If you haven't already noticed, two of my greatest loves in life are my friends and paper, so for me a friendship by letter is a match made in heaven. Every time I get home and find an envelope from my friend on the doormat, my heart jumps like I'm the main character in an old-fashioned film! The handwriting is as familiar as tone of voice; picking up the letter feels like reaching an outstretched hand. Hello friend, can't wait to hear what you've been up to.
In these letters I get to read what my friend has been doing and how she has been spending her days. We share books we've read, places we've been, observations about phases of life, being a teacher or the changes of the seasons and how it makes us feel.
Like all good friends, she makes me feel safe and she makes me feel like my whole self; this helps me live my life in the fullest and most meaningful way possible. She is emotionally generous and values reciprocity. She sees the good in me and I see the good in her.
I have not seen my friend for many, many years. We meet on paper every month or so, and soon we hope we will meet in person again. I am looking forward to this and know our conversation will slide off the paper into in situ conversation.
I don't want to reveal too much about my penpal friend because this friendship is personal and, as I wrote the other day, I have boundaries for what I do and don't share. Although, as you know, I do spill a LOT of my heart on the internet for (wonderful) strangers to read.
I have always been a letter writer, ever since I could write. My first memory of writing to someone not physically present was on a school trip to a museum. I bought a postcard in the shop and the teacher was shocked when I knew the address of the family member receiving the card. It was only natural to me that I would know the address, so didn't really understand the shock.
Just as I love diary writing and scrapbooking, letter writing has a tendency to capture everyday moments. The last letter my much-adored grandmother ever wrote to me describes the birds in her garden. The enormity of my grief found (still finds) comfort in observing small things, in the everyday. These little moments that are felt or observed are what add up to become a life, really. She derived joy in the little things and there's a lesson in that.
As someone who feels a goodbye like a rupture and a separation like a gulf, I take comfort in many paper-based objects. I like the permanence of words on paper. I re-read and let the words sink into me. Letter writing is not old-fashioned to me, it's something that makes me feel alive. I bet lots of people with a BPD diagnosis feel like this because often our attachments oscillate from feeling strong to feel broken (even when they aren't).
A letter is a boundaried thing contained by an envelope. There's a beautiful intimacy to a handwritten letter tucked inside an envelope: open me gently, don't look unless you are for me. Take your time to read, and take your time to respond.
I'll leave you with this quote by Agnes Repplier, the American essayist, from her work Essays in Idleness (1893).
'[R]eal letter-writing—is founded on a need as old and as young as humanity itself, the need that one human being has of another. [...] The inextinguishable impulse to "pass on" experiences either of soul or body, to share with some one else that which we are hearing, or seeing, or feeling, or suffering, or enjoying,—these are the motives which make letter-writing essential and inevitable'.
In other words, the natural desire to discuss our lives.
Do you enjoy letter writing? Is it a part of your life and if not, how could you make it one? I would love to hear your thoughts.
-Rosie x
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