Notes from Another Era

I love mail. Receiving a hand-written note is the equivalent of like a hundred facebook notifications and one email and four tweets. I was reading this article today and considering what it would mean to have a world without mail.

Then I stumbled across this article and questioned what it would mean to have a world without real conversation anymore.

I contemplated, while I walked across town yesterday, what it would be like to lose my headphones for a few weeks. To be forced to listen to conversation at the office, on the bus, at the library, to the sounds of the city on walks and runs, to the annoying snores and chatter and crying on airplanes—in short, to be disallowed from silencing out all that which I do not wish to listen to.

I crave a place of my own in a busy city setting; I miss driving in a car and having my bubble. In the urban environment, that private space is replicated by closing oneself off from others, from unwanted attention, from distractions. But what is the cost?

How many of us have texted in an elevator or car or some awkward social situation, to look busy, less alone, more connected? How many of us have seen young middle schoolers that post nearly constantly online about their appearances? There is, there simply must be, something disturbing about where our society is heading. I love technology and can’t imagine my life without it; it has enabled me to live across the country or world from my family and friends and feel connected to them.

But sometimes I feel like a woman from another age, another time. I want long letters. And to have these hours-long-deep-college conversations forever. I want to be good at phone calls and not lose sight of real human connection in the midst of easier contact. I want to be able to hold onto the beautiful, wise practices of the past even with all the progress we have made. And I want my kids someday to be able to talk to anyone, anytime, about anything like their grandmother.

I saw this Hallmark commercial recently that had people saying things like “Tell me you love me,” “Tell me 40 is just a number,” “Tell me I’m the most beautiful woman you have ever met,” “Tell me I’ve been the best mother to you.” I thought about the way that even greeting cards produce messages that people can just sign their names to. I want personal notes and for people I love to think through what they want to say to me, to deliberately construct personal and meaningful messages, and to know that they have taken the time to reach out to me, communicated by their handwriting.

I’m sure we’ll still have the post office for years and years to come. But it is fading, the need for it is fading. That can’t be denied and I certainly do not think it should be overlooked as inconsequential. It will affect all of us, even more than we realize.