Monday Letter Lore, a letter from legendary artist Georgia O'Keeffe to a friend in New York. (This letter is yet another from the simply extraordinary America 1900-1999: Letters of the Century.)

At the time O'Keeffe had spent several week in her beloved New Mexico, the new home that inspired some of her most amazing work. In the letter she recounts reading an art book--one that features a profile of her and is the lone piece of printed material she has brought along:

July 31, 1931

I dont know what it is all about. I look through the rest of the book and decide that frankly--I dont know what Art is all about--

Georgia O'Keeffe didn't think she knew what art was all about. Georgia O'Keeffe--one of America's most important modern artists and a celebrated cultural icon--doubted she knew what ART was all about.

Reading her words, I realized two things:

I ought not let my worries about whether I excel at my passion keep me from pursuing it.

How precious is the person or people in our lives to whom we can admit anything, even the seemingly self-incriminating.

For me, one of those precious people is a bestselling author friend. As I have struggled to establish my own writing career, she has encouraged me, serendipitously put me in touch with people who could help, and most of all served as a role model for never losing sight of your true passion, no matter what other accomplishments you accumulate along the way. (She was a successful interior designer before becoming a multimillion-dollar selling author.)

My friend once said to me that I have this dream--to write with the intent of helping save the art of handwritten correspondence--because it is attainable. I'm not dreaming about being an astronaut, or a supermodel, or a Supreme Court justice. I'm dreaming about something that is within my abilities to achieve. I took the opportunity of a letter to thank her for those special words, which have pulled me through many of my own "I don't know Art is all about" moments:

You're right--I had the dream because I'm supposed to fulfill it. So, so amazing ... thanks for being a reason to believe that dreams can come true, that dignity, class, dedication and faith will prevail and the universe is listening more closely and actively than we know.

When I've pondered my life's work--What it should be? How can I do it? Do I really know how to do it?--there have been seemingly endless resources to help me sort it out. Life coaches, websites, seminars and books have all helped, but nothing can replace the words of a friend who knows me and knows what I'm trying to achieve, and has spotted at the end of the tunnel the light I thought had long since been extinguished.

I'm reminded, too, that inasmuch as my friend was my cheerleader, I may wittingly, or unwittingly, play the same role for someone else in my life. It is a privilege and an honor I can't take lightly.

Write on.

DID YOU KNOW LETTERS & JOURNALS MAGAZINE HAS A FACEBOOK PAGE? If you're like me and can't get enough of lovely stationery and journals, you'll want to become a fan and watch for the regular, lust-inducing giveaways offered along with news and curiosities from the world of handwritten correspondence.

Precious Time

2011-07-08T10:00:00.003-05:00

Lately, far more often than I'd like to admit, I've found myself thinking, "I don't have time to write a letter today," or "I'll write tomorrow" or "Maybe I'll find time this weekend."

It's not that life hasn't indeed been busy. A family member was recently hospitalized. My toddler--despite being on the run and up the walls and down the stairs all day long--never seems to get tired. Expanded responsibilities and new technologies challenge me at my job.

No, it's not that extra time and energy aren't scarce. Rather, it's the conclusions I draw about that reality--that somehow, using some of my precious minutes to write a letter is either too relaxing (shouldn't I be cleaning the refrigerator instead?) or not relaxing enough (why not just unwind with some channel surfing and chardonnay?)

But when I do compose a note, as I did recently to my friend L from college, I am reminded that letter writing offers both discipline and release. Sure, putting pen to paper is a mental exercise requiring a bit more time and physical labor than texting, but, done right, it's a spiritual practice too. I suppose some letters for some people are a blood pressure-raising experience, but I have chosen to devote none of mine to settling scores with adversaries or hashing out bygone dramas with estranged relatives. Instead, my letters to friends and family reminisce on shared good times, recall old jokes and recognize how enriched I am by the blessings my relationships have bestowed. Like I told L:

I am so glad we have kept in touch through our Christmas cards. I look forward every year to your letter--I so enjoy hearing about your travels and your charity work, and I am so inspired by your sense of adventure and optimism.

It's when I'm most busy, my days filled with opportunities and obligations, that I most need a practice that encourages me to slow down, be thankful and think abundantly. While letter writing can seemingly threaten to leave me with less precious time, in the end it helps to make more of my time precious.

Write on.

MUCH MORE THAN COOKIES: More than a dozen women who were Girl Scouts together almost 40 years ago have kept their friendships strong. I am inspired, and a little nostalgic for our my own fond memories of Camp Wood E Lo Hi.

No Two Alike

2011-06-21T09:00:00.002-05:00

In the past month I've been to two communications conferences where the focus has been, not surprisingly, on all things digital. So much content for us to consume--websites, wikis, blogs and social networks. A next big thing called content curation.

And so many ways to consume --smartphones, tablets, Internet TV, to say nothing of those antiques, the laptop and desktop PC.

It's all so simple. And so fast. Talking to so many people, in so little time.

It was enough to make a girl say, "Tell me again why I'm handwriting letters?"

Fair question. But here's the thing: for all the things electronic communication can do, there are some things it can't:

Create a tangible connection. When I receive a handwritten letter in the mail, I know that the sender touched that same piece of paper. No matter how many thousands of miles I erase when Facebooking with my friend in Japan, I still can't create that same intimacy.

Leave something valuable behind. Yes, emails can be printed and saved. But how many are? And when an email is printed, in that Times New Roman or Courier font, on that run-of-the-mill (literally) white printer paper, how personal does it seem? At a glance, does that letter look any different than the water bill? A stack of letters saved in a box looks like a piece of history. A stack of emails printed out looks like, well, a stack of printouts.

A handwritten letter is a representation of the sender, with all of his or her idiosyncrasies and eccentricities. The paper. The handwriting. The color of the pen. The straight, or decidedly not straight, lines. Drawings in the margin. The postscript(s).

Case in point: I recently received a letter from T, a public defender. When I was learning the ropes as a newspaper reporter he was my nemesis; when I earned his trust he was a valued source; now I'm proud to call him a friend. I wrote to thank him for all he taught me. His response noted, in part, that he'd shown my letter (which he described as "a pretty large rock thrown into the tranquil pond of my cognition") to another reporter "I done went and scared/offended/pissed off at the courthouse."

T could have typed all that in an email, and I would have still smiled at the sentiment. But somehow the words weighed more written on the nice stationery, in that same tall, skinny scrawl I remember from all those court filings. I knew T didn't start and stop and delete and spellcheck--it was one time through, no rehearsals, from the heart.

And that's the thing about handwritten letters--and the snowflakes that illustrate this post--no two are alike. Because no two of us are alike. A letter is uniquely personal, someone's blood, sweat and ink. The product of his or her hand, to be held in yours.

Write on.

HANDWRITING IS GOOD FOR YOU? Believe it. A recent Los Angeles Times article notes that "Emerging research shows that handwriting increases brain activity, hones fine motor skills, and can predict a child's academic success in ways that keyboarding can't."

Monday Letter Lore: "Unpack"

2011-04-19T09:00:00.003-05:00

Today's letter, a reminder that not all letters need be lengthy, comes courtesy of one of my favorite new books: America 1900-1999: Letters of the Century. Hundreds of the letters by the famous, the infamous and the unknown. When a letter writer stops to read, and her mailbox is empty, this is what she picks up.

After disproving the predictions to win the White House -- and holding high the erroneous Chicago Tribune proclaiming Dewey's victory for the now iconic photo -- President Harry S. Truman received this short and sweet letter from his friend, comedian Bob Hope:

November 3, 1948

President Harry Truman
The White House
Washington, D.C.

Unpack.

Bob Hope

Some of my letters have been brief (though Mr. Hope, naturally, was far more successful at finding the wit that Shakespeare so lovingly associated with brevity) but others seemed to march toward some mysterious word limit that must be reached in order for a letter to have meaning. I can definitely think of times when I've rambled on needlessly, times when shorter indeed would have been sweeter.

So while I've certainly had opportunities to write one -- or two or three or seventy-seven -- word fewer, could I ever express myself with just one word? An interesting proposition indeed; what might it be? "Thanks"? "Sorry"? "Help"?

Write on.

ONE-WORD WISDOM: To discover what can really be done with one word, check out my friend's blog, Words.JenVisser.com. Jen has cleverly surmounted writer's block by sending cards to friends, asking them for words to use as writing prompts. Just as fun as reading what's she produced so far is perusing the "word list" and seeing what's to come!

Monday Letter Lore: "A Quarter Century's Worth of Thanks"

2011-03-28T23:00:00.000-05:00

If The Letter Jar project has had one consistent theme, it's gratitude. At times it has seemed there are as many reasons to be grateful as there are names in the jar (a wonderful situation indeed). I've thanked:

*A former employee for his dedication and creativity

*A one-time presidential candidate for treating me with respect when I interviewed him as a cub reporter

*My son's daycare teacher for her extraordinary support and skill

*The public defender who made me a better reporter

I've thanked an airline customer service agent who made a difference for me at a crucial moment, favorite musicians for sharing their gifts. Old flames for teaching me how to have fun. My parents for raising me well.

The dozens of thank yous I've penned have humbled me -- I've wondered at times how an average gal like me gets so lucky and deserves such riches. However the letter below, discovered through the truly amazing Letters of Note website, shows that not even the most "un-average" among us are above acknowledging help. Here, on the 25th anniversary of the lunar landing, the first man on the moon thanks the makers of his "EMU," or Extravehicular Mobility Unit:

To the EMU gang:

I remember noting a quarter century or so ago that an emu was a 6 foot Australian flightless bird. I thought that got most of it right.

It turned out to be one of the most widely photographed spacecraft in history. That was no doubt due to the fact that it was so photogenic. Equally responsible for its success was its characteristic of hiding from view its ugly occupant.

Its true beauty, however, was that it worked. It was tough, reliable and almost cuddly.

To all of you who made it all that it was, I send a quarter century's worth of thanks and congratulations.

Sincerely,

Neil A. Armstrong

The perfect thank you -- humble, heartfelt and even a little humorous (the "almost cuddly" EMU?) Who doesn't have someone to thank for working for us, for giving us a lift when we needed it, for a boost in our critical hour?

Write on.

Monday Letter Lore: "In the end you are sure to succeed"

2011-03-15T08:15:00.000-05:00

Today marks the debut Monday Letter Lore, a weekly offering of memorable letters in history as fodder for our imaginations, grist for our mills.

At times throughout The Letter Jar I have found myself writing a letter of encouragement -- to a friend or and family member facing illness or infertility, even simple indecision. While I sometimes struggle with what to say, I always feel better stumbling over a few well-intentioned words than saying nothing at all. I know that when I am hurting, it makes a difference when someone tells me they're thinking of me. And while any comfort through any medium is welcome, there is a special feeling that comes from knowing someone took the time to pen a note and find a stamp and a mailbox.

For George Latham, a friend of one of Abraham Lincoln's sons, that someone was the would-be president himself. While Lincoln probably didn't have to find the stamp or mailbox himself, and indeed didn't have the option of firing off a quick text instead, it is nonetheless remarkable that he, while campaigning for president in July 1860, reached out to George after learning that the young man had been unable to get into Harvard.

My dear George

I have scarcely felt greater pain in my life than on learning yesterday from Bob's letter, that you failed to enter Harvard University. And yet there is very little in it, if you will allow no feeling of discouragement to seize, and prey upon you. It is a certain truth, that you can enter, and graduate in, Harvard University; and having made the attempt, you must succeed in it. "Must" is the word.

I know not how to aid you, save in the assurance of one of mature age, and much severe experience, that you can not fail, if you resolutely determine, that you will not.

The President of the institution, can scarcely be other than a kind man; and doubtless he would grant you an interview, and point out the readiest way to remove, or overcome, the obstacles which have thwarted you.

In your temporary failure there is no evidence that you may not yet be a better scholar, and a more successful man in the great struggle of life, than many others, who have entered college more easily.

Again I say let no feeling of discouragement prey upon you, and in the end you are sure to succeed.

With more than a common interest I subscribe myself Very truly your friend,

A. Lincoln.

(Special thanks to abrahamlincolnonline.org for the text of the letter. Check it out for much more history of and wisdom from our 16th president.)

"... In the end you are sure to succeed." Words with power, whether uttered by one of our most famous American statesmen to a family friend, or just you or me to someone near to our hearts.

Write on.

STILL TIME TO ENTER LAST WEEK'S MIDWEEK MOTIVATION: I've started my letter to S, my running companion and confidante. To whom are you writing to this week, and why? Comment through tomorrow for a chance to win a set of notecards from the chewytulip etsy shop.

Winner, Week 1

2011-03-09T21:47:00.000-06:00

Congratulations to "chewytulip," an artist and etsy shop proprietor who is the first randomly chosen winner after leaving a lovely comment in response to last week's Letter Jar Challenge:

I used to make postcards regularly and send them to my grandfather. The cards would be bright, colorful,and weird. He didn't ever say much, but he displayed them all on his coffee table. :)

What a wonderful memory! Indeed, displaying your postcards "said" more than words could convey.

Thanks also to LisavVi and Karen for your comments. I appreciate your interest in The Letter Jar project!

As for me, I've been sick enough that rest has taken priority over writing, so no letter to report this week. However, I certainly wasn't going to let Wednesday pass without picking my first winner and issuing a new Midweek Motivation (that makes two letters for me this week):

I've pulled from the The Letter Jar the name of S, whom I met while training for a half-marathon six years ago. I'm friends with S on Facebook, but have never really expressed how much her companionship during those training runs meant to me. Of course we cheered each other on, but we also just talked (being able to keep up somewhat of a conversation, of course, being a way to keep overexertion in check). And what I ended up talking about with S was my dissolving marriage -- I wasn't ready to talk to the friends and family who had attended my wedding, but this new, neutral friend was a sounding board and confidante whom I'm never forgotten. I look forward to thanking S for all she did for me, more than I'm sure she ever knew, just by listening.

Do you know someone who seemed to appear in your life just when you needed him or her, someone you've been meaning to thank for their help, their friendship, their contribution?

THIS WEEK'S PRIZE comes courtesy of chewytulip's etsy shop full of fun, original postcards and lettersets, as well as animal magnets, paintings, scarves and a line of pickle-themed schwag. I'll be ordering a set of owl notecards for myself, and this week's winner will also be treated to a set of chewytulip notecards that strike his or her fancy.

Write on!

Introducing The Letter Jar Challenge

2011-03-02T22:47:00.000-06:00

I've discovered the answer to the question I posed in my last blog post -- now that I've spent a year writing letters, what do I do next?

Of course. I'm going to encourage others to join me.

In the letters I have written to family, friends, old coworkers, teachers and all order of long lost mentors and pals over the last year, I've referred to The Letter Jar project as "one woman's crusade to save the dying art of the handwritten letter."

But must it really be the crusade of just "one woman?" Surely there must be others like me and my friend T, who in a recent letter back to me referred to himself as a "post-Luddite -- one who eschews technology and is yet high tech." In fact, I know there are others like us -- letter-writing bloggers like The Missive Maven and Jackie from Letters and Journals.

And who else? That's what I hope to find out.

Let's start a letter-writing movement.

Let's put down the iPhones, if even for a moment, and pick up our pens.

Let's write to our mothers, our dear friends, our old teachers and bosses.

Let's tell them what we remember about them, how much they mean to us, what we learned from them.

Let's be brief and witty or long-winded and soulful.

Let's write on our best lined paper or that stationery with frogs on it, that we just couldn't ever find a use for.

Let's express our thoughts in handwritten waves, seal them up in envelopes and send them on fantastic voyages.

Then, let's talk about it here. You don't have to name names, or reveal exactly what you wrote. But how does the person to whom you wrote fit into your life? How did writing the letter feel? Were you thankful or joyful or wistful or pensive? Why did you choose who you did? Why -- or why not -- do you think you'll hear back?

Any good challenge needs a worthy prize. Let's kick off our first week with something every letter-writer can use: postage. From all the comments I receive through next Tuesday, March 8, about the letters being written -- and the people writing them -- I'll choose someone at random to receive a book of first-class stamps.

With further ado, let me issue the inaugural Midweek Motivation. I'm pulling a name from The Letter Jar and it is ... B, a former work colleague who was not only a good collaborator, but also a friend who still inspires me to be my best professionally and personally.

Who is a current or former coworker who has had an impact on your life? Have you ever expressed just how that person influenced you? What might you say to thank him or her?

Write on!

ALREADY DONE? WANT TO WRITE SOME MORE? Then check out the love letter contest that author Kristina McMorris is sponsoring to promote her debut novel, Letters From Home. Her prize is a WWII memory box full of gorgeous stationery, a fleur-de-lis wax seal and nostalgic goodies. Contest ends March 31 -- get the details here. Letters From Home comes to bookstores this month.

Now What Do I Do?

2011-02-15T07:53:00.000-06:00

Day 365 passed, without fanfare, on Sunday.

In a year, I wrote 221 letters -- impressive in some ways, yes, but still well short of the 365 I had envisioned.

There are a couple big reasons why I didn't meet my "letter a day" goal:

1) My letters turned out to be actual "letters," not "notes." Some were as long as 8 pages, the average was probably 5. Such an undertaking just wasn't possible on some days, and it never felt right to shortchange a recipient by saying less than what was on my mind.

2) "Those days" when letter-writing went to the back burner, bubbling away in the front were things like childcare, housekeeping and my day job. I suspected from the beginning that fitting such a project into my busy schedule would be tough, and it was. But so rich were the rewards of letter-writing that I persisted even after dry spells and letters that took days to write.

So now what do I do? Write the last 144 letters, and celebrate completion of my project on maybe day 525, versus 365? Or just give up?

Who am I kidding? There is no way I'm throwing in the towel (or pen, as the case may be). "A letter a day" might have been a glorious goal, but it was also one that turned out to be just beyond my reach. That's OK, because throughout the pursuit, I've been enlightened, amused, humbled, empowered and simply reminded time and again of how terribly, terribly lucky I am -- lucky enough, indeed, to have 144 more people to thank for touching my life.

HOW DID I MISS THIS? Not that trying to finish The Letter Jar project will likely leave me much time for reading, but I still must get my hands on "Letters of the Century." This 2008 release "comprises 423 letters that are by turns intimate, bureaucratic, officious and epoch-defining ... the letters offer remarkable glimpses of various facets of American life." I can't wait to see for myself.

Lucky

2011-01-27T22:46:00.001-06:00

I always heard as a child -- and slowly have come to believe as an adult -- that everything happens for a reason.

It would seem the Letter Jar and the responses it attracts are no exception.

Recently I wrote to my friend M, a graphic designer whom I met while working at a community college in New Mexico. I told her how much I admire not only her creativity but also her openness, inquisitiveness and energy.

You approach life with the attitude that there is always something new to learn, always a way to expand your horizons and your understanding. That kind of living is unique and refreshing and something I aspire to ... you're not afraid to test your own limits and I think that's very, very awesome.

I should have known that news of M's latest exploits -- which she recounted briefly in an e-mail after receiving my letter -- would serve as a well-timed, much needed boost when I was weary in the pursuit of my own passions. Turns out M recently quit her job as a designer and is one month away from a degree in massage therapy, an achievement she'll follow by moving to Idaho to train as a Kung Fu instructor. Ultimately she'll move back to New Mexico to open a studio where she'll offer -- you guessed it -- massage therapy and Kung Fu lessons.

I decided sometime at the beginning of last year that I needed to change something in my life. I was feeling very unhappy at [the community college] and it was more because I needed a change ... I'll do massage therapy during the day and Kung Fu at night. Sounds dreamy! Doesn't it?

Were it anyone else, the whole dream might seem odd. But I know M and I know that one day I'll be visiting her highly successful studio -- when she sets her mind to something, she doesn't let up. I call her unique brand of ambition "ferocity and focus."

And what do I call the fact that her e-mail showed up on a day when my own confidence was sagging, when I needed inspiration to stay true to my own odd -- but just as beloved -- dream of the Letter Jar project and accompanying book?

I call that luck. Or, as my Jewish friend A would say, "bashert." I wrote about my good fortune of sharing dinner with him when he traveled to Chicago from Albuquerque for a conference last year, just days after he received my letter. That night we marveled at how I just happened to write when I did -- we hadn't talked in several years. "It's Bashert, he said. "It's a Yiddish word and there's no exact translation in English, though fate comes close."

Truly. Call it bashert, or fate, or even just plain old luck -- responses to The Letter Jar seem to consistently bring me the right words at the right time. I can only hope that's true for some of the letters I send, as well.

MAIL FROM A FELLOW MAILER: I guess I ought to have expected that respondents to a blog about letter-writing would be an eclectic bunch. One such reader is Sheryl at changeofaddress.org, a website whose name kind of says it all. Sheryl e-mailed to let me know about her new blog post, "10 Reasons Why Mail Can Be Late." Wondering why that letter bound for Phoenix took a detour through Fayetteville? Read on. And thanks Sheryl for visiting The Letter Jar!

Unique Blend

2011-01-20T08:22:00.000-06:00

I have written before about how this project sometimes finds me in two worlds -- a 17th century world where people waited weeks and months as their handwritten correspondence traveled miles and mountains and seas, and a 21st century one where I wait just seconds as the Web produces the address of my high school ecology teacher in response to my typed query.

This blend of old and new seems all the more striking when I find myself writing, longhand with paper and pen, to people I've met only over the Internet. There have been seven such letters, all addressed to some of the amazing women I have met through an online message board for stepmothers like me. I recently wrote to J, who has inspired me by overcoming adversity and never losing sight of her dreams even amid major turmoil:

While it might seem in some ways odd to be so moved by someone I've never met, I guess it's a testament to the power of the Internet (this whole letter-writing project might make me appear to be a Luddite, but actually I can still appreciate our wired culture) and more specifically the power of what [the stepmom site's founder] created -- I'm looking forward to writing to her and thanking her! I am really thankful for the chance to "meet" so many amazing, strong, imaginative women.

That I can count these women among my friends, and write to them along with my childhood and college friends, teachers, coworkers and family, ever reinforces the gratitude The Letter Jar project has instilled in me. It may be, as many people say, a Facebook/Twitter/e-mail world, and we're just living in it. Turns out that's fine even for an old-fashioned writer like me.

NEXT READ: I can't wait to get my hands on 365 Thank Yous by John Kralik. After hitting what seemed to him to be the indisputable rock bottom in his life, Kralik embarked on a journey to focus on what he had, versus what he didn't. What resulted were 365 thank you notes to a bevy of people that, he discovered, enriched his life in myriad ways. Hooray for the power of gratitude -- can't wait to read of his experiences.

Greener?

2011-01-11T10:00:00.000-06:00

I was delighted this past weekend to find in my mailbox a letter from K, whom I babysat some 25 years ago.

As a babysitter I probably dispensed valuable advice such as "Don't touch the oven because it's hot" and "No, Barbie doesn't want to go swimming in the toilet."

But with her letter, it was K's turn to impart wisdom:

After going home as an adult I realized that the grass is not always greener. At least we have the memories to warm our hearts and keep us young.

I had waxed nostalgic to K about our hometown in Western New York, how as a Chicago suburbanite I missed the slower pace and seemingly purer nature of small town life.

K, herself now living in a busy metropolitan area in the South, acknowledged that her life can also sometimes seem too busy. But, she added, our recollections of the old neighborhood aren't necessarily the reality: on a recent visit she witnessed how the economic recession has ravaged the area, leaving it run down and boarded up.

It is amazing how things change.

K is right. As I pondered her words -- and marveled at how I was receiving counsel from the little girl who used to beg to stay up for the first few minutes of "Dallas," so she could dance to the theme song before going to bed -- I realized my hometown is probably not the only place where the grass isn't greener. Were I to literally see so many of the locales that I figuratively revisit in my letters, I'm sure I'd find the vegetation less lush than it grows in my mind's eye.

The point isn't, as K pointed out, to try to recreate our beloved memories but instead use them as fuel and inspiration. Which, of course, is a compelling argument for stepping out of the past in order to experience -- and make worthwhile memories in -- the present. As Kacy Crowley sings in "Kind of Perfect": someday these will be our old days, let's make them worth remembering.

Indeed. In writing more than 200 letters I have been blessed to be able to reflect on some exquisitely beautiful -- vibrantly green, if you will -- people, places and events, and I look forward to doing the same in another year, or 10 or 25.

AS GOOD AS ESPRESSO: I started my day today by writing to a former coworker. Remembering her unique combination of discipline, diligence and humor was just the inspiration I needed to start my week. Thanks J.

Serendipitous Deliveries

2010-12-14T10:00:00.003-06:00

Some time has passed since I've written a letter or in the The Letter Jar blog. First work took me away, then I was so sick I could barely lift myself out of bed, let alone lift a pen to paper.

The two week hiatus wasn't that long, but still long enough that the prospect of returning to my correspondence was starting to feel foreign.

Was.

A couple well-timed and thoughtful responses to letters I sent, and my love of the handwritten note has been reignited. Reading each reply was a double blessing, as I learned how my letter affected the recipient and also savored for myself the act of holding someone's thoughts and sentiments in my hand, feeling connected across miles and years.

Today I received a letter from M, an editor of mine at my first newspaper reporting job. In my letter I had thanked her for being a tough boss:

I'm not going to lie to you, M -- when you first came to the paper, I resented you. A lot. You pushed me out of my (oh-so-comfortable) comfort zone and demanded more from me ... I may not have liked it at first, but damn if it didn't make me a better reporter ... That I'm no longer in newspaper doesn't diminish the lessons. No matter what career one is in -- news reporting or toilet scrubbing -- one can, if she is being honest, say whether she has given all, the best, 100 percent. Thanks for helping to instill that idea early and often.

M wrote back that she was "floored" to get a "real letter:"

I've delayed writing back because I've been thinking: How many years has it been since I've received a "real letter?" I'm pretty sure it's at least 10 ... What will happen to history with the loss of writing on paper? We can see how Lincoln edited his speeches, how Hemingway wrote his novels -- but we can't see the deletes and editing in an e-mail, assuming the e-mails even survive.

A few days ago I received a letter from J, a county attorney who, serving as he did as a source for many of my stories at that first reporting job, was someone else I needed to thank:

It was clear you always expected me to do my homework before talking to you ... I would think I'd done everything I could to shore up answers and fill in background, but quite frequently you could point out where I should have been looking for something or could have found my answer. I became better at my job as a result of being challenged by sources like you.

J wrote that he was "pleasantly surprised" to receive my letter.

I am touched to have been in your letter jar. Thanks for your thanks -- and an accurate reading of my expectations.

M's and J's letters came at exactly the right time -- just when I and The Letter Jar project needed some reinforcement. I so delighted in finding personal letters in the mail, so enjoyed the anticipation I felt in wondering what the senders had enclosed inside. Seeing their handwriting and reading their words, I got such a boost -- one I am once again committed to giving others.

ACCIDENTALLY ANTISOCIAL: Thanks to all my new Twitter followers and Facebook fans and please accept my apologies for my lack of acknowledgment to date. I appreciate your interest in The Letter Jar, and I hope you'll see that my recent inactivity is uncharacteristic; I love to write letters -- that's why I started The Letter Jar project -- and I love talking about it here. And I look forward to hearing what you think too.

Luck of the Draw

2010-11-19T22:34:00.001-06:00

One of the things I love about The Letter Jar project is its randomness. I resolved at the beginning not to write my letters in a particular order, knowing that I would choose "easy" recipients -- former work colleagues, teachers, my favorite authors -- first and postpone the more emotionally complicated letters to family, close friends, ex-lovers.

So each day I pull a name from the jar. Over the past week I've written to my mother, a fellow stepmom I met through an Internet chat board, my 14-year-old nephew and a competitor at my first reporting job.

Never knowing what -- or, more accurately, whom -- I'm going to get when I open the jar means I also don't know what kind of mindset I'll require when I sit down to write. Will I plumb the depths of my emotions as I realize I'm now the age my mother was when she made major life changes? Or will I write a less challenging, but still gratifying, letter to simply acknowledge how the skill and ambition of my former competitor forced me to up my game and made me better at my job?

Your Aunt Lynn is working on a project to write 365 letters in 365 days, I wrote to my nephew. I know it sounds crazy -- why wouldn't I just use e-mail or Facebook or a text to get in touch with people? I've always written letters, though, ever since I was pretty young. And I really enjoy it. There is something about the process of putting pen to paper that helps me really tell people how I feel about them.

While my Letter Jar method could be aptly described as "the luck of the draw," it also seems there is luck in every draw -- for all my relationships, and in all the ways they have taught and enriched and strengthened me, I am lucky indeed.

THE LOST ART: Thanks to Jackie at Letters & Journals for linking to a story in The Guardian about "comedian and serial tweeter Sue Perkins, who is fronting a campaign to get people back into the habit of writing to one another." Write on!

Roll Call, Part II

2010-11-12T07:37:00.001-06:00

Several months ago I posted about where my letters have been going. As I approach the 200-letter mark, I was curious once again as to the distribution of letters from The Letter Jar:

Illinois	54
New Mexico	30
Iowa	28
Colorado	18
New York	12
Indiana	8
Florida	5
California, Minnesota, Ohio, Virginia	4
Kentucky, Michigan, Oklahoma	3
Arizona, Texas	2
Arkansas, Georgia, Missouri, Montana, North Carolina, Nevada, Oregon, Tennessee, Utah, Washington, Wisconsin	1
Alberta, CANADA	1

Of course, the majority of letters are still destined for the places I've spent the majority of my time -- Illinois and New Mexico as an adult, Iowa as a student, Colorado and New York as a child. But seeing all the other places too reminds me how blessed I have been to know people who hail from all around the nation (and beyond, in the case of my friend T in Canada), and who, like me, have moved about the country as well.

Seeing this list reinforces the subtle excitement I feel when I address a letter, envisioning it winding up in a mailbox -- an actual, real, physical mailbox, not a cyber one -- somewhere 20 or 200 or 2,000 miles away.

CAN'T WAIT: National Public Radio has put out a call for letters -- love letters, fan mail, notes from relatives -- as part of an upcoming story on the U.S. Postal Service. This project has produced a few I'd like to upload (find out how you can too -- click here for NPR's Facebook fan page, where you'll find the post about letters). This letter-writing junkie looks forward to hearing the story.

Clues

2010-11-04T08:16:00.000-05:00

Who knew that letters to 194 people could teach me so much about just one:

Me.

I just finished a letter to P, a woman I met in college. About 13 years ago, I set P up with J, another friend of mine. P and J married one week after I wed my first husband.

While our union lasted five years, and theirs just five months, I still see in P a kindred spirit -- she and I both acted in good faith when we chose to wed, believing we were in love and had found someone with whom to fulfill our dreams.

Turns out we were wrong. Certainly about the dream fulfillment part; perhaps as far as love was concerned, we simply overestimated its power to make everything else right.

As I wrote to P, and thought about our weddings a decade ago, I felt as if I was retracing my steps. I found myself looking for -- and finding -- clues, little bits of answers to questions I wasn't even consciously aware I had: Why hadn't I given more thought to getting married the first time? What made me leap, with nary the most cursory look around?

Oh, that a six-page letter to a friend could fully answer those questions. But writing still put me in touch, however briefly, with the girl I was back then -- through a new lens I examined my youth and naivete, my eagerness to please, my need for security and the approval of others.

Learning more about myself certainly wasn't a primary goal of The Letter Jar project, but is perhaps an outcome I should have anticipated. After all, I haven't lived my life in a vacuum; the events of my life are populated with a widely varied, and in some cases highly influential, cast of characters. And, in that way, writing to them becomes an opportunity to recognize not only who they were and are, but also, interestingly, a way to explore who I was and am.

NEXT READ: I can't wait to get my hands on Script & Scribble: The Rise and Fall of Handwriting by Kitty Burns Florey, a fascinating history of handwriting and its effect on our creativity, understanding of language and daily lives. Listen to Burns Florey discuss her book on the public radio show "Here and Now."

Memory DNA

2010-10-26T08:22:00.003-05:00

Image courtesy of Svilen Milev, www.efffective.com

I remember the hat you mentioned. Your brother said it made me look old. I still have that hat, but, I don't need it to look old.

Yesterday I received a letter back from my Uncle F. In my letter to him I had recalled a roller coaster I once rode with him and how he lost his hat when the ride went upside down.

Never mind that the ride was some 30 years ago -- it immediately comes to mind when I think of Uncle F.

Stories like these -- an amusement park mishap, my Great Aunt L using colorful language to make my brother behave at the Thanksgiving dinner table, the time I foolishly took on my Uncle C, a real estate agent, in a game of Monopoly -- make up our family DNA. Just as important -- maybe even more so -- as our real genetic strands, memory DNA helps define us, gives us an irrevocable sense of place no matter where we roam.

Of course, just as with the real stuff, not all memory DNA is perfect -- alongside the silly and the funny there is the serious and sad, the illnesses and deaths and divorces. Which, perhaps, makes the happy moments all the more important: not unlike the stronger parts of our genetic code, recollections of better times can reinforce and heal us amid painful struggle.

I also remember taking you and your brother for a short flight in the Taylorcraft. Your brother has told me that that ride gave him an interest in flying. I am enclosing a copy of my logbook entry for that flight.

I was so touched to see the logbook entry from 1979. That airplane flight, a roller coaster ride, years of Christmases and Easters and everything in between -- no one else has my exact combination of memories. More so than my flat feet or straight hair or blue eyes, my memories, thankfully, make me who I am.

Yesterday morning, before receiving the letter from Uncle F, I wrote to my Aunt C. She is someone with whom I associate not hats, but shoes -- stilettos, in fact.

... Your ability to walk gracefully in those shoes, in any situation -- I will never forget the time you came to see me in Georgetown at my hotel, and we walked to that restaurant across the icy bridge. You did it, skillfully! Might seem like a weird thing to mention or admire, but I'm telling you, as someone who isn't always as sure on her feet, I'm in awe.

Obviously her footwear isn't all I associate with Aunt C, with whom I spent many a holiday as a child and who, a decade later, gave me advice about quitting smoking (our chat didn't yield automatic results, but it certainly got me started on the path of giving up cigarettes for good). More memories, more DNA.

My Uncle F closed his letter to me by mentioning how I have a great husband (I do) and how my stepson and son are lucky to have been born into such a loving family (we're lucky to have them). One of my greatest hopes is that my husband and I can help the boys build their own "memory DNA" -- a lifetime of experiences uniquely their own.

I Ain't Seen Nothing Yet

2010-10-19T07:11:00.002-05:00

"The best is yet to come."

My former coworker L, to whom I wrote yesterday, said those words to me practically the very first time I met him. Given L's generally wisecracking personality -- which also became obvious during our first meeting -- I figured he was just being sarcastic.

Turns out he wasn't. L, corporate counsel at the insurance company where we worked, truly believed that no matter how good things are, they can always get better.

What an incredibly optimistic worldview, and--as I told L in my letter--damn if he isn't right. I told him how, over the past several years, I've been blessed with a loving husband and beautiful stepson and son, along with the love of friends and good health, and the simple blessings of a roof over my head, well-compensated work and reliable transportation.

This all is most certainly joy and happiness and security enough, and yet--it does seem to get better and better. Playtime with my children reinforces the wonder and joy in simple things. Challenges at work sharpen my sense of perspective. Even the return of a close family member's illness poses an opportunity to increase my faith and my patience.

And through this letter-writing project -- I just wrote my 183rd letter, meaning I have now written more than I have left to write, in order to reach my goal -- I've reignited old relationships, found opportunities to expand the reach of my writing and been reminded of the wisdom of my friends.

The best is yet to come? I can hardly wait to see what's next.

BREATHTAKING: Writing this post I thought of Pink's "Glitter in the Air" and its concluding line: "Have you ever held your breath and asked yourself will it ever get better than tonight?" She might have been asking herself that question after her absolutely gorgeous and utterly unforgettable performance of the song at the 2010 Grammy Awards.

Finding the Right Words ...

2010-10-06T11:00:00.005-05:00

to express my thanks can sometimes be more difficult than I expect.

I recently wrote to my friend M, who was there for me during my divorce from my first husband. I didn't open up completely to very many people back then -- maybe it was a lack of trust, maybe it was my shame -- but M knew everything. M listened as I dissected every detail of my decision, weighed every last bit of evidence, second-guessed every assumption.

And M always knew what I needed -- a hand to hold, a voice of reason, a joke, a pep talk or a cheeseburger or a margarita.

So when I went to write to M, I thought it would be a snap. The words would just flow.

Or not. I sat for a long time. I struggled to find the perfect words, the phrases that would articulately and fully convey the gratitude I felt for everything M had done. I didn't want to waste this opportunity.

What do I say to someone who was there for me, didn't judge me, at one of the most, if not the most, devastating and profound times of my life? Besides thank you, of course ... Thank you for giving me a place to verbalize some of the most heretical thoughts and feelings I've ever had. You have no idea, M, how much it meant to be able to talk to someone without fear of criticism or betrayal -- I would have gone absolutely crazy without you. You saved my life, sister.

She did save my life. And, as I remarked to her, it was just happenstance that she and I ever became friends in the first place -- during a company restructuring I was transferred to M's department, and she and I struck up a conversation one day. The next thing I knew, the girl in the next cubicle over was a cherished friend looking out for me when I wasn't so capable of looking out for myself.

It's almost as if the universe saw me heading off into the woods, and knew I was going to need a compass to keep from getting completely lost. You were my compass -- totally not at all anticipated and totally clutch -- how do I repay you? I will tell you I really do try not to take anything for granted these days; you just never how the universe is actually working things out for you.

Indeed.

On Paper, In Person

2010-09-29T08:28:00.003-05:00

Funny how writing so many letters to old friends can make you want to meet some new ones too.

A few weeks ago I wrote to A, a friend I made some eight years ago when we both attended a nonprofit management course at a local university. A was the director of a local Jewish center, and I was relatively new to a position in public affairs for the university health science campus.

A and I got to know each other in brief chats before and after class and during breaks, and when the course was finished we met a few times for breakfast. Writing to him I realized that as I have moved into a different phase in my life -- from working in public relations to a more solitary editing position, with another full-time job at home raising a toddler -- I miss the opportunities I used to have to meet new people.

As time has gone by I don't necessarily remember what we talked about during our breakfasts ... but what I do still remember very well is the experience of meeting someone new and broadening my horizons through shared experience and conversation and connection. If this letter-writing project has taught me (or perhaps more accurately, reminded me of) anything, it's that life is about relationships and the bonds we forge with others ... and the friendship I shared with you serves as a reminder of something I enjoy ... meeting new people from different walks of life and learning from and being inspired by them.

In my nostalgia for days gone by and the connections I made naturally working in public relations, I realized that I can still broaden my horizons even now. Forging new relationships may take a little more effort than it did in my 20s, but it's still possible -- I am aware that I need only be willing to show up in different places than I normally do, and reach out to the people I find there. That simple formula, after all, launched relationships with the dozens of friends whose names are in The Letter Jar -- we crossed paths at the beach as kids, at a church youth group, in a college dorm, at a meeting of a professional association.

I know I could find ways to meet new people once again, and the warm memories of getting to know you serve as an inspiration to do so. Thank you not only for the friendship you gave me at the time but for helping to rekindle a part of myself that has gone needlessly quiet.

I ended my note to A, residing a half dozen states away, as I do so many letters to far-flung friends: I told him I didn't know when our paths might cross again, but, until they do, to take care and God bless.

Turns out those paths will cross sooner than later -- A typed me a letter (he explained, apologetically, that I would be unable to read anything he handwrote) and said he'll be in my area for a conference in just two weeks. I don't know if you call that serendipity, or synchronicity, or what, but I am so glad A's name came out of the jar when it did. I'm looking forward to a chance to go "off paper" and "in person" for a while.

WELL-SCRIPTED: When I started my @theletterjar account on Twitter, I naturally used the #letters hashtag to search for like-minded "tweeps." (The irony of using the epitome of 21st century technology to find enthusiasts of a 19th century pastime is not lost on me.) I was somewhat bombarded at the time with tweets about the movie "Letters to Juliet," which was just hitting the theaters. Tonight I noticed the movie has made it to my Pay Per View -- perhaps it's finally time to indulge in a little "letter as plot device" romantic drama.

Stuck ...

2010-09-20T10:00:00.001-05:00

in the 1800s.

That's how I'm feeling tonight, about my letter-writing project. I am fond as ever of my (almost) daily missives, but was just reminded again of how this effort might be termed "quaint" or "old-fashioned," or--far less generously--"archaic."

I wrote a letter to J, the lead singer of one of my favorite bands. Remember when you could "write" to the fan club of your favorite singer or actor? Write, as in take a pencil--or a silver glitter pen or a fuchsia magic marker, depending on your age, gender and level of ardor toward your letter recipient--to paper and express your thoughts, then stuff them in an envelope, slap on a stamp and send them to the fan club's P.O. box? (Yes, this is how I once got a signed photo of Hall and Oates, but I digress.)

Well, it seems times have changed. I was hard pressed to find a physical address anywhere for J and his band--clicking the "Contact Us" link on the band's online fan club page yielded an e-mail form, because doesn't everyone e-mail now?

Well, almost everyone.

I settled for sending the letter in care of J's record label, which assures on its website that it looks forward to hearing from fans of all its artists. That may well be true, in terms of the label now having my address to send me junk mail, but I put the odds of J ever receiving my letter at 50/50, best case.

Luckily for me, as important as J receiving the letter was the act of writing it--I've long wanted to tell him what an amazing songwriter I think he is, and how so many of his songs have profoundly affected me. And the act of expressing gratitude for gifts, from no matter where they come, is something worth sticking to.

SPEAKING OF FAN MAIL: Among the letters published on the website Letters of Note are celebrities' notable, memorable, and downright quirky responses to fan mail they receive. A recently posted letter from Tatum O'Neal, circa 1982, is a perfect case in point.

All in a Day's Work

2010-09-15T09:51:00.001-05:00

They were just doing their jobs.

That's one way of looking at my experiences with two people to whom I wrote this week. But the way N, an airline customer service agent, effectively yet unknowingly talked me out of a panic was nothing short of brilliant. And M, the first nurse I encountered on the mother-baby unit after having my son, is quite simply an angel.

N answered the phone on a fateful day in March 2005 when I called United Airlines--on the way to the airport, no less--to confirm I indeed had a last-minute ticket to Chicago purchased on a discount travel site.

You had the unenviable task of telling me that I didn't have a seat--that the online deal had not gone through. I was crushed, and you must have known, because you were so kind. You told me to hold a minute and you would see what you could find. I was starting to panic at the prospect of not being able to make the trip, but something in your voice, your calm and reassuring way, kept me believing that things might still work out.

Things worked out. N found me a ticket--at a cost no more than the discount site, even--and I made it to Chicago. To see, as it would turn out, the man who would one day become my husband and the father of my child.

Now I realize that in some ways you were just doing your job--you looked in the system, found a ticket and sold it to me. But, like I said, your calming manner made all the difference in the world to me at that point. I never told you during the call why I needed the ticket, but you knew somehow that there was emotional urgency and did your job with exceeding kindness.

When the aforementioned child was born last year, M was there to reassure and guide one exhilarated-but-exhausted mommy.

All the things you had to walk me through--particularly all that bathroom stuff--you did it with such kindness and patience. It takes a special kind of person to be a nurse, and you are that kind of person. At such a moment, when the new mommy is so physically and emotionally fragile (in a good way, but still fragile) she needs a reassuring voice and steady hand to guide her. And mommies at your hospital are so lucky to have you. Thank you, thank you, thank you for all you did to make me comfortable and able to enjoy every awe-filled moment with my new baby ... I know you were just doing your job, but you do it really well.

If there is one thing I love about The Letter Jar project, it's how my eyes are opened all the time to new sources of blessings. By reflecting upon random acts of kindness and grace encountered in the past, often in the course of short interactions with people during their workdays, I am ever more able to recognize--and not wait nearly so long to acknowledge--blessings in the present.

SINCERELY SWELL: I'm delighted to have discovered the letter-writing blog Sincerely Lauren. In a recent interview on another of my favorite letter blogs, 365 Letters, Lauren answers the question, "What is your favorite letter?"

Lauren: "Any letter that is sent to me. I'm not picky. I do like longer letters, but beggars can't be choosers."

Write on!

Change Just One Step ...

2010-09-13T10:00:00.002-05:00

And the whole journey could be different.

That's what I was thinking tonight as I wrote to J, who as the editor of community newspaper in Colorado some 20-plus years ago, took a chance and hired me--a high school sophomore with no real journalism experience but a whole lot of desire to learn--as one of her reporters.

Throughout this letter-writing project I've written to (or plan to write to, in the case of names still in the jar) people who have influenced my path as a writer over my lifetime. My 7th grade English instructor. My high school journalism teacher. My advisor at the University of Iowa. And you. Of course I'm not claiming that one person made or broke my career, but I certainly do believe that each and every person made a difference, and the outcome just wouldn't have been the same if I'd changed even one step. So thank you. Thank you for finding a way to give an aspiring journalist a way to get her feet wet, cut her teeth (OK, enough with the metaphors) and collect some bylines.

In writing my letters I often have been struck, not only when writing to people related to my career, by the idea that every step--no matter how seemingly insignificant--influences the whole journey. And when you consider that "journey" is just another way of referring to "life," what are "steps" but experiences and connections with other people? Sometimes the interactions are with our close friends and relatives, people we see time and time again. And other times, we interact with someone briefly, and it's still enough to make a difference.

My experience with J was a positive one. I've found, however, the "don't change a step" pep talk most useful during negative times, whenever I start to think, "What am I doing here?" or "What could this possibly have to do with anything?" Or (my personal favorite) "Now that was a complete waste of time."

But if I change one step-any step--the journey could be different. So let me bless the steps I've taken, fully experience the ones I'm taking and be fearless about the ones to come.

LAST WORDS: I was fascinated to read that a note penned by John Lennon 15 minutes before his murder is now up for sale for $154,000.

Memories

2010-09-04T00:41:00.000-05:00

Though the first thing that popped into my head as I wrote the title of this post was Barbra Streisand and the "corners of her mind" (misty watercolor memories ...), I'm feeling a lot more a lot more Funny Girl than The Way We Were.

I just wrote a letter to D, a high school friend. D was also my senior prom date, and I couldn't help but smile as I recalled that spring 1989 night.

That dress of mine -- hideous. So, so 80s, what with the pepto pink and the hoop skirt, aye aye aye. At least the hoop provided comic relief when I got into the Barracuda at the end of the night--I remember the damned thing smacking me in the face.

The story is true. D and I weren't doing anything at all lascivious, he was just driving me home. But as I lowered myself into the deep, deep bucket seat of D's car, the hoop raised itself--in a rapid and too-hysterical-to-truly-be-mortifying kind of way.

Recalling funny memories like that has been one of the best parts of The Letter Jar project. Recently I wrote to A, who in addition to being my best friend for the better part of 18 years, is by far the best traveling companion I've ever had. Roadtripping all over the country, from Wyoming to Georgia to Louisiana, we've racked up some pretty hilarious memories. I laughed out loud recalling the Savannah port-a-potty to which I lost a t-shirt I'd just purchased, the North Dakota farms we toured on a construction detour and the shrieking noises to which we fell asleep camping in Yellowstone. (We would learn from a park employee in the morning that those dulcet tones were, in fact, mating elk.)

I enjoyed another night of laughing and writing and laughing when I wrote to K, who roomed with me and A my senior year of college. The things we did and said in that apartment (a "quote board," which K swears she transcribed at some point, served to record the "things said")--what a year. My husband had to think I was nuts, listening to me just cackling downstairs as I penned my recollections of our misadventures. Questionable boyfriends. Inside jokes. Too much liquor. Not enough sleep. Memories I wouldn't trade for anything.

(K told me that she too laughed out loud--and got a few raised eyebrows from her husband--as she read my letter, which she has kept for whenever she needs a pick-me-up. I'm glad to share the wealth.)

The list goes on and on. The high school friends with whom I "TP'd." The grade school buddies who were the Farrah Fawcett and Jaclyn Smith to my Kate Jackson in regular re-enactments of Charlie's Angels. The friend who took me in and filled me with gin to help me through my thirtysomething divorce.

Sure, I'd probably stumble across these memories in the--ahem, corners of my mind--from time to time even without The Letter Jar. But the act of sitting down, almost daily, to focus on just one person, brings back so many more memories--and in such surprisingly vivid detail. And I'm quite grateful that some memories aren't just happy, but hilarious--surely the sign of a blessed life.

Funny girls, the way we were.

SHOUT OUT: Just have to thank Twitter's @writerlydee for graciously following and cheerfully supporting The Letter Jar project. Never did I know how many fellow letter lovers there were out there--may your paper be plentiful and your pens never run dry!

Like Neon Ice Cream

2010-08-26T12:00:00.001-05:00

Yesterday I received two pieces of personal mail. Both replies to letters I'd sent, these letters were sweet surprises: even as my "sent" number has reached almost 150, my mailbox most often yields a disappointing pile of bills, catalogs and other obligations and junk. What I believed at the beginning of The Letter Jar project is not becoming any less true--with ever more of our written, personal communication handled by text and e-mail the old fashioned mailbox is now the franchise of official, "boring" mail.

So much so that a personal letter stands out like a tub of neon-colored bubble gum-flavor amid the vanillas and chocolates at the ice cream parlor.

One letter was from my high school journalism teacher, who thanked me for my letter but also filled me in on her life--knowing how hard as she and so many of my teachers worked, it elated me to read that she was enjoying a retirement full of family and travel and personal passions. "As a teacher it is always wonderful to see previous students excel in their personal areas of interest," she wrote. "Only about a half dozen of my previous newspaper students have gone into some form of journalism--I'm glad to hear your career has been successful."

The other letter was something of a two-tiered surprise--I was excited at first to see another personally addressed envelope in my stack of mail, but then recognized it as one I'd self-addressed and stamped. I'd written a letter to D, a long-lost former work colleague in Iowa, and when it came time to send it, I'd chosen an address from three listed for people with his name in his medium-sized community. (Thankfully someone had given me a tip about the side of town on which my friend was rumored to have bought a house--that, along with the resident age information whitepages.com lists with its addresses, fueled my process of elimination. Once again the Internet came to the rescue of my 19th century project.) On the chance that I'd chosen the wrong D, however, I stuck a note to the letter asking that they please return it to me in the enclosed envelope.

I sent the letter to the wrong D, I lamented when I recognized my own handwriting.

My excitement returned when I opened the envelope to find a letter--from the right D, who had very wisely used my envelope to mail his reply. His letter was newsy and upbeat, the latter of which was notable considering D had recently been laid off from the company where we had both worked. "The layoff has given me more time to spend with friends and goof off. I've gotten into better shape being away from Vendoland junk food. I've had moments of despair over the past year (What am I going to do with my life? Blah blah blah) but overall things are good. There are people who have it a lot worse than I do."

D's letter would have been a treat at any time, but I especially appreciated his words--and more specifically, his wisdom--at the end of yesterday, a particularly long and trying day. Finding personal letters in the mail everyday could very well be wonderful, but perhaps there's something to be said as well for spying that bubble gum just when you have a taste for it.

DUTY CALLED: When a nasty stomach bug felled my son and husband--but thankfully spared me so that I could take care of them--The Letter Jar blog--and indeed, The Letter Jar project--went on a two-week hiatus. The law of opposites helps me to be unworried about making my 365 letter goal--for as extraordinarily exhausted as I've been recently, surely there will be a corresponding time in the next 26 weeks when I'll find myself especially energetic.

Writing in the "Slow Zone"

2010-08-14T10:29:00.001-05:00

"Like an 'L' train."

That was my response when my husband asked the other day how I felt about my progress on The Letter Jar project.

Anyone who has ridden the Chicago L, even just a few times, is likely familiar with a "slow zone"--the train is moving along at a nice clip when it suddenly slows down due to track conditions. You creep along for a while, and then you're off again.

Experienced riders understand that there's never any doubt that the train will reach its intended destination. They know the system schedule is built with the slow downs in mind--if the schedule says a train will arrive in Oak Park at 6:03 a.m., it will, regardless of how many slow zones exist along the way.

I feel like I'm in my own "slow zone" when it comes to The Letter Jar right now. It's not that I feel like I won't reach my destination, but my current level of energy--and subsequently, the pace of my writing--is in stark contrast to when I began, or even just a few weeks ago. Letters take a little bit longer to compose, languish on my desk a few more days before making it to the post office.

But I'm not worried. Far from making me question my commitment or forcing me to think about giving up, this more leisurely pace is a welcome reminder of how life itself unfolds--peaks and valleys, cacophony and quiet. Moreover, writing letters brings a kind of great joy I refuse to sacrifice by pursuing some artificial production goal.

ENVY AND INSPIRATION: The Missive Maven wrote recently about her new writing desk, tucked away in her lovely sun room. I'm envious--our house doesn't allow for that kind of expansiveness--but also inspired. I tend to do my writing curled up in my recliner with a cup of coffee, but perhaps getting imaginative about creating another space will see the end of this particular slow zone.

In Short

2010-08-12T10:00:00.001-05:00

Shakespeare wrote that brevity is the soul of wit.

I am learning--and perhaps The Bard knew this as well--that brevity is also, at times, the soul of a good letter.

This thought occurred to me as I wrote to J, a college friend. J and I met very shortly after arriving as freshmen, and ran with a pack of friends from the university's honors program--yes, like good nerds we often studied together, but just as often you'd find us sharing dinner in the cafeteria, pondering life's big questions: "Do you think this fish filet is shaped kind of like Minnesota?" We had a standing date for Saturday Night Live, trekked through the snow together to late season football games and, as typical college students, enjoyed a party or two or seventeen (hey, even geeks have to cut loose).

What I really wanted to say to J--and the reason I put his name in the jar--was thanks for being a friend at a memorable time in my life--the start of my college years. I came to school knowing no one, but thanks to "the pack," it wasn't long before I felt right at home.

People are what make our memories real, I told J. Sure I remember the places I went, the places I lived, the classes I took and the jobs I had. But they really don't serve to cheer me or warm me or make me smile until I think about the people involved. I'm so lucky to have known some wonderful people in my life--more and more I understand that life's treasures are not material but instead the relationships and connections we form with one another ... Even as many relationships--like ours--were mostly transient and tied to a certain period in time, they still make up part of my history and part of who I am. They have had an effect on me that is lasting--and I believe positive.

Maybe the phrase "relationship was mostly transient and tied to a certain period in time" should have been my tip off that I didn't have a lot to say to J beyond the simple thank you. And yet I still felt the need to write more. "Quality over quantity" just wasn't occurring to me as I sat, pen poised on paper, wondering what to possibly write next. Maybe I thought I needed to justify sending a real letter? I mean, heck, if I was just going to pop off a few words, why not just write an e-mail?

But.

As someone special remarked to me tonight, the beauty of a handwritten letter is not in how many words are written--it is in the words themselves, the spaces between, and how they are recorded and preserved on paper. "Just a couple sentences, depending on what they are, could be considered a beautiful letter," she said.

She's right, and fortunately I came to my senses before my writing-turned-babbling (wrabbling?) got out of control. I finished up the letter to J with a quick update on myself and an inquiry into how he was doing (I remembered him wanting to be a filmmaker, and he now lives in LA, which makes me wonder if that dream came true--just a few sentences back from him regarding his career could indeed be an interesting note).

J's letter isn't the first time I've found myself starting to "wrabble," as if I'm somehow getting more letter value by increasing the ratio of words written to postage paid. So I'm thankful for the reminder to refocus on the real point of The Letter Jar project--to tell people how I feel about them and the impact they've had on me. Those are sentiments worth expressing, whether it takes 20 words, or 2,000, or 20,000, to do it.

A RELATIVELY GOOD EDITOR: As a writer I've worked for a lot of different editors in my career, but none has ever been so kind--or so subtle--as my mother, who rightly observed that my blog post from earlier this week could have benefited from a little more work before it was published. "I liked your post about M," she said. "I did notice a few errors in grammar, which is very unlike you. I assumed you must have been very tired."

Leave it to mom to hit the nail on the head: yep, I was tired, and when I went back to reread the post, I cringed--describing my mistakes as "a few errors in grammar" was quite charitable. Thanks for reading, mom (and I did fix the post, and I promise I'm going to bed soon).

Family Matters, Part II

2010-08-09T10:00:00.003-05:00

As I wrote tonight to M, my brother's mother-in-law, I was reminded how fortunate I am to belong to not only my blood family, but the extended family I have been privileged to inherit.

(My brother) became your son-in-law and you embraced his whole clan--mom, dad, sister, sister's husband and stepson too. It really feels good when to gather for Christmas or whenever as a big family.

Early on in The Letter Jar Project I wrote to M's brother, who shares his sister's welcoming spirit. I recounted to him how I will never forget a special Christmas spent at his house, and the way he reached out to my stepson.

It really meant a lot to me when you sat with (my stepson) at the piano ... I think the trip stressed him out a little because he didn't know any of my extended family, but he really enjoyed playing the piano and really enjoyed as you sat with him and taught him a little about playing. It meant a lot to me to see him relax and have a good time doing that.

I feel grateful that our holiday gatherings are filled with such warmth and love, and it doesn't matter who is directly related to whom.

A few days ago I wrote about my blood family, and how they make me feel rooted no matter how far I roam--they are my place to come home to. Writing tonight I realized that family, that welcoming place, is defined less by genes and more by the bonds we form and the care we show each other.

M, for example, was incredibly supportive and interested during my pregnancy last year. I was terrible at giving updates, but M still checked in regularly by e-mail and Facebook to see how I was doing.

And the blankets you and N (M's daughter, my brother's wife) made--so beautiful. I was so touched. Sometimes when I'm rocking my son to sleep at night I'll have one draped over him, and he likes to run it through his fingers while he falls asleep. Thank you again for such a loving gift.

I ended my letter to M by noting how I've come to understand that my son and stepson are parts of an ongoing story--my husband and I are building our family so that we can be roots for the boys and their families someday. And more than ever, I understand that it is not only our duty, but it is also our privilege.

A SURPRISE COMBINATION OF TWO OF MY PASSIONS: I've always loved discovering new music, and was intrigued to read recently that the new Arcade Fire album, The Suburbs, was inspired by love letters that frontman Win Butler wrote to a sweetheart in high school. He explained the song "We Used to Wait" to Britain's NME magazine:

"In high school I had a letter-writing romance with a girl. I was trying to remember that time... waiting an entire summer, pretty much half a year, the anxiousness of waiting for letters to arrive. All day every day there's almost this cloud of feeling hanging over everything. We'd (his family) be in Maine, I'd walk down to the post office and come back… the whole day was consumed by that feeling."

A song about the "anxiousness of waiting for letters to arrive." How completely cool--I must check out the song and the album. In the meanwhile, you can check out more of the NME interview here.

Family Matters

2010-08-05T09:00:00.001-05:00

Over the last few days I have written to two of my cousins, T and C, both on my father's side of the family.

I see T maybe once or twice a year, and C even less frequently, and yet I still feel a closeness to both of them.

You are still dear to my heart as part of my family, part of who I am and where I came from, I wrote to C. I still cherish the memories of hanging out with you and your brother ... Like I told T in a letter to her, it's nice to know that no matter where I wander in the world, my family are my roots.

It's true. No matter what branch of which family tree we're talking about--my father's side, mother's side, my husband's family--the shared experiences, inside jokes and preserved traditions feel like as much of who I am as my blue eyes or flat feet. And speaking of genetics, there is a certain comfort in knowing that I represent my family tree in not only my appearance, but through inherited personality traits I am proud to claim.

I told C that I hope our families can get together again sometime soon. I particularly love watching my dad, Aunt P and your mom together--there is definitely a family brand of humor and they just feed off each other's jokes. I always feel like I'm in on a family secret when around them. I guess I can hope that our boys feel that way someday when they think about me and my brother, or my husband and his brother (who are pretty funny together too).

While I certainly have enjoyed writing the many letters that represent places I've gone--to college, to new jobs, to relationships, to church, to therapy--it's also meaningful to write some that remind me where I started out.

REMEMBERING OUR TROOPS: In my letter to C I thanked him for serving in our nation's military--he has my respect, admiration and gratitude. That got me thinking about maybe writing a letters to soldiers, and a little searching uncovered the letter-writing team of Soldiers' Angels. I am going to check them out.

Friends in Spirit

2010-08-02T09:00:00.001-05:00

This weekend, the "randomness" of The Letter Jar had me writing to S, a contemporary Christian singer whose music has affected me deeply, and B, a woman with whom I attended church some 15 years ago.

In my letter to S, I noted how the release of one of his albums coincided with my graduation from college and early days at my first job.

I was struggling to figure out "what came next" in my life, I wrote. I felt more than a little lost, and chased the answers in places I wasn't ever going to find them. Your album, which I listened to on my work commute, offered me peace, hope, and a different way of thinking about where my life was, where it was headed and what it all meant. To this day, I hear songs from that album and I'm transported back in time to my early 20s, and can feel the uncertainty turning to optimism and the fear turning to joy. I cannot thank you enough for the gift of your music.

B, as I told her, is someone I consider a spiritual mentor--she lived her life with faith when things were going well and, significantly, when things weren't going well at all. I told her that to spend so much time thinking about my religious and spiritual experiences--and friends like her with whom I've shared the journey--is particularly profound right now as I pursue the ever elusive family-work balance.

I have settled into a very blessed part of my life, but yearn for a spiritual practice. My family brings me so much joy, and I feel a great deal of gratitude as well for having been given these gifts of love. At the same time, things can get stressful ... there are times when I start to feel inadequate and anxious and irritable and a little sad, and it is then that I wish I had more of a spiritual practice to lean on to steady myself. I of course turn to God at those times, but I can't help but think I would feel more spiritually whole were I talking to God everyday, rather than in fractured conversations.

Some 100 letters ago, I wrote to D, a pastor in the United Methodist campus ministry at the university I attended. I related to him how the experiences of he and I and our fellow worshipers helped build the foundation of my spiritual life--lessons I read and hear and see now are all the more clear, having explored and inquired as I did back then.

I remember it occurring to me as I wrote to D that God works ways both obvious and mysterious--God brings us to exactly where we need to be, when we need to be there. That indeed seems the case with my recent letters--God in his infinite wisdom knows my yearning, and so has called to mind such powerful memories when I was in greater communion and took time to seek rather than think.

As I told B, remembering my experiences with you reminds me that the seeker in me has not gone, even if she has been drowned out at times by the cacophony of practical issues and concerns.

It is at times like these that I am struck by all that The Letter Jar project has turned out to be, that I never did expect. Each of my letters is making its own journey to a destination near or far, but it turns out the most important journey is the one I seem to be taking--back to my truest self.

SOME TIMELY WORDS: Love from Kaz, at the delightful blog I Love Letters, devoted a lovely post the other day to singing the praises of the "slowness" of handwritten correspondence. "I like the pauses between letters," she wrote. "I like that a little bit of life passes between the time a letter is written and the time I read it, and then a little bit more of life has passed by the time I write back, and then mores still by the time the recipient receives it. What I put into a letter is not information that needs to arrive quickly. It's more about capturing a few moments that can last a lifetime and will have the same value if they're read next week, next month or next decade."

"A little bit of life passes ...." Couldn't have said it better myself.

Learning to Fly

2010-07-30T08:31:00.000-05:00

So I started out
For God knows where
I guess I'll know
When I get there.

~Tom Petty, "Learning to Fly"

If The Letter Jar project had a soundtrack, that song would probably be the opening cut.

Those words have always spoken to me, someone who isn't afraid to embrace the gypsy side of her nature. I can appreciate the idea of life being one big surprising journey--I may not know where I'm ultimately going to end up, but I'm certainly enjoying the sites I have the good fortune to happen upon.

And enjoying as well, the people I'm lucky enough to meet along the way.

Tonight I wrote to my former coworker P and her partner M. I worked with P at a community college in Albuquerque, where I moved with my first husband a decade ago.

P and M, as I told them in my letter, are some of the most genuine, authentic, unpretentious people you will ever meet. They both have such a way of putting you at ease, you feel like an old friend almost immediately. We rarely correspond anymore, but I nonetheless recalled warm memories the very moment I pulled their names from The Letter Jar.

Writing to them, I was struck once again by the seeming randomness--that indeed is likely much less random than I think--that rules the events in my life and the people those events bring me to. My ex-husband and I, Midwesterners when we met, vacationed in the southwest and decided to relocate. That decision gave me the opportunity to meet not only P (and through her, M) but also a whole host of other fascinating, funny, caring people I'm lucky to count among my friends. These are people I've been challenged by, learned from, laughed with and cried on. My life story wouldn't be same without them.

I appreciate the reminder of life's surprises, as I now find myself not moving physically, but nonetheless moving, into another phase in my life as a new mother. I've begun to notice as I write my letters that I am feeling grateful for the relationships I have formed over my lifetime--as a high school and college student, entry-level journalist, career changer, thirtysomething newlywed stepmother--and I'm yearning to form new ones.

The prospect seems daunting--making new friends at this stage in life feels at least different, if not more challenging, than back in college when I was rooming with a dorm full of fellow students and going to classes in big lecture halls each day--until I remember how I've made so many of the important connections in my life. I simply need to keep my mind open to life's unpredictable journey and my heart open to the people I meet along the way.

YOU MUST READ THIS: I'm so glad to have received an inquiry the other day from Felix Jung of the absolutely mesmerizing blog Dead Advice. He asked if I might be willing share a link to his work. You bet.

"Imagine, for a moment, that you have just died," Dead Advice challenges you on its front page. "If you had to look back over the arc of your life as it stands today, what stories would you tell? What lessons would you share, what things might you regret or confess?"

Take some time, read some letters. I suggest starting with Felix's own, A Small List of Big Things, which is poignant and funny, brilliant really. Then think about your letter ... a fascinating prospect, no?

Could it possibly really be a wonderful life?

2010-07-28T07:48:00.000-05:00

For which I'm expected to show up?

Not long after I finished letter #131 (to T, a public defender with whom I once worked), my husband R and I had an quarrel. Several days on I can't recall exactly how it got started, but I definitely remember something R said to me:

"You just can't let yourself be happy."

My first reaction, of course, was to object. But of course I'm happy, I told him. Why wouldn't I be? I have such a wonderful life--loving husband, beautiful children, sturdy roof over our heads, reliable transportation to take us to steady employment each day--how could I not be happy?

There's a difference, R pointed out, between saying you're happy and being happy.

I fumed, muttering away to myself (rather unhappily, I might add) about how he was just wrong. I mean, come on--at that point I'd written 131 letters, all of which made at least some reference to the abundant blessings in my life (the aforementioned marriage, family, car and job, of course, as well as the friendships of my letter recipients, happy memories created with them and hopes for reunions to come). I'm happy, damn it.

But if I've learned anything in almost five years with R (three and a half of them as husband and wife), it's that he often knows me better than I know myself. Could it possibly be true that I was running around saying I was happy, without allowing myself the luxury of actually being happy?

Well, now. That felt icky. And uncomfortable. And kinda true.

It's not that I've lied to anyone, in any letter--I do have a ridiculously huge amount of blessings in my life. But I also have, as Tori Amos so eloquently put it, "enough guilt to start my own religion." And guilt, that turd in the punch bowl, it will make you question--sadly makes me question--whether you deserve your happiness.

Yes, some of my letters portray a girl who has screwed up--I've hurt people, most times unintentionally, but on occasion with more awareness than I'd like to admit. I've broken promises. Failed to meet obligations. Haven't shown up.

But the letters also reflect someone who has grown up--I'm admitting the hurts I've inflicted, acknowledging the broken promises and unfulfilled responsibilities. I'm recognizing the places--literal and figurative--I should have been and wasn't.

This woman, that girl growing up, has been offered by the universe an immeasurable bounty. And to refuse to truly accept those blessings--my son's happy babble as he awakens in the morning, rain falling outside our livingroom window on a summer evening, a kiss goodnight from my husband--well, that's just screwing up all over again. It's time to let go of guilt, stop inflicting more hurt and honor the vows I'm living right now.

In short, it's time to show up.

Angels

2010-07-24T23:39:00.000-05:00

There are angels among us.

On some level I probably already believed this, but so many of the letters I've written as part of The Letter Jar project have made it ever the more clear.

Such was the case with R, to whom I wrote today. Some 18 years ago R advertised for a roommate, and that roommate ended up being my mother during my parents' separation. (My parents ended up remarrying a few years later.)

Now I realize in some ways it was seemingly by "chance" that mom ended up living with you, but really I do believe things happen for a reason. Yes, my mom just needed a place to live. But she also needed--maybe not as urgently but just as importantly--a friend. And she found one in you. Thank you for being there to listen to mom, to offer feedback and be a support a very uncertain time in her life. You were an angel.

I recalled to R how she became my friend and angel as well when I stayed with her and mom during Christmas break from college that year.

I was a fresh mess--reeling from my parents splitting up, facing the end of college with no real post-graduation plans, and coming apart at the seams over my feelings for my "ex but wished he wasn't ex" boyfriend R. (Who would become my husband 14 years later--who knew?) You were a good listener and comforting support. You were also a dose of perspective--you urged me to look past the details, all the gory details, of that exact moment and realize it would all turn out OK someday. And damned if you weren't right.

I told R that when I began The Letter Jar project, I just started writing down person after person I've known throughout my life, and figured that when I went to write each letter, my feelings for that person would emerge.

I've been so pleasantly delighted how much that has been true--with the gift of perspective I have realized how many angels have truly appeared in my life, offering me support and guidance and teaching me lessons I've needed to learn.

It is indeed true, so many angels. S, the friend who just happened to need a roommate when I separated from my first husband. D, a woman who happened to be dating my future brother-in-law when I moved to Chicago, who became my friend and offered me support I barely recognized I needed as I struggled to settle into a new life. S, yet another roommate--this one my husband's--who was there with right words at the right moment.

I'm thinking about these wonderful people and so many others who have been my angels when it hits me: is it just possible that I could unknowingly be someone's angel, "just happening to show up" when they need it? It makes me think of the oft-repeated words of Plato: "Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle."

When you stop to think about it, is there someone in your life who was your angel? Have you ever thanked him or her?

I HAVE TO TRY THIS: A number of letter-writing bloggers rave about Postcrossing, "The Postcard Crossing Project" which just celebrated its fifth anniversary of linking people and their places worldwide. Notes the Postcrossing team: "The element of surprise of receiving postcards from different places in the world (many of which you probably have never heard of) can turn your mailbox into a box of surprises - and who wouldn't like that?" Indeed!

Upping My Game

2010-07-22T10:00:00.001-05:00

This morning I wrote to T, a public defender who was a source of mine when I covered the cops and courts for an Iowa newspaper. I thanked T for making me better at my job--something I've had the privilege of thanking several people for.

"When I started covering the courts, you wouldn't even take my calls--and I can't blame you," I told T. "All the freshly minted journalism grads set upon the cops and courts beat, the franchise of the cub reporter. So many opportunities for you and your clients to get burned ... You expected me to do my homework, to understand where you were coming from, to learn and comprehend the judicial process. You expected me to ask intelligent questions. You were, basically, exactly what I needed--a dose of reality, a hard knocks crash course on what it meant to truly cover the news objectively and insightfully ... Again, thank you for putting me through my paces. Still paying dividends today."

On that cops and courts beat, one of my fiercest competitors was M, a television reporter to whom I wrote a few months ago. "Sure, I wanted to do my job well from a basic standpoint," I wrote. "But the prospect of scooping you made me up my game. There truly was no better situation for a new reporter learning the ropes of the daily grind."

Then there was D, who, as a county supervisor, was also a source when I began reporting. I thought to put his name in The Letter Jar, then checked the Internet and found his obituary from three years ago. I decided I would write to his wife, A.

I remembered how, 22 years old and fresh out of school, I was struggling to cover the county board adequately—to understand which issues were most important to our readers, explain them well and represent the opinions of the supervisors accurately. And D, as I noted in my letter to A, wasn’t about making my job easy. It’s not as if he set out to make my job difficult, but he certainly made me work for every story I wrote, every issue I explained and every quote I captured. And he wasn’t afraid to tell me when I could do better.

"When I was covering the county board week to week, D was a tough cookie," I told A. "He made me pay attention, made me do my homework and didn't let me take shortcuts or easy ways out ... I remember complaining at the time at how hard it was to interview D for stories, how no matter how prepared I was, he could still challenge me. But looking back I realize I should be grateful for the lessons that experience taught me. After all, what is life but many, many unexpected, but ultimately rewarding, challenges?"

A few weeks later I received a letter in the mail from A. "Thank you for your letter re: interviewing D while on the Board of Sups!” she wrote. “He would have been very pleased to know he 'helped' someone, especially in their work area."

I do believe A is right--D would have liked knowing he helped someone, and I'm sure he's not the only one. That's one reason why I'm enjoying The Letter Jar project so much--not only am I filled with gratitude as the receiver of so much help and advice and support in my life, but I am perhaps spreading some joy to the givers as well.

FUN FIND: I was delighted when @skeldesign began following The Letter Jar on Twitter. I love her etsy shop of cards and notepads! I see the frog and owl varieties gracing my desk in the future.

Thanking My Teachers

2010-07-20T10:00:00.002-05:00

Last weekend I pulled from The Letter Jar the name of K, my high school journalism teacher. This morning it was D, my kindergarten teacher.

Seeing their names called to mind two sets of school memories that, while very different, have both filled me with gratitude.

I thanked K for encouraging me as a journalist, in class and on the high school paper and yearbook. I always knew I wanted to be a writer, and from people like her I learned not only grammar and news sense but also to develop my own style and to always strive to grow and improve. I've enjoyed a successful writing career--in daily newspapers and magazines, public relations and now blogging--and I wanted to acknowledge and thank K for preparing and supporting me.

I'm still writing the letter to D. I don't necessarily want to thank her for what she taught me--don't get me wrong, knowing the alphabet and how to count to 10 do come in awfully handy--but rather for choosing the profession she did. As I watch my son with his teachers at daycare and my stepson with his at school, I recognize teaching for the incredibly vital and yet extraordinarily underappreciated calling that it is.

Teachers give us knowledge, yes, but the good ones also impart wisdom. They teach--through their words and more importantly their actions--the values of patience, of hard work, of perseverance. They encourage kindness and curiosity and cooperation. They cherish laughter and smiles and triumph.

Obviously when I was 5, D was simply the one who smiled at me each morning, who praised my drawings, who made it all better when I fell on the playground. I couldn't have possibly fully understood then how important a job she was doing. But now, 34 years on, I think I do understand. And I want to thank her--for being there for me, for my little brother and for the dozens of kids who came before us and after us. I'm sure I'm not the first to thank her, and I hope I'm not the last.

What do you remember about your teachers? How is what they taught you alive in your life today?

Connection, Reflection, Collection

2010-07-17T09:00:00.010-05:00

Yesterday when I went to my mailbox there were exactly two items in it: both personal letters for me, responses to letters I had written.

One was from my husband's aunt C. The other was from J, a former coworker. Both remarked how receiving my letter caused them to reflect on other letters they'd received and sent, and how letters touch them in ways that e-mail and Facebook do not.

"My first letter recollection was from my grandma in Missouri, my mom's mom," wrote Aunt C. "She religiously wrote a weekly letter to us on paper exactly as you had used. Her news always included the weather and a garden report in the summer ... In college I would write home and frequently write my heartthrob, Uncle J. We have kept some of them."

And J wrote, "As I was spring cleaning over the last few weeks I found several notes I had received over time. It's an odd thing, I know, but I keep cards and letters I receive from friends and family. It's a little 'pack-rattish' but, as I rediscovered recently, it's so wonderful to go back and see how I touched other people's lives (through thank you notes and letters) and how other people have touched mine."

Actually J, I don't think it's odd at all--I too love going through the boxes of letters and cards I have kept from friends and family. "Pack-rattish" is how I would describe my one time obsession with keeping all the issues from my Martha Stewart Living subscription, as if somehow I would one day be inspired to tear through dozens of (mostly unread) issues and unleash a homemaking storm. Not so much--Martha got recycled. But cards and letters? I'd no sooner discard those than I would the warranty on the dishwasher or the DVD player manual.

"E-mail gives people the opportunity to communicate, but it's not without its drawbacks," C wrote. "It is too easy just to read one after another without taking time to reply, which is something I am trying to do--reply."

"I am a huge fan of handwritten letters (for many reasons) and have been since I was a child," wrote J. "It's probably one of the reasons I try to send postcards to as many people as possible when I travel ... it does make a more meaningful connection than Facebook which is at most times superficial and at the best a way to stay up to date--but it isn't very meaningful on a deeper level."

They're both right. Electronic communication and social media are in so many ways fantastic developments, connecting people in ways that Samuel Morse and Alexander Graham Bell and the rest of our ancestors simply could not have imagined. These days handwritten letters are called "snail mail" for a reason--definitely not the way to go if speed is what you need. But if you're looking for connection, and reflection, and a way of building your own historical collection, it's in your hands.

SPEAKING OF SNAIL MAIL: I love these bloggers who have embraced the term and turned defamation into celebration. Check out Snail-Mail Aficionado, Snail Mail Madness and Viva Snail Mail!

A Happy Anachronism

2010-07-15T00:01:00.005-05:00

More than once on this letter-writing journey it has become obvious that I, with my love of the handwritten word, am a bit of an antique.

Let's face it: people don't expect you to send them anything physical these days. We "send" and "receive" trillions of intangible bits and bytes, but far, far fewer items go in actual envelopes, with stamps.

Take, for instance, my experience in writing to former U.S. senator and presidential candidate Bill Bradley. Wondering where to send my letter, I went to Mr. Bradley's website. I could find an e-mail address, but no physical location. I ultimately settled for sending Mr. Bradley's letter in care of Sirius Satellite Radio, on which his "American Voices" show is broadcast. I'm still curious as to whether it ever reached him.

I was reminded again of my outdated ways when a friend was hospitalized. When he posted on his Facebook wall that he had been discharged, I responded that I had sent him a letter and hoped that the hospital would forward it to him. Another friend was quick to chime in: "A letter? I wouldn't even know where to buy stamps anymore!!"

I know where. I know the location of the post office nearest to my office and the one nearest to my home. I can tell you which area post office has the latest pick up time and which ones have automated postal centers, those nifty stamp vending machines that, depending on the day, can make me just as happy as any apparatus dispensing M&Ms or pretzels. I'm not above admitting that I get a preternatural high out of applying postage to a stack of neatly addressed envelopes.

But I'll admit a tiny bit of self-consciousness too. A few letters besides Mr. Bradley's I have sent to people at their jobs, the only places I could locate them. Staying true to the art of handwritten correspondence, I address each envelope in longhand as well. No matter how neatly I print, however, I can't help but think of the anthrax-ridden missives showing up at television stations after 9/11, with their scrawled addresses. And I wonder, do I look crazy? I can only hope that my recipients--and their mail room managers, and their secretaries--don't judge proverbial books by their covers.

THANKS FOR FOLLOWING! I was delighted to discover that Love From Kaz, author of the wonderful letter-writing blog I love letters, is now following The Letter Jar. I have wondered about this "paradoxical blog"--Blogging about handwritten communication? How odd!--how exciting to find more and more people like me!

Letters for a Rainy Day

2010-07-11T22:28:00.003-05:00

This morning I was traveling in Iowa with my son T and thought I'd take him to the Macbride Raptor Project before we headed home. I used to visit the owls (my favorite animal) frequently when I lived in Iowa; seeing their majesty always gives me a sense of great peace and serenity.

The Raptor Project is nestled in the University of Iowa Macbride Nature Recreation Area, with the rehabilitated and permanently disabled raptors in spacious outdoor cages you can walk past on a dirt path. As luck would have it, no sooner had I pulled into the parking lot than the heavens opened up. No way I was going to be pushing T in his stroller in the pouring rain.

As I drove back toward the highway, I passed scenic picnic areas overlooking Lake Macbride. When I heard T sigh heavily--a sure sign that he had settled in for a long nap in his car seat--I knew I needed to seize the opportunity for some quiet, beautifully situated, writing time.

I pulled into a picnic area and sat in the front seat of my car, writing letters as rain pelted the windshield. I wrote to my coworker J, thanking her for being a sounding board and also inspiring me to get more involved in my community, get out more socially and just generally have a life outside the office (being somewhat of a homebody may support motherhood and my letter-writing habit but, honestly, I do need the dust blown off me once in a while).

I also wrote to M, one of my childhood best friends, letting her know how much--even though we rarely correspond anymore--I still cherish the memories of Barbies, trips to the beach and dance routines performed in the livingroom for our (incredibly patient and kind) relatives. Writing to M, I was struck with some of the same thoughts I'd had when I wrote to S, the mother of another childhood friend. I noted to M and S that the happy memories recalled as I wrote letters to them are helping me realize how much I want T to have a small town life--a community where neighbors know each other and kids still ride their bikes and play kickball after dinner. It took motherhood, I guess, to make me nostalgic for the kind of upbringing I had, and now I want T to be able to run with a pack of good buddies and make the kind of memories I made with M, S's daughter J and my other friends.

I looked at the clock. 90 minutes had passed like nothing at all. And even though I didn't get to see Duke--my favorite great-horned owl whose disability has made him a longtime resident of the Raptor Project--I still felt extraordinarily peaceful, and serene, as I made my way back to the highway and headed home.

MORE WEATHER-INSPIRED WRITING: This morning as I wrote I thought of Jackie at the Letters and Journals blog, who wrote recently about her own stormy letters. I eagerly await receiving my first issue of the Letters and Journals magazine, which Jackie plans to launch late this year or in early 2011.

Where Have My Letters Gone?

2010-07-09T23:36:00.006-05:00

Dropping a stack of letters in the mailbox today, I noted that they were headed to a variety of destinations--New York, Washington, Iowa, Illinois, Kentucky, Colorado. Which got me thinking: where have all my letters gone?

I added them up.

Illinois	36
Iowa	18
New Mexico	18
Colorado	10
New York	5
Ohio	4
Florida, Indiana, Kentucky, Michigan	3
Minnesota, Oklahoma, Virginia	2
Arizona, California, Montana, Oregon, Texas, Utah, Washington, Wisconsin	1
Alberta, CANADA	1

I guess it comes as no surprise that a great many letters have been delivered right in my backyard in Illinois, seeing as I've been seizing opportunities to reach out to friends and coworkers and family with words of congratulations, sympathy or simply "I'm thinking of you."

The rest of the destinations are a combination--of states I used to live in and states my friends and family have moved to. Besides being a wonderful reminder of all the places I might stop off on a cross-country road trip, the list strikes me as another way these letters are serving as a journal of sorts--in many cases I am reminded not only who I've been, but where I've been (and, in the case of my friend living in Montana, where I might want to "be" next).

If you wrote letters to people important in your life, in what state would you guess most of them would end up?

IN CASE YOU MISSED IT: A favorite letter-writing blogger of mine, Missive Maven, responded to my recent cheap shot at the U.S. Postal Service and its proposed rate hike.

"I would personally much rather pay 2 more cents for a first class stamp than lose Saturday mail delivery, which is also a very real possibility," MM wrote in an eloquent comment on my post. "I believe we still have one of the most affordable and reliable methods of mail delivery in the world, and I hesitate to malign our postal service which brings such joy to my life."

MM is right. We do enjoy a reliable and affordable mail service that much of the rest of the world does not. And "enjoy" is the operative word. Like she said, without the postal service, there would be less joy--a lot less in my life and, perhaps, just a little bit less in each letter recipient's life.

Parallels

2010-07-08T00:09:00.003-05:00

I recently received a letter in return from O, to whom I wrote a few weeks ago. (An aside ... his was the letter I feared I'd gone overboard with; turns out he not only tolerated the letter but thought enough of it to write back.)

Noting that he hadn't received--or sent--a letter in a very long time, O thanked me for mine. He then related a story that convinces me more than ever that I'm on the right track with this project. O related how he and a cousin were cleaning out the condominium of his recently deceased aunt when they ran across a stash of letters that O's mother had sent to her sister.

They were a hoot! We just giggled like kids at mom's odd silly view of things ... But while we were going through all these old letters and photos, we wondered if the same would be possible, or likely, in an age of electronic mail and images and password-protected computer files and delete buttons. And corrupted files. Probably so. People always figure out a way to dig up the past.

He could be right. Perhaps people will find a way to just as easily, or maybe even more easily, unearth a digital past as they do a paper one. And maybe my belief that digging through an old box of letters--with their handwriting and smells and yellowing, postmarked envelopes--gives you more a sense of connection to the owner than going through their hard drive makes me sentimental.

I'm OK with that.

Right now I plan to write just one letter to each person in THE LETTER JAR, so there likely won't be any stashes of letters from me for my recipients' relatives to sift through (or giggle at). But maybe someone's nephew or granddaughter or little brother will discover my one letter, and find a little extra comfort in the affirmation that their loved one was smart, funny, hardworking or brave.

I'll tuck O's letter, and the dozen or so others I've received during this project, into a box for my son to discover someday, maybe even while mommy is still around. I've often thought about how much I look forward to sharing with him the lessons I'm learning on this journey--well, perhaps the proof is in the paper.

STICKING IT TO US AGAIN: The U.S. Postal Service is proposing another 2-cent hike in first-class postage, to 46 cents as of next Jan. 2. This after a 2-cent increase in May 2009. "The Postal Service's plans to hike rates so substantially … may well produce a death spiral of fewer customers and ever declining volume," said Maine Senator Susan Collins. Want to try to stamp out this fire?

Contact the Postal Regulatory Commission.

Equaling Success

2010-07-05T23:49:00.000-05:00

Tonight I wrote a letter I've been meaning to write for almost a decade.

J was the vice-president for instruction at the community college in New Mexico where I worked. I had recently left behind newspaper reporting for a career in public relations and was cutting my teeth in my new position, which involved reaching out to the local media and managing the college's employee newsletter. J, on the other hand, was applying decades of experience and far more education than mine to his job of overseeing the curricula of the college's various programs.

I was struck by the level of respect you showed me, how you treated me like an equal. Trust me when I say ... this is not always the case ... That you, from the very first time we met to discuss something that would be published in the newsletter, treated me as if my knowledge, experience and opinions counted for something, was quite validating indeed. I have always wanted to thank you for that--it made an impression and I have never, ever forgotten. This letter-writing project gave me the chance to express my overdue gratitude.

As I wrote to J, I was reminded of S, another boss whose confidence in me inspired hard work. (I wrote to S very early in THE LETTER JAR project and received a lovely reply from her.) To recognize again the privilege I have had in working with some exceptional leaders makes me grateful and motivates me to treat my employees with the same level of trust and respect that I was granted. "Give people a fine reputation to live up to," Dale Carnegie wrote in his famous How to Win Friends and Influence People." I can't think of a better way to put it.

During the year or so I held the position at the community college (I soon departed for a more challenging position at a hospital) I didn't work one on one all that frequently with J--he clearly was much further up the institutional ladder than I. But, as I have realized in letters not only to former bosses but also former employees, whether someone will be your mentor has little to do with where they are on the organizational chart. Being a genuine leader day in and day out--as J was and is--creates infinite opportunities to influence someone the very same way J influenced me.

I'm glad I seized the opportunity to tell you how you affected me; this letter-writing journey is helping me to more deeply understand so many truths I though I already "knew" but needed to "know" even more convincingly. That in order to have hard working employees you must make clear your trust and respect is one of those truths. Thanks again.

PAPER TRAIL: Since beginning this blog and its companion Twitter feed I've happily discovered quite a few stationers. Do you savor fine paper, enjoy an elegant pen, appreciate having notecards for every occasion and recipient? Then you'll love browsing Felt & Wire, Broadway Paper and HotShoe Cards as much as I have.

"How are you? I am fine."

2010-07-02T01:05:00.003-05:00

Tonight I drew from THE LETTER JAR the name of my cousin K.

I smiled as soon as I put pen to paper, remembering how K and I corresponded as young adults--she in Colorado, I in New York. I wrote her dozens of letters, and I'm pretty sure they all started exactly the same way:

Dear K:
How are you? I am fine.

I shared that memory with K right away, noting that I had chosen a consistent opening that was upbeat, if not all that original. The more I wrote however, the more I realized that those six words probably sum up as well as any the theme of many of my most gratifying letters.

I haven't spoken to K in a while, and so I indeed wanted to know how she was. Granted, it was a little trickier than when we were adolescents--Did I ask about her daughter H, whom I'd heard through another family member was having problems getting her life in order? Should I acknowledge her parents' health issues, or was I not supposed to know about them? How did I sidestep the issue that I could not remember what K did for a living?

Ultimately I decided that there really was no point in taking the time to write a letter if it wasn't going to be heartfelt and genuine. I really did care how H was doing, and K's parents as well. And trying to write as if I remembered anything about K's job would be obvious and lame.

My mom told me about your dad's recent health concerns, and your mom's; please know they are in my thoughts and prayers. I've kept H in my thoughts too--I understand she has struggled a little being out west. I'm sure that has to be hard on you.

I feel a little out of the loop when it comes to what you've been up to ... I hope you're enjoying stress-free and fulfilling days.

I then went on to tell K, as I have so many other letter recipients, that life has been good to me. Listing off what I have to be grateful for--namely my son, stepson and husband and an impending holiday visit from my brother and his sons--I experienced a bit of that joy I used to feel when I was 11 and would recount in my letters how school and trips to the beach and library and mall were keeping me happy and busy.

"How are you? I am fine." It's a simple letter writing premise, perhaps, but it also feels like a good one. It seems a good letter not only details the activities of the letter writer but shows genuine interest, through specific acknowledgments and questions, in the life of the letter recipient. I can appreciate the gentle reminder to view my cup as half full and not get too wrapped up in myself.

My letter to K also served to remind me of the importance of family. When I was young, my family would drive almost every summer from New York to Colorado to see K's family. My brother and I had a blast with K and her brother, riding a go-kart around their huge yard, playing with their dogs and just generally finding ways to goof off. Reflecting on the fun we had makes me all the more determined to make sure my kids spend time with their cousins, creating their own special memories.

STAYIN' ALIVE: My letter to K wouldn't have been complete without recalling the music we shared. K was a little older than I, and I always looked forward to the bands to which my more sophisticated cousin would introduce me. Thanks K--I still love The Bee Gees!

The Paradoxes of This Project

2010-06-29T23:23:00.007-05:00

This project may be about old-fashioned communication but, paradoxically, I'm certain I couldn't do it without the Internet.

Even without this blog--a fun 21st companion to a 19th century communication endeavor--I would find myself quite frequently on the Web.

Many whose names are in THE LETTER JAR are people I haven't seen or spoken to in a long time. I seek to reconnect with long-lost friends, teachers, bosses, employees--in short, people who have been moving around just like me. They might just not be living at the address I scribbled in a datebook in 1988.

That's when a solid Web search--Google Fu, as my husband calls it--has come in. Some people I have indeed located via Google, which has helpfully told me where a high school friend is now working as a city clerk and provided the name of the small town Iowa church where my college minister currently preaches. For other addresses--in cases where the name is fairly unique and I know at least the state, if not the city, where the person is living--I have been able to rely on whitepages.com.

This sleuthing does sometimes feel weird, as if somehow locating someone's address and sending something--even a well-intentioned letter--to it is a privacy violation. Another paradox--the lives of so many of my recipients are open books (or open "Facebooks," more accurately) online; why does depositing something in their actual mailbox feel so different from pinging their e-mail inbox?

Speaking of Facebook, this project may be my personal antidote to it, but the social media behemoth still has a role to play. There have been numerous people to whom I might not have thought to write--at least not immediately, anyway--were it not for them showing up as friends of friends on Facebook. And in some cases where I simply cannot figure out where to send a letter, I send the recipient a Facebook message: "Hey, I have something to send you snail mail ... can I have your address? I promise it's not a chain letter or candle catalog."

Though I've yet to have anyone turn me down, I'm still just as nervous about asking for addresses as that last line would imply. Again, here we all are, airing our laundry for the world to see online, but I wonder: is it OK to want to know where the underwear actually gets washed?

It makes me a little sad, to realize that "snail mail"--dowdy and slow, the Cinderella of the communication media--has seemingly been relegated to a status so inferior to its sophisticated electronic counterparts. The U.S. Postal Service's plan to eliminate Saturday service seems only to seal the doom of pen-and-paper conversation, but I'm committed to doing my part to save the art of the handwritten letter. So are the folks at Good Mail Day, Missive Maven and A Passion for Letter Writing. Check 'em out.

A Job Well Appreciated

2010-06-27T23:29:00.001-05:00

"Thank you."

Those simple words sum up a letter I wrote yesterday to T, one of my employees at a job I held in New Mexico five years ago. I hired T after the company I worked for was sold and I was handed a new, if somewhat intimidating, new assignment--put together a team to execute the new company's community outreach in all 121,000 square miles of the state.

I put your name in the jar, T, because I've always wanted to tell you how much I appreciated you as an employee. I was a little nervous, having been handed this new assignment, and your hard work, dedication, problem solving, creativity and imagination made my job so much easier. I always felt confident that the southern part of the state was in capable hands--your enterprising spirit and conscientiousness meant a good opportunity for outreach and promotion was never missed. I don't know as I ever really thanked you for all you did, and let you know how much I appreciated you. Please accept my thanks and appreciation now.

Expressing my written gratitude to T felt good, but as I wrote, I also felt a touch of regret that I didn't do more to let him know while he was still working for me. Not that I never expressed any appreciation--there were day-to-day "thank yous" and I made sure his glowing performance review was matched with the best raise I could give him--but I'm pretty sure I never told him exactly how his hard work helped me succeed.

T's is the second letter I've written to a former employee. A couple months ago I wrote to S, who was put in the awkward position of having to bring me, her new supervisor, up-to-speed on aspects of a job she clearly knew much better than I. It could have been the recipe for a strained relationship, but S was gracious and outgoing and made me feel entirely welcome. In my letter I thanked her for the gift of her acceptance, and also took the opportunity to tell her how much I admired her moxie as a single woman. I watched S buy a house and earn her master's degree; I had dreamt of those goals myself, but didn't have it together enough to do go after them. Not unsurprisingly, S is now succeeding in a manager's position not unlike the one I held as her supervisor.

Considering that I've spent upwards of 2000 hours of every one of the last 17 years in some sort of job, it's not surprising that many of the names in THE LETTER JAR would be from those places of employment. Common throughout my letters to those people--be they former bosses who gave me a chance, employees who put forth extraordinary effort or coworkers who became good friends--are those two simple words: thank you. Thank you for believing in me. Thank you for supporting me. Thank you for being my mentor, no matter how our names were arranged on the organizational chart.

I'm reminded once again that while my letters may serve in some way as gifts to the recipients--it's probably always nice to feel appreciated, even after the fact--the letters are gifts to me as well. They are gifts of awakening, of becoming aware of the opportunities I have to acknowledge how my current coworkers--bosses, employees and coworkers all included--contribute to my success on the job.

SPEAKING OF MENTORS: I was a couple of months into this project when I discovered Carla and her 365 Letters blog. I love how she weaves commentary of her day-to-day writing with fun updates about new postage stamps and thought-provoking potential letter topics. Thanks for being such an interesting and inspiring guide!

Letter Fail?!?

2010-06-24T23:31:00.005-05:00

Last night I finished a letter to J, someone I definitely consider a friend despite having met her in person just once.

J and I have both participated for a long time--J longer than I--on a message board for stepmothers. As I told her in the letter I wrote--I am always moved by how much she cares for other people. She shares in others' joy, sympathizes in their disappointments and is indignant when any of her friends have been wronged. She always knows just what to say (or not to say, when a cyber hug is really what is needed).

I related how glad I was that I decided a year and a half ago to drive from Chicago to Toledo and meet up with her and another stepmom in a hotel parking lot, so we could then all drive to the Central Ohio home of yet another stepmother who was hosting a get together.We had so much fun and such great conversation that day.

In my letter I told J her how the connections I have with her and the dozens of other stepmothers on the message board, despite being Web-based, underscore the biggest lesson of this project: relationships matter. The people we come to know--even in cyberspace--and how they affect us, and we them, count more than anything in this life.

At this point in the letter it dawned on me that I hadn't actually checked in on the message board for awhile. J has (perhaps wisely) avoided Facebook and Twitter, so I haven't seen any news about her.

Sitting there with pen and paper, I realized that while there was probably nothing wrong with telling J how thankful I was for the past connections we've made online and in-person, it was possible that I should also be acknowledging some big event in her life, except I didn't know about the big event. I decided to find out.

OMG!!

I just realized I hadn't checked in on [the message board] in a while (mostly mommy-ing is keeping me busy, some work too) and here I am all "yadda yadda yadda" without really knowing what's up in your life now. So I went to lurk and find out.

You got married!!!!

Congratulations, even if I'm about 90 days behind the curve ... Please forgive me for being so ignorant for the first three pages of this letter--I really wanted to tell you what a wonderful person I think you are and didn't stop to think there might have been big changes for you.

I was mortified at this point, and wondering if I should even send the letter. But at its core, this project is about being honest and authentic, even when that means revealing how woefully oblivious I can be. Starting over--and pretending I knew from the outset about her nuptials--would be deceitful. I trust that J will forgive (and even lightheartedly mock--her sense of humor was something else I acknowledged in my letter) my oversight.

I'm also reminding myself that, when snail mail was all we had, I wouldn't have necessarily known about J's wedding (she eloped with her beloved, so there were no invitations) as I wrote my letter. I would have written to her,, told her what was up with me and, weeks or months later, I would have received her letter saying, "I got married." I wouldn't have to feel bad about not already knowing. In these days when so many of us pour out our life details--usually far less monumental than wedding announcements--on social media with all the restraint of a 24-hour news channel, such delayed information may be quaint but, as far as I'm concerned, it's also welcome.

MUST READ: I have been following One Pilot's War on Twitter. His bio: "My grandfather sent over 1500 letters home during WWII. These are those letters." What amazing and eloquent letters. To touch such a lovely part of your family history must be so incredible. Read the letters at the blog.

The End and The Means

2010-06-22T22:46:00.000-05:00

I started this project with about 205 names in THE LETTER JAR--friends, family, teachers, employers and employees, professional contacts, even a handful of writers and musicians and filmmakers whom I've never met but whose work has profoundly moved me.

As they've occurred to me, I've added another couple dozen names along the way, and I'll likely add some more.

Still short of 365, though.

What will help me reach my goal are the writing opportunities I've started to recognize in my life. Friends have a baby? Rather than just ooh and aah over the photos on Facebook (though I still do that too--who can resist pictures of new babies?) I send them a card and maybe a little present. A friend helps me through a rough patch? I send a thank you note recognizing the gift of their listening.

On Mother's Day I sent handmade cards to some friends and family whose mothering skills I respect and admire. My cousin's wife getting accepted into nursing school was cause for a celebratory note, with extra kudos for going into a profession where more hands are so desperately needed.

When two friends lost their dogs, I wrote notes of condolence and made small donations to charity in memory of their beloved pets.

I'm not afraid to admit that in the past, before I launched this yearlong letterwriting project, I might not have seized some of these opportunities. I can honestly say that sometimes I'm "looking" for a reason to write to someone.

Is that a bad thing?

I have to believe that, if the letter recipient appreciates the gesture, it doesn't necessarily matter what first prompted me to put pen to paper. That I am so motivated now to write to people and tangibly acknowledge life's highs and lows--in ways I just never would have before--just one of many unexpected blessings of this project.

BLOG ADDICTION: Started following Letters of Note on Twitter last month. Can spend (have spent) hours looking at archives, and I'm always looking forward to a new installment. Today's? Johnny Depp thanking some fans for the quilt they handmade for him. I couldn't make this up.

Refuge and Reward

2010-06-20T23:46:00.003-05:00

I wrote my first letter on a February night, lingering over my words and sentiments with a cup of tea at the dining room table. My son, just a few months old, slept nearby in his bassinet, where he remained for a few hours as mommy collected her thoughts. I strove to make many of my early letters--composed just this way--miniature masterpieces.

I wrote my 99th letter in my recliner this morning, gulping down coffee as I anticipated my now very active son awakening from a brief nap and my parents arriving for a Father's Day brunch. I've also written letters sitting on the livingroom floor while my son crawled around and over me, in a doctor's office waiting room, at the car dealership while my brakes were replaced. And I wonder, is this project worth carving out those little blocks of time? Can I do my letters--and their recipients--justice?

The time it takes to write a letter--and the effort it takes to find that time--is pretty obviously a big reason we got away from handwritten correspondence in the first place. We are a busy people, running to daycare and work and back to daycare and off to the grocery and the dry cleaner and the dentist and the veterinarian. When we're trying to communicate with friends and family amid all those obligations, why wouldn't we lean on the convenience of e-mail and texting? When the point is to simply exchange data, the fastest and best methods are the same.

There certainly have been days when I've simply not found the time to write a letter, or if I was lucky enough to have some extra minutes, I wanted to spend them with my head on the pillow, not a pen in my hand. It was on the first such occasion, some 20 or so days into this project, that I changed my goal from "write a letter a day for a year" to "write 365 letters in 365 days."

And I did consider, early on, what other goals I might have to set aside as I made time to write. Would I have no time for meditation? For prayer? For journaling?

As luck would have it ... the letters have become my meditation, keeping me very much in the moment even as I in many cases reflect on the past. My letters are also prayers, prompting me to express abundant gratitude for the joy, support, lessons and love my relationships have brought me. And they are a journal of sorts, a written record of where and who I've been.

For those very reasons letterwriting has become a refuge and a reward, a place into which I willingly slip when opportunities arise. Quiet, tranquil nights of writing are indeed in the past, replaced with whatever moments my imagination can find. Lucky for me, the benefits are the same whether my writing is a production or piecemeal--my communication still feels elevated, transcending a simple exchange of information to an experience of reflection that ideally moves me and the letter recipient.

And I'd call that a masterpiece.

IN HONOR OF OUR FATHERS: In the spirit of this day for dads I offer a link to a syracuse.com blog post of letters from Central New York schoolchildren to their fathers. What a delight. Be sure to read through to the end--the last one is priceless.

Short-lived Yet Long-lasting

2010-06-17T22:08:00.010-05:00

This morning I wrote a letter to S, once the roommate of my husband R--long before R was my husband, even before he was much of a serious boyfriend.

S and I didn't really know each other all that well back then, and still don't. But that didn't matter when I added his name to THE LETTER JAR.

What mattered was that S came through for me in a most unexpected, but truly appreciated, way that I've never forgotten:

I remember going to the room you shared with R, trying to find him because he had told me he would meet me somewhere, but didn't show. R wasn't there, but you were. Now you didn't even have to open the door, much less invite me in and talk to me. But you did, and you very kindly told me that perhaps being involved with R at that point wasn't a good idea.

Now this many years on it probably seems comical--you do not want to date my roommate, seriously!--but in fact it was an incredibly sensitive way you handled it, at the time.

My interaction with S lasted about 15 minutes and happened about 18 years ago. But given we were all in college back then, with so much personal stuff to preoccupy each one of us, it still strikes me that S took a moment to talk to essentially a random girl about her unrequited crush.

Most people in your shoes would have informed me R wasn't there and sent me on my way. That you cared enough to have a conversation sticks with me to this day.

Which has become the point of this project, honestly ... people and the interactions we have with them, long-term or for the briefest of moments, are what are lasting and remembered.

As I noted to S--and he already knew--R and I did reunite many, many years post-college and are actually the quite happy new mom and dad to a 7-month-old and stepmom and dad to a 7-year-old.

While maybe the 20-year-old R wasn't someone I ought to have been involved with, his 38-year-old counterpart is truly a blessing in my life--strong, supportive, sensitive and more loving that I feel I deserve sometimes.

My letter was to S was number 98, and among those first 97 were some pretty long, fairly wide-ranging missives to people I've known most of my life, telling them all the ways I've admired and learned from them. It was refreshing to write a letter with such a singular purpose--to thank the recipient for simply being there at one moment in time. Our interaction was short-lived but its impact was long-lasting.

PACKAGE TRACKING WASN'T AN OPTION: Yesterday I heard an entertaining NPR interview with Jay and Les, who are among the riders reenacting the 150-year-old Pony Express. Who knows how this project might be evolving if a letter took 10 days to get from Missouri to California?

When "Flow" Turns to "Overflow"

2010-06-15T23:07:00.008-05:00

I was writing a letter yesterday to O, a newspaper reporter whom I befriended when I worked in public relations, when I had an uncomfortable realization--sometimes I just overdo it.

D'oh! as Homer Simpson would say. Overdo'h!

This letterwriting experience, of course, has been filled with wonderful revelations and lessons. But this one? Ouch.

What I was really trying to say to O was that I was glad we got to know each other, having overcome the natural skepticism that media can sometimes have for PR types (and vice versa). I was also trying to thank him for some good, meaningful conversation that went beyond the weather and whatever story I was trying to pitch him (or information he was trying to get from me).

I wandered off into the weeds, though, and found myself becoming too verbose. (Therein lies a hazard of writing longhand--my "verbociousness" kicked in on the second page, and who wants to start over at that point? Besides, there seems to be something disingenuous about discarding and starting over a handwritten letter--isn't the purpose of such an exercise to just let the words flow, longwinded and disjointed as they may be?)

Maybe I was sincerely trying to get my point across, but if I'm being honest with myself, I suspect what I was really trying to do was "puff up the pen"--make my message worthy of paper, achieve some mystical letterwriting standard, make it a reader to remember.

Oh forgive me William of Ockham, oh ye of Ockham's razor. In letters as in life, the simplest explanation is usually the correct one.

I've written 96 letters and I'm proud to say this is really the first time I've caught myself "pen puffing." And I hasten to add that after realizing what I was doing, I did step back, take a breath and just let the words flow. In the end, O might raise an eyebrow when he reaches the middle of that second page, but by the last page hopefully he'll no longer be wondering what exactly I was on when I wrote him.

It's not always easy to let the words flow--particularly when my son is crawling circles around me on the livingroom floor as I try to write--but, fortunately, it does seem easy to notice when words are "overflowing."

WHEN NORA EPHRON IS YOUR PEN PAL: Thanks Letters & Journals magazine for tweeting this wonderful Wall Street Journal blog post on the PencilPALS program. Teaching youth the value of handwritten letters? Fantastic!

Signed, Sealed ... Delivered?

2010-06-13T21:46:00.003-05:00

Tonight I found myself, for the first time, actually not knowing where to send a letter. I signed it, I sealed it, but I didn't know how to deliver it.

I'd written the letter in question to a police lieutenant who had been a source of mine back when I was a newspaper reporter. This lieutenant, as I told him in my letter, had been a tough but fair source who made me work harder. I was a better reporter because of him, and I wanted him to know that.

After finishing the letter, I "Googled" him just to confirm he was still with the same police department, so I could send the letter there.

Turns out he was a lieutenant with that same force ... up until just this last March, when he retired. If only I'd drawn his name sooner from THE LETTER JAR.

Well police lieutenants, for good reason, don't make their home addresses public. "Where was I going to send the letter?" I wondered.

Ultimately I settled for sending it to the police department's public information officer, who had written the press release about the lieutenant's retirement. I explained to her the project and asked that she please pass on the enclosed letter if she is still in contact with the lieutenant.

Expecting some skepticism on her part, I named a couple other lieutenants (sergeants at the time I knew them) who could vouch for my identity and encouraged her to read the enclosed letter should she have any doubts about its content.

This isn't the first time I've written a letter to one person and sent it to someone else. Before composing another letter--interestingly, also to a news source (this one a politician) whose expectations of me I felt made me a better reporter--I Googled the person to see if I could still find him. Turns out he'd died in 2006. I still wrote the letter, but to his wife--I told her I was sorry to read of his passing and how her husband had been a positive influence in my career. The gracious letter I received in return, thanking me for my words and telling me how touched her husband would have been to know he made a difference in someone's career, was the very first reply I received in the course of this project.

This, however, is the first time I've been left wondering if the letter will ultimately reach its intended destination. Kind of a new twist on the tree falling in the woods with no one around: if you write a letter but the recipient never sees it, does it make a difference?

Wisdom ... Without Warning

2010-06-12T21:38:00.007-05:00

Today I wrote a short letter to R, a coworker from our information services department with whom I typically exchange "hellos" as we pass in the hallway. (I have to say that in some ways I'm glad our longer conversations--incidental as they are to my computer going on the fritz--have been infrequent.)

It was a surprise then, that some of my most cherished wisdom from my first few weeks of motherhood came from none other than R. He is a Facebook friend of mine, and like so many others weighed in with congratulations soon after my son was born. So many times I reread and repeated to myself R's message:

Congrats ... take it easy ... enjoy the moments of quiet and remember you are doing everything right ...

"Remember you are doing everything right." As I told R in my letter to him, those words--read in a hormonal and sleep-deprived funk--affected me profoundly. What new mother doesn't second-guess herself through those early days? "Remember you are doing everything right." Oh how those words calmed me when I could feel the icy grip of anxiety closing in time and again.

Just goes to show, I guess, that wisdom--like the proverbial closest emergency exit on the plane--isn't always in the first place you'd look. (Something to remember, perhaps, when you're desperately seeking an answer and you're just convinced you're looking in all the right places?) When you do find it, it's worth acknowledging.

NEXT READ: My mom has me excited about Lee Kravitz's new book, Unfinished Business: One Man's Extraordinary Year of Trying to Do the Right Things. The summary goes something like this: Kravitz, fired from his job as editor of Parade magazine, chronicles how he launched a journey--around the world and around the corner--to make amends with the people and pieces of his life from which he had become disconnected. Sounds intriguing, and inspiring.

Report Card

2010-06-10T22:13:00.003-05:00

My stepson's first-grade report card arrived in the mail today, and it reminded me that I've been meaning to to give a "report card" of sorts for myself on this project. Writing 92 letters, it turns out, has made me realize that the people in my life have taught me a lot of valuable lessons.

I've started a list, which I look forward to expanding as I continue to pick up pen and paper.

It's About Time

2010-06-08T21:14:00.006-05:00

My 7-month-old son, T, pulled the name of my dad--also T, my son's namesake--out of THE LETTER JAR last Saturday.

Same son kept me too busy on Saturday to write. So I started the letter on Sunday.

And worked on it a little on Monday.

And finished it today.

It made for a somewhat disjointed experience, stopping and starting like that, even if I did have in mind from the beginning an idea of what I was going to say. And as I sat there this morning in my recliner, wrapping up the letter, I did have an appreciation for e-mail's allure. Let's face it: I probably could have written my father--and mother and brother and mother-in-law and several best friends and my hairdresser--any number of e-mails in that same time frame. My words-per-minute score isn't that great, but I'm sure I can type faster than I can write.

But.

Therein lies the rub. I type faster than I write from a purely mechanical standpoint, yes, but a mental perspective too. When I'm typing an e-mail, I'm fairly aware I'm simply skimming the surface of my mind, offering a quick update about the kids, a little tidbit about work, some pleasant inquiries as to what's been happening on the other person's end.

But to put pen to paper and write ... it feels important and I happily, easily even, put forth the kind of thought I feel the process deserves. Themes emerge and my vocabulary expands as I take what feels like a cherished opportunity to tell my letter recipient how I feel about him or her.

I heard an NPR interview the other day with Nicholas Carr, author of The Shallows: What the Internet is Doing to Our Brains. Carr maintains, based on his own experience and the hours of research he has done, that all our time online--quickly moving from skimming a story on a news site to browsing the RSS feed of our favorite blog to checking our e-mail and rinsing and repeating over and over--is cutting into our attention span and making it difficult for us to concentrate on kind of things we used to spend our free time doing. Things like reading books.

And writing.

Carr says we can stem the effects of Internet overuse by devoting equal time to activities of deeper concentration, which gives me reason again to believe I'm on the right track with this letterwriting journey. (I will admit to some doubt as my recent letter turned into a multi-day project.) This blog is evidence enough that I'm not about to abandon my Web-surfing ways, but to have another reason to spend some hours unplugged, with just my pen and paper, is fine by me.

The Gift of Words

2010-05-30T12:07:00.006-05:00

This week I received a letter from S, a former boss to whom I wrote one of my very first letters in THE LETTER JAR project. I had written to S that my experience working for her was a model for how I want to behave as a supervisor.

"... You conveyed to me, without really even saying anything, a sense that you believed in me and trusted me. I can't begin to tell you how powerful that was--I may not have always had all the answers (and was willing to admit when I didn't) but you can be sure I was willing to work very, very hard for you ... There have been times when I have been tempted to start micromanaging but I remind myself that a little more trust may just yield better results. And it does--my employee rises to the occasion whenever I place my trust in her. So thank you for being a good mentor in that regard. (I'm sure my employee would thank you too)."

In a lovely letter to me, S replied that reading my letter was a "like a flashback" to the 4th floor of the building where we worked--the good times, the not-so-good times and members of her team she still misses.

"I can't adequately express how special your words of 'what I meant' to you. We often go through our stages of life and not know how we may have influenced those who we have touched. Thank you so much for the gift of your words!"

Thank you, S, for summing in yet another way what this project is all about. We do indeed get caught up--inevitably and necessarily--in the stages of our lives, but it's worth the time to let people know how they have influenced and touched you. In work as in play, it's not about where or how do it, or the money we make or spend doing it--it's about the lives we touch and are touched by.

BACK TO THE FUTURE: S, along with several others from whom I have received letters, have thanked me for taking the time to hand write a letter but have also asked for an e-mail address in order to communicate more frequently and easily share photos. Indeed, I should send along some pics with one of my half dozen or so e-mail accounts--my small contribution to the 2.9 billion worldwide!

You Can't Always Get What You Want

2010-05-19T22:20:00.007-05:00

But if you try sometimes you might find ... You get what you need

Has that Stones line become a cliché (or maybe it was already one before they ever got their hands on it)?

The thing about a cliché ... well, there has to be a reason why it's been repeated over and over. Or so it would seem.

This morning before I went to work I finished a letter I'd started last night to K, a friend I met in college. If I'm being honest, K and I weren't really close friends--we got along well enough, but really we just hung out with our mutual friend, P.

The minute I began writing to K I knew there was a confession I would eventually have to make to her (and maybe, if I'm still being honest, that's why her name ended up in THE LETTER JAR). I started my letter as I have started many--explaining how I was writing 365 letters in 365 days, how I was aiming to reconnect with people in an "old fashioned" way. And I told her I included her on my list of names because I remember her being a part of some really fun memories--which is true. I recalled in particular a trip to Kansas City with her and P and some other friends to see Rush. I really do still laugh when I run across the pictures of all of us clowning around downtown before the show.

I also told K that I admired her for always being so calm and collected. During those college years when we were hanging out, I told her, I felt like an unmade bed most of the time (completely true) and I envied her poise and togetherness.

Then came the confession: I particularly envied her back then, I wrote, because I had a terrible crush on P. I felt that if I could just be more like K, I could win his affections. (I didn't win his affections, and it had nothing to do with how much I was or wasn't like K.)

And therein lies an instructive--albeit a little painful--byproduct of this project: owning up to wasted time and mistakes and forgiving myself for being foolish. I look back at that time now and wonder how my relationships with you and P might have been different had I not been so hung up on my feelings and wanting to be someone other than myself.

I noted that while I know I can't--nor would I want to--go back and change history, I can recognize upon reflection how I might have behaved differently and apply that lesson to my life now.

Not that I am in any situations of "romantic competition"--I am quite happily married ... but if I think about it, there are certainly situations where I am convinced I want a certain thing, and am pursuing it to the potential detriment of other possibilities. Were I to let go and be open to what might be, I could be surprised at what I discover. (Which, I suppose, is a paraphrasing of sorts of the Stones: "You Can't Always Get What You Want ...")

And it's true. (Like all good clichés.) Right now I most definitely have my mind set on how certain things should go in my marriage, in my job, in my life. I have to constantly remind myself to be open to other possibilities, to consider that I might be wrong about what the "best" outcomes are. Perhaps writing to K first thing in the morning--and seeing that truth in black and white--was the reason for my sunnier-than-usual mood today. Certainly motivates me to experiment with doing my letter writing in the a.m. hours.

I told K that I hoped my letter wasn't too weird or trippy for her.

It really has thrilled me to discover through this project the lessons I've been "taught" in my life--and the extent to which I have "learned" them--and I have people like you to thank for coming into my life in the first place and for being one of my letter recipients now.

Are there lessons that life is trying to teach you, but you haven't quite learned?

STRANGER THAN FICTION: I was reading the "10 Questions for" interview with Willie Nelson the other day in TIME, in which someone asked Willie if he had it to do all over again, would he do anything differently? Willie said he would be reluctant to change anything in the past because it would change where he is now, and he likes where he is now. I actually sighed aloud when I read that. Wisdom! From Willie! Who knew he was a sage? Read the whole interview for yourself and see what I mean.

Sharpened Focus

2010-05-15T21:15:00.000-05:00

This morning I wrote a letter to J, whom I met in college through our campus ministry. In the first part of the letter I thanked her for her friendship: She is someone, I told her, on whom I could always rely to tell me the truth, have my best interests at heart and generally see things in the most positive light--characteristics valuable in any relationship but particularly apropos a couple years ago as I sought her firsthand advice and support as I struggled with issues of infertility. I also remarked that she is such a good role model for her daughter, something I know because she has also served as a good role model for me and others:

You are one of the first people I ever met who so fully embodied the idea of public service and brotherhood ... I have met few people who have your level of commitment to their fellow men and women and to the Earth. Even though it's been years since we've seen each other face to face, let alone day to day, I am still inspired by you to make wiser decisions about my use of resources and my impact on fellow humans. Thank you for serving that role in my life, as an example of less consuming and more giving.

At that point in the letter I then found myself giving my friend what turned out to be the most articulate assessment I've expressed so far of what this project has meant to me. First I told her, as I have others, that writing these letters has underscored the importance of recognizing the people in your life at any given moment and how they're shaping you as they share part of your life journey. But the words that rolled off my pen next persuade me that I have reached a new level of understanding of what that "recognizing people" really means:

It has been so interesting and enlightening to write to friends and family--people I've known practically since birth (I guess that would be my mom!) and those I've known a much shorter period of time, but who still have had an impact--and realize through reflection and exposition the lessons those relationships have taught me. I'm realizing how many people I have to thank for what I know and believe about hard work, fairness, appreciation and gratitude, expectations and, yes, love of fellow man, altruism and social and environmental responsibility.

Sitting there in my recliner this morning, writing the letter to J with my son sleeping in my arms, those words unexpectedly brought the significance of this project into sharp, clear focus--interestingly, at a time when my energy had started to flag somewhat. (Fulfilling a commitment to handwrite 365 letters in 365 days while working full time and raising an infant can be a little much, I've found, and being plagued with a nasty cold--as I was the last couple weeks--can make you question that promise, along with your sanity.)

Suddenly I am infused again with the same excitement I felt as I drew that very first name from THE LETTER JAR--I look forward to the realizations, recollections and recognitions that lie within my next 288 letters. And just as I know my drive will wane again, I am confident it will resurge too--and I look forward to experiencing how that happens.

UNEXPECTED BENEFIT: This project, perhaps not surprisingly, is improving my handwriting! Not that I've ever had what I (or the most likely critics, my teachers and employers) would consider terrible penmanship, but I've noticed that even the non-letterwriting activity for which I typically give little care to my script--meeting notes at work, grocery lists, forms completed for the DMV--is starting to take on a more legible, pleasing look. Only 253 days until next National Handwriting Day on Jan. 23--I've got a head start!

Connection, Unexpected

2010-05-11T22:20:00.000-05:00

Something that has not surprised me as I've pursued this project is how much better I am at expressing myself through the written word, be it handwritten or even electronic, than I am in person. I envy people who pirouette beautifully through all kinds of happy, sad and sticky social situations with seeming ease while I trip over my tongue.

What has come as a surprise is how the written word can actually open up face-to-face communication. Case in point: recently I learned that my coworker L's husband is recovering from a stroke he suffered a few months ago. I sent L a card to let her know I was thinking about her and praying for her and her family.

A word about L ... she can be a bit overwhelming. Her loud voice, curious nature and raucous laugh can just about knock you down sometimes. I will admit there have been moments, when working with L on a project or participating in a work activity, when I have thought to myself, "Oh L, please be quiet. PLEASE ..."

L is also one of the most authentic people you'll ever meet. She's loudly, curiously and raucously--happy. And kind, and sweet, and generous. Which is why it broke my heart to hear about her husband and I wanted to reach out--but do so from behind the safety of the paper and pen.

Yesterday I heard a knock at my office door and turned to see L standing in the doorway, holding the card. "I ran across this last night," she said. "I know you sent it a while ago but there has been so much going on, and things have been piling up, but I wanted to say thank you."

In some ways she was still L--still as positive as she could be, telling me about the progress her husband had made and praising her children for how they had rallied around him. At the same time she was also a quieter, more fragile version of the person I usually see, as she talked about the reality of what she and her husband might face in the days ahead.

I was surprised to find myself moved to get up out of my chair and give her a hug--it was a moment of connection I wouldn't have ever seen coming, and it felt genuine. And good.

As L left my office, holding the card, I was pleasantly surprised to realize that written words had opened a door--one that I had, even subconsciously, assumed myself incapable or afraid of opening.

PITFALL OF THE PEN: Handwriting letters has revealed my dependency on spell check! When I went to write "possess" in a letter to my cousin M the other night, I found myself momentarily unable to remember how many "s" there were, and where. Because I couldn't just type--and let the computer suggest the correct spelling for me--I flipped my notebook over and scribbled different versions of the word until one looked right. Investigation about the use of spellcheck led me to Dr. Dennis Galletta and the interesting research he and his colleagues at the University of Pittsburgh are doing on the subject.

The Music in My Heart

2010-05-07T21:54:00.000-05:00

Today I received a letter from P, a therapist I saw regularly about 12 years ago. (The number 12 looks odd; it really seems like a lot longer. I guess that's how "lifetimes" go ...)

When I wrote to P, I thanked her for not only helping me with the acute problems in my life--namely the risky, desperate ways in which I was trying to overcome loneliness and depression--but also for helping me the lay the groundwork for learning that continues to this day.

Just recently I read Eckhart Tolle's The Power of Now and lightbulbs were going on for me--seeds of thought planted in my talks with you were finally in full bloom. (Sorry to mix metaphors with lightbulbs and flowers!)

I also thanked P for helping me to understand how the act of respecting and loving oneself translates into respectful, loving relationships with others, and how I hope to demonstrate that truth to my son and stepson through word and deed.

On the couch in your office (and I say couch not as a cliché--I do think you had a couch!) was where I first started to "get" that dynamic of loving oneself in order to love others.

P expressed delight in hearing from me and added that she remembers me and has sometimes wondered "what ever happened ..."

Your letter so generously fills in blanks for me. Most of all, I'm grateful we together captured something for you to build on, as you have.

P promised to keep my letter locked in her files "for an occasional reminder of what keeps me inspired." She then went to quote Wordsworth:

"The music in my heart
I bore long after it was heard no more."

What a way to sum up how this project is affecting me! If I hadn't already coined THE LETTER JAR, "The Music in My Heart" would make a great title too.

Whose music have you bore in your heart after it was heard no more?

Speaking of music, a song that takes me back to the time I was seeing P--and never fails to inspire positive thoughts of how I was emerging from my struggles--is Bittersweet Symphony by The Verve.

Inspiration

2010-05-04T21:50:00.000-05:00

Last Saturday night my best friend and I went to see Jonatha Brooke live at a great intimate venue. Hours later, still basking in the energy and inspiration of the experience, I was moved to write Jonatha a letter.

There is something, I told her, about bearing witness to an artist and their craft--something mystical and beautiful that is a reminder of authentic goodness in a world that seems to be falling around us. Of course there are many crafts and many more artists, but I have always been drawn to the performance of music, particularly the edgy, interesting, indie brand of folk that Jonatha offers up.

I so thoroughly love how you build the music in your songs so carefully around the emotional content; the music and the meaning never seem to compete with each other.

Jonatha was a spur-of-the-moment addition to my list of letter recipients, which already did include a few carefully chosen artistic "heroes" of mine. I didn't want to overpopulate the list with "celebrities"--people I've never met, versus my own family, friends and colleagues--it would be just too easy, I thought, to knock off 300 letters along the lines of "I'm such a fan of your work ..." My heroes, though, achieve a higher standard--they touch, impress and inspire me in ways that leave me feeling that I do know them, somehow.

... My true passion is writing ... Whenever I experience an artist like yourself communing with her craft, I am inspired to keep pursuing my art. You have my gratitude and respect.

Are there "celebrities" who have inspired you? How?

NEW READ: I'm so excited to have started Lois Wyse's Friend to Friend: Letters Only A Woman Could Write. Letters by the likes of Harriet Beecher Stowe and Anne Morrow Lindbergh to their friends. Beautiful and inspiring, kind of like Wyse herself--her New York Times obituary in July 2007 noted that the prolific author and ad wordsmith coined the term "with a name like Smucker's, it has to be good." Indeed!

Children

2010-04-30T08:19:00.000-05:00

Last night I wrote a letter to A, my 2 ½-year-old niece. When I started this project and was compiling my list of names, I included my two nephews (ages 13 and 5) and niece, figuring it would be easy enough to write them letters.

It was, and wasn't. Sure I could keep the subjects (this summer's family reunion, her cousin--my son's--favorite toys at daycare) light and skip any deep insights, but I also had to choose short, recognizable words. I was reminded of a job I once had where, to meet the requirements of a government contract, I had to convert a quarterly newsletter completely to a 6th-grade reading level. Harder than it sounds.

As I was writing the letter to A, I kept in mind that it was not she who would be reading it, but her father or mother reading it to her. And, honestly, to A more excitement probably lie in learning that something in the mailbox was addressed to her, than in actually hearing it read.

I also resisted the temptation to make a deeply meaningful tome, along the lines of, "The world is full of beauty and surprises, and I wish them all for you ..." Maybe this will be OK for the 13-year-old, but I doubt that by the time the letter would mean anything to A, that she would still have it. Better to wait until she is older and write her another.

Still, the process of writing to A was a fun one, in that I imagined her excitement in receiving a letter and was excited to share this fading experience with her. I remembered how elated I was to receive mail as a child (a couple pen pal relationships and a several-year correspondence with a cousin served to feed the need) and hoped maybe A would someday find that same thrill:

"Hopefully the art of the handwritten note won't be totally replaced by e-mail when you're old enough to write ..."

In writing to A, I also recalled fond memories of my own childhood with my brother, her father. In mentioning the long winter where A lives, I told her about sledding on the big hill behind our house with her daddy. Telling her to get along with her brother, I told her to ask her daddy someday about the "secret code" he and I had to try not to make our own parents mad. (It involved chickens, I told her.)

Writing the letter served as an unexpected reminder of how my brother and I are now creating for our families the same cherished memories our parents did for us. How is history repeating itself in your life?

Detours

2010-04-25T21:10:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, in addition to writing a letter to my friend J, whose name I pulled from THE LETTER JAR, I also wrote to my mother. I had been meaning to write her ever since she stayed with me and my husband when our son was 3 weeks old. He'll turn 6 months old on Thursday--it was time.

J and my mother have never met and know nothing of each other's stories. Yet a consistent theme emerged: that life rarely turns out the way we expect, and we ought to be singing praises for that.

In the case of J, I introduced him to my friend P. They married a week after I wed my first husband; our union lasted five years, theirs just six months:

I'm not sure I should apologize for introducing you to your first wife--I had no way of knowing how that would all turn out--but I do want to say I'm sorry for the pain you had to endure. I do know for myself, I can now consider my first marriage ... just part of my journey to where I am now. Probably sounds like the basis for yet another country ballad, but I do believe it's true--I wouldn't be who I am, here, without having been who I was, there ... I hope that you too have reconciled the journey that has led to the happiness you have found with N.

Writing to my mother, I echoed the sentiments of the uncharted journey--the two months I lived with her and my dad after my divorce at age 34 certainly was not part of my plan. Desire for a family had in part led to the demise of my first marriage; yet back in those days, I couldn't know if I would actually have the child I wanted. My decision to pursue a family--something I know my mother had always wanted for me but had resigned herself to never seeing--also coincided with her diagnosis of stage IV breast cancer. There lurked an unspoken fear that perhaps she would not live to experience the birth of my child:

Let's face it: I was quite naturally a mess [when she came to stay with us]--an achy, tired, oft-unshowered, bladder-leaking mess--but I also would not trade those days we shared for anything. Of course I am grateful for the wisdom you shared in terms of caring for a newborn, but more than that there was something special, intangible really, in sharing the miraculous beauty of my new child with my own mother. I will never forget it.

The insight that you can map out your life, only to come to a bridge that's out and have to take a detour that leads to great experiences you otherwise might not have had, is nothing new. Hearing such a truism in song, however, simply cannot compare to realizing it for yourself. To honor your unique path is to transform regret--over choices you've made, people you've been--into praise. And THE LETTER JAR project has been nothing if not a travelogue of the places my own journey has wended through. How might your life's stops look different through a lens of gratitude?

Risk, Reward and Recognition

2010-04-23T21:28:00.000-05:00

Today I received in the mail a letter from T, a friend to whom I wrote a few weeks ago. I had told T how she inspired me by rising above her divorce--an ugly split precipitated by her husband's cheating--with such dignity and grace. T has moved on with a new husband and two beautiful boys who, as I told her, are so lucky to have her as their mama:

... One thing I've realized as I've written these letters ... is that there are so many lessons I've learned from my friends ... And one of those lessons ... is that life doesn't always turn out like you planned, and might just be the very best thing. I hope to share with my son the idea that sometimes you just have to hang in and trust you're on your way to somewhere good, even if the road seems to be rolling straight through hell ...

T responded with a lovely note of her own, relating how she has shared with others my story of leaving my first marriage in order to find someone who wanted children, and how that decision has worked out in the best way possible:

... I really admired you for taking a risk for something you knew was important to you. Not everyone would be willing to do that and would instead be unhappy on some level and most likely wonder "what if" ... there's another cliche I've come to believe in life-- nothing worthwhile comes easily ...

Her words at the end of a frustrating week during which I struggled, away from my infant son for hours a day at a job I don't really enjoy, and reinvigorated my pursuit of new dreams for myself and my family. I also got a sense of what I might be giving other people with my words. T and other recipients have acknowledged my letters, saying they came "at the best time" and "made me cry--a good cry!"

It's true: we want to be validated for what we've accomplished. And in writing my letters of praise--to a 14-year-old girl trying out for the football team, a recovering alcoholic in his 20th-plus year of sobriety, my brother accelerating in his career--I am myself informed, impelled and inspired.

A Buddhist proverb says that when the student is ready, the teacher will appear. If we believe that we are actually surrounded by our teachers, then we as students have become ready--the lessons are all that remain to be discovered. What, and from whom, are you learning today?

The Origins of This Project

2010-04-21T21:41:00.000-05:00

First came the letters.

I was inspired to embark upon this letter-writing project when, one day, I was once again playing around on Facebook and clicked that I “liked” something my friend "M" had done.

It struck me in that moment that M was the person with whom I spent the first several hours after the 9/11 attacks. Released for the day from our jobs, we sat in a coffee shop in Albuquerque and talked about the state of mankind and what it might all mean. We had in each other solace and understanding on one of humanity’s bleakest days.

So when I found myself clicking that “like” button in response to M's post (I seem to recall she became a “fan” of National Public Radio), it hit me: was this what now stood in for communication? Had we really gone from sharing real words and emotions and experiences to the impersonal click of a mouse?

I wondered: what might happen if I attempted to return to "real communication?" Pen and paper communication, in the tradition of Plath and Woolf and de Tocqueville and Jefferson (can you imagine if he had Facebooked from France? "Thomas Jefferson became a fan of the Champs-Élysées.")

An idea was born. Over the next several days, I began collecting names--friends new and old, family nuclear and extended, coworkers, teachers, mentors and old flames, even a former landlady and a handful of famous people who had influenced me personally or professionally.

And so I wrote. On Feb. 14, 2010, I composed my first letter, to a couple who were my colleagues at my very first job. Then it was an old roommate. Then the mother of a childhood friend and a former boss. Soon, I'd written--and sent--an astonishing 64 letters.

Then came the blog.

At first it seemed counterintuitive--blogging about traditional communication? But the more I thought, the more it seemed like the right idea. I wanted to share widely the amazing insight and gratitude I have gained from this project, and let's face it: the Internet is the way to do that.

My hope is that the blog will play out just as the letters have: sometimes predictably, more often in ways I could never anticipate.

Did you receive a letter from The Letter Jar?

2010-02-14T08:48:00.003-06:00

I'd love to hear from you. Use the comments area on this page to leave me a note. Take care and God bless. ~Lynn