Pen to Paper

I recently re-kindled a relationship that has played out for decades through that long-lost medium of pen and paper.  I didn’t see it coming, and it has forced me to take a look at the way that I communicate.  It’s helped me appreciate friendships that are built on good conversations.  In the middle of my 24/7 digital reality of tweets, posts and alerts, I have been reminded of the power of this medium.  It has reminded me why I love getting a letter.

I will write more about my extraordinary pen-pal and mentor another day.  Her name is Judy, and how she changed my life is one of the best stories I’ve got.  But the story of how we met is important to what I have learned this week about letters.  I was a young boy on his first “solo” flight from Los Angeles to Detroit.  Self-absorbed, nervous, chatty and over-dressed (not much has changed), I found myself seated next to the kindest person in the world, who also happens to be the world’s best correspondent.  She kindly befriended me, making sure I made it to my grandparents who were waiting for me at my destination, and seeing to it that my overly-romanticized notions of air travel didn’t crash on me and dash my spirits.   If the flight was not the first-class PanAm NY-Paris flight I had always dreamt about, at least the conversation would be first class.  I am sure she had better things to do than show interest in the ramblings of a chubby Armenian kid in a suit and tie, but I will be forever grateful that she did.

Following our chance meeting on the flight, she and I started writing letters.  It was completely appropriate, involved my parents in a smart way, and opened to my eyes to a new world of keeping in touch.  Our letters talked about anything and everything.  She would write me about what she was reading, what she ate that day, what her cats were up to around the house.  A paragraph about a visit from a friend would be followed by a memory about music or musings about the state of the world.  From computer fonts to favorite foods, operas or girls at school, nothing was too grand or mundane for our letters.

I came to depend on these letters.  Envelopes from Judy reminded me that there was a world outside my suburban reality, and that someone was listening.  I never felt guilty about having to write back quickly, but always wanted to.  I craved the chance to get something back to her.  Whether typed or scribbled on the back of a placemat, our words went back and forth for years.  Writing her was never forced, but the letters always (especially the handwritten ones) made me think about what I wanted to say, how best to say it, and what she was saying to me.

Judy always acknowledged what she read in my previous letters and I unconsciously started adopting this skill.  I didn’t realize until much later that that being heard via letters made me want to be a better listener.  Short, but specific, reminders in her letters always let me know she had read my note and cared about what was going on in my life.  What these letters gave me could never be taught in school.  While I had young pen pals who were my peers (organized through international exchange programs, etc.), Judy was a better writer and showed me a way to express friendship through compelling words.

People have already written volumes about how e-mail changed the way we correspond.  There are theories about the days between the drafting and receipt of a letter makes it a richer medium than digital correspondence. People bemoan the lack of thought and the quality of our writing today.  This post isn’t meant to be a part of that debate.  My reality is that I will participate in, and revel in, the best parts of both.   But this week, when I got a letter from Judy in the mail, I decided it was time to write more letters.  I think she and I will still e-mail, will likely be facebook friends, and will probably be on opposite ends of Skype at some point soon.  In the meantime, however, I need her letters, and I know she reads mine.

This week the volley re-commenced.  I wrote her about what my kids were up to and sent a picture of me and my wife in our Halloween costumes.  She wrote back about her house, the arrival of winter, and even what the cat was doing.  But something was different.  I put a little note from my daughter in the envelope with my response.  My little 6-year old wants to know if we’ll hear back.  We will.  All of the sudden, a letter has again changed a life.

I don’t know if Judy will ever see this post.  Maybe I’ll write her a letter and tell her about it.