Cost: About 36p first class.
We live in the communication age, (forgive me for stating the obvious). Never has it been easier, faster and more efficient to correspond. But you know this, ’cos you’re all at it. Texting, calling, emailing, facebooking, tweeting, blogging, myspaceing, whatever. Shouting at each other all the time.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s great, but I think we’ve paid a price. We’ve forgotten the letter.
Now, I thought I wasn’t victim of this. I love a letter, and am usually lettering with at least one person on a regular basis. But the letter I got today was different. When I got it, my flatmate T was green with envy. I didn’t read it right away, I put it to one side where it sat quiet and patient whilst I ate dinner, and digested my day with those I share my daily traumas with. I suppose what’s different about this letter is that myself and its author actually have no other contact apart from letters. With all my other correspondents I also email, facebook and the rest.
But with this one there’s only the letters. It came from New Zealand, was posted a couple of weeks ago and is a direct response to what I sent back in early September. Reading it, I’m made to reflect on my state then, now and what’s happened in between to make that so.
It is a voice, not only from the other side of the world, but free from any superficial daily nonsense that litters my dinner chat and distorts my morning judgements. It is a voice that speaks to the essence of my self; the core beneath the fluff of current fads, influences and stresses. It is solid, I can hold and feel it, dissect its handwriting and hear its author’s voice.
Sometime soon I will sit down with a cup of tea and set about writing the reply. I already can’t wait for him to get it but know I’ll have to. And that’s the beauty.
