Memory DNA

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

"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 ...

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

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 ...

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.