Where Have My Letters Gone?

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

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

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."

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

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.