Being a pen pal was something I got into as a child. In my family it was usual to send postcards from our camping holidays in Greece or Spain to family and friends in Germany. I made friends on these holidays, often from other countries, and as we exchanged tearful goodbyes at the end of each summer, addresses were swapped and letter writing commenced. I had a good pen pal in Luxembourg for a long time, and even went to visit her and her family. My first ever teenage crush and I wrote ardent letters from southern Germany, where I lived, to norther France, where he was from. And once I moved to the UK my mother became my most frequent correspondent, sending letters and parcels to my London student digs, whilst I sent my own reports from university back home.
Over the years I have made quite a number of friends with whom I continue to send letters back and forth. Sometimes our postal conversations are sporadic, other times we write regularly. I have an actual address book in which I keep track of who lives where, and my collection of stationary, card, envelopes and stamps is thankfully always in need of restocking as I send letters almost every week.
The picture at the top of this post shows the actual letters I wrote first thing this morning.
I must admit that I also love the UK tradition of sending Christmas cards, and come December our hallway is full of cards and letters arriving daily.
Of course, I also DM, email, video call and so forth with friends and family, but I’ve never lost my love for being a pen pal. The cadence of the conversation is different, the time it takes to handwrite a letter offering me time to think. Sometimes I don’t know what to say, or how to best offer love and comfort in difficult times. Loss of a parent, or a bad illness. Or a magical joyful moment like the arrival of a new baby.
Choosing the card and envelope, or the postcard, and drawing something or scribbling in the margins… that’s all part of what makes being a pen pal so fun.
Then there is the joy of receiving post in return. Of getting an unexpected envelope in the mail, in which there is a little glimpse of real connection. My friend sat at their kitchen table writing this with their hand, spelling out my address, thinking of me.
Just as I think of them. As I write and send letters. Here’s to being a prolific pen pal #4life.