The Mailbox

Didn’t everyone kind of look forward to the mail in the olden days?  I did after being gone all day as a kid.  I’d peer into my metal slotted box wondering if my “Penny Power” magazine would be there or a letter from one of my cousins or maybe my pen pal in Ireland.   With some regularity I could anticipate bits of mail addressed just to me.

I remember jr high lockers, the perfect private little mailboxes.  My girlfriends and I would write each other notes on all sorts of decorated and colored stationery pages folded intricately or placed in a special envelope that would explode with glitter or confetti upon opening.  I had a boyfriend.  We only talked through notes.

At no time did I look forward to mail delivery more than when Todd and I communicated almost exclusively through letters over the two years he was in Norway.

These days I even skip collecting the mail.  Only at Christmastime do I look forward to getting the mail.  Otherwise I know it’s mostly just bills, solicitations, seed and hunting catalogs.  I do like that time of month when all the magazines come.  Although I hesitate to even gather the mail then; I still haven’t gotten to last month’s news.

But every once in awhile there’s a gold nugget among the bulk rate junk mail.  You can tell because it’s an odd shape (not business size), maybe a weird color, its most distinguishing feature being the handwritten address.  It kind of wakes up your brain.  Who do I know who’s getting married?  Who did I just send a baby gift to?  Because those are the only reasons you can think to be getting something so unusual.  You of course open that one first.  Or maybe you save it for last.  If I recognize the handwriting of one of my few friends or family members I still exchange letters with, I’ll save it because I know it will be long.  I love their news.  But then once in awhile—maybe once or twice a year—I’ll get something that just shocks me to the core.  Like the other day.  A good friend—one of my favorites—wrote me a little card just because, just because she’s awesome.  Nothing more than a little pick-me-up.  It made my day, and it totally elevated her in my heart.  I couldn’t believe she—of all the busy moms—would take time to do something so kind.  We hang out, we just saw each other.  It was so nice, I can’t even tell you.

I know, easy for me to advocate writing a love note.  But it’s just as easy for you.  And so easy that there’s no reason for me not to do more of it. Think of how many minutes it would take to get a pen and note card from your desk.  Or to grab a stubby pencil and a piece of computer paper.  Not more than one.  Then calculate how long it might take to write maybe 4 sentences.  Not long.  Finding a stamp might take the longest.  Then just add it to the stack of bills you’re sending out.  With five minutes that you could’ve spent looking at dumb videos on you tube, you just made someone’s day or week.  Maybe you made more difference than you thought.


What to write, you ask.  Nothing other than the truth.  Be sincere.  You were just thinking about her, you noticed something she does well, you miss her company, you noticed she’s seemed down, she inspires you, you simply wanted to connect.  Write the way you’d talk, don’t get all weird.  Think about what you’d like to hear, what her life is like, why you care about her.  That’s all.

Think of all the people who touch your life:  a grandma type, an old teacher from high school, your high schooler’s teacher, a roommate from college, an aunt you used to be so close with, a friend who moved away, someone you barely know.  A handwritten note will be noticed.  No one ever does it anymore.  She will feel loved.  Thought of.  Cared about.  Noticed.  Appreciated.

No one cares about your awkwardness, your imperfect handwriting because you’re out of practice, what you say (as long as it’s genuine), or that it’s short or less than your best effort.   You will improve because you will see how little effort it takes to connect, to make someone happy.  A treat in the mailbox is so small.  But huge.