Recently, I reached out to a friend via email to request her mailing address. Despite meeting in person on two occasions after connecting through social media and our shared writing interests, I still didn’t know where she lived. Little did she know, I wanted to send her a thoughtful card.
Isn’t it peculiar how I turned to email to ask for her address simply to send a note? Why not just pour my sentiments into the email and call it a day? The answer is simple: I’m not a digital native. I lean towards the traditional when it comes to social interactions. For me, there’s something inherently special about sending and receiving written correspondence—especially when it’s on paper.
My fondness for tangible greetings can be traced back to my very first job. I worked at a greeting card store throughout high school and into college. That job shaped my appreciation for written sentiments: the meticulous task of stocking cards, the array of diverse customers, the delightful fudge counter (yes, please!), and the no-nonsense manager who I initially feared but now respect for instilling a strong work ethic in me. I learned to wrap gifts expertly and create balloon bouquets, all while enjoying the bonus of extra cash. But above all, it was the cards and stationery that captivated me. I took full advantage of my employee discount, particularly on quirky Shoebox cards and Mrs. Grossman’s stickers. I was that person who would buy cards for every occasion—often stashing them away in my closet for future use. My tastes have evolved over time; now, I’m drawn to unique cards from indie shops and one-of-a-kind gift stores. If I have my credit card handy, beware of my impulse purchases—especially anything letterpressed!
Standing before a card display is like gazing at the entire spectrum of life: Birthdays, Weddings, New Homes, Bon Voyage, New Jobs, Get Well Soon, Anniversaries, and Sympathy. Sadly, I’ve found myself gravitating towards the latter category more frequently these days. There’s an undeniable joy in finding the perfect card for a friend’s birthday or expressing sympathy to a coworker—each card carries a sense of purpose. Once my pen glides across the paper, I send my words off with a sense of fulfillment.
Receiving a card in the mail allows someone to feel cherished and acknowledged as they sift through their mail. It’s a brief moment, but one that’s often savored and likely to be kept, unlike a fleeting text or email. It’s special—no other way to say it.
Unlike digital messages, the act of buying and sending a paper card demands thoughtfulness and intention. You have to plan ahead, remembering key dates like birthdays (thankfully, the Belated Birthday section has saved me numerous times). Is there a more heartfelt way to express condolences or gratitude than through a handwritten note? The recipient is more likely to open a card at home during a tranquil moment rather than while juggling groceries at the store.
I appreciate the convenience of sending a last-minute birthday text, but we all know how it feels to hit send at the last minute or, worse, to receive a message that feels like an afterthought. With a physical card, even if it arrives a day or two late, there’s a larger margin for forgiveness—after all, we can attribute the delay to the postal service! Plus, the sender earns points for the effort of finding a stamp.
I relish the sound of my pen scratching my thoughts onto paper, the light weight of cardstock in my hand, and even the taste of envelope glue. I cherish the handwritten imperfections in cards I receive, those little signs of humanity that digital messages often lack. It’s sweet when I spot corrections, like someone changing “your” to “you’re” in their own handwriting. These little annotations reveal the sender’s thought process, and I adore a hearty P.S. that spills onto the back with an arrow to guide me.
Having grown up with the written word, I find myself frustrated by the abbreviations that have crept into our communications. The simplistic “HBD” for birthdays and the impersonal “so sorry for ur loss” just don’t cut it. Whatever happened to spending a few dollars on a card and writing something genuine? When we use our pens, we pause to think about our words. There’s no backspace button; we must carefully craft our thoughts. We take the time to find a clear space to express our emotions—joy, concern, or sadness.
Sure, digital messages allow us to connect more quickly, especially with acquaintances. We can easily edit and abbreviate our words. But what do we lose in the process? Are we diminishing the depth of emotional connection?
Those colorful cards and heartfelt notes uplift both the sender and the recipient. I vividly recall the joyful expressions of customers as they found the perfect birthday card or the solemnity of those searching for the right words to acknowledge a loss. I even remember the grandmothers who would splurge on extravagant cards to welcome new grandchildren.
I lived in a time before Facebook birthdays, when heartfelt wishes were inscribed on paper instead of sent from devices. I witnessed the magic that unfolded in those card store aisles. I also know the happiness that awaits when I open my mailbox and discover a card waiting for me—or, even better, for a friend who lives just down the road.
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In summary, while digital communication has its advantages, the charm of a handwritten card can never be replaced. It’s a tangible expression of thoughtfulness that fosters genuine emotional connections. Embrace the traditional art of correspondence; it’s a lovely way to show you care.
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