My lovely and talented friend Rebecca Guthrie, a fellow teacher and English nerd, wrote this bonus mid-week post! Enjoy. –Lisa
Another Plea for a Lost Art
by Rebecca Guthrie
Before it ever became a term, I was practicing social distancing. My husband has been hoarding toilet paper since 2003, but that’s another subject. As a card-carrying introvert, all of my “peoply” energy goes into my family, students, colleagues, and select close friends. There isn’t a lot left for large gatherings (defined by me as any gathering of more than two people I don’t know well).
I have a few select people I open up to, but I have also had the blessing/misfortune to have moved states frequently as an adult, so many of those people are scattered around the country, and our relationship is only through social media. For the most part, that works. I’ve always been more comfortable with written communication. In spite of the vitriol, social media is mostly a blessing to me.
Yet, I have one relationship for which online life isn’t enough: my best friend. I tell my students that if they are ever lucky enough to find one friendship that survives both time and distance, it is the exception. In my case, our friendship has lasted since the day many years ago I asked her what part of England she was from. As an exchange student in a relatively small community, she had been used to being asked things like “So, what is your native language? (Uhh, I’m English). Yes, but what language did you speak growing up?” So I guess as an Anglophile, I looked cool. Geekiness counts y’all.
When she first moved home, email existed, but we didn’t have home devices in the dark ages of the late ‘90s, so we wrote letters. Long, handwritten (gasp!), probably boring, expensive to mail, letters. I still have all of her letters.
When FaceBook came along and was new and exciting and not political, we both joined. We messaged, we posted, we poked, we did all the things. And we stopped writing letters. We still visit each other in the flesh as often as possible, but the letters we wrote in the 90s and early 2000s are precious to me. So precious, that when it became clear we were not going to see each other this year, I proposed we take up letter writing again.
There is something about letters that doesn’t translate to posts, texts, tweets, or even email. Writing a letter by hand takes time (if you care at all about legibility); it takes preparation to gather supplies and mail it; it takes getting it as right the first time as possible, especially if like me you prefer pens to pencils. Letters are formal: they have what emails should have (greetings, paragraphs, closings, deep thoughts) but rarely do. They reflect your soul and your heart and your care for someone.
Letters have been important for as long as people have lived. The Paston family letters of the 15th century are one of the most important records historians have about the War of the Roses (the inspiration behind Game of Thrones if actual history is boring to you). Many authors and historical figures, such as C. S. Lewis, Churchill, and St. Paul, have given us windows into their thoughts and beliefs that we wouldn’t have otherwise. Imagine if Shakespeare had actually bothered to write a letter home. We wouldn’t have this silly “Authorship” debate. “Dear Anne, Just finished Hamlet. You can keep the second best bed. Love, Will.”
I often tell students about the joys of writing and receiving letters. I see the looks of disbelief and shock on their faces as they envision parchment, ink, sealing wax, and delivery by owls. Or ravens. But maybe, just maybe, I will inspire that one kid to write Grandma an actual letter (do I hear a chorus of angels?).
So, take a moment to gather your supplies, gather your thoughts, and try a new way of reaching out to someone you love dearly. As for me, I have to get to the post office.
