Lucia Thomas | Contributing Illustrator

In my sophomore year of college, I wrote over 250 letters. I know, it sounds absurd. More than 250 envelopes, stamps, cards? How many pens did I go through? Were these billable hours? The truth is, it was easy. 

First, the logistics: I basically wrote around seven letters every 10 days. I would draw basic cartoons on the front and add in glitter gel pen for some detail work (fancy!). Then I would walk to the post office or hand-deliver them to the people near me. 

And while the logistics were more than manageable, it wasn’t the delivery or materials that made it easy — it was my investment. Selfishly, I really enjoyed telling the people in my life that I cared. When they finished an exam or got a job as a barista or just made it through a Thursday, I wrote to them. I had a basic principle: think it, write it, send it. 

I’m keenly aware that a lot of people see snail mail as an outdated formality. Thirty-seven percent of Americans haven’t written a letter in the last five-plus years. Ouch! Even more painfully, 50% of Americans haven’t received a letter in the last five years. Sure, this drought is fueled by our chronically-online nature. I know more people who have held an Apple Pencil than a wooden one in the last month. But it’s bigger than that. We know it’s scary to be vulnerable and say what we’re thinking, and that fear is exacerbated when we put it in writing and give ownership of it to someone else.

To me, this fear indicates that it’s the right thing. If I recognize that I’m feeling vulnerable, it usually means I’m on the verge of being authentic and connecting deeply with someone else. Further, I know it means the world to me when someone else puts pen to paper to tell me how they feel. Like a cartoon, nostalgic grandma, I’ve kept every birthday card, little note, and ripped envelope I’ve received since elementary school. Whenever I’m cleaning out my room or just in need of a little pick-me-up, I read through them. Without fail, they always make me feel better.

I know I care about the people in my life. And I’m willing to go out on a limb and say that anyone reading this article would say the same. Radical, I know! So let’s tell them. Think of it like a neighbor’s ravioli; when you’re going through a hard time or you’re celebrating something, maybe your neighbor drops off food. “Thanks, Abby!” you may say (this is my real-life neighbor). You eat some of it in the moment (of course, it’s delicious), then freeze the rest. A month later, when you’re in a pinch or you’re just craving it, you reheat that ravioli. Like clockwork, it’s still delicious.

Letter writing is the ravioli delivery. The in-person declaration of care is important. It’s the fresh ravioli, after all. We all know it’s good, and we savor it. But it only exists in a moment in time. In writing a letter, we give those we care about the option to freeze the ravioli. Sure, having someone read our care is a little different than saying it in person, but their ability to look at it when they need it (popping the ravioli in the microwave) is what makes it so special. And things tend to taste better when someone else puts their love and care into making it. 

So, this is me double-dog daring you to write the birthday card, send the thank-you note, or slip a random appreciation letter into your roommate’s folder. Come to think of it, I have a few letters I need to pen myself. Those next 250 letters aren’t exactly going to write themselves….