On a perfect Saturday evening, I’m sitting in my room sifting through a collection of stationery. The filing system is organized into stacks by dimension, I select the top options from each pile. Photo strips, stamped entry tickets, postcards selected from museum gift shops, gold-adorned sticker sheets, pressed flowers from my backyard. The most important: a note, handwritten. Once I’m satisfied, I slide the components neatly into an envelope and print a name on top. In the last few years, these two hours at my desk have become a frequent ritual as my favorite way to show others how important they are to me.
In a time when technology often dilutes sentiment with convenience, stationery acts as a reminder of the opposite. While definitely more impractical than sending a text message (a common criticism!), being able to read drafts and notes back makes it well worth it. Having to condense what’s most important to say into one page can be difficult; the note, especially, is the product of considerable late-night reflection and editing. Typically, it ends up as a collage of best memories, admirable qualities and old references, matching the collage of paper also included beside it. The additional effort that it takes to make something physical requires the same intentionality that’s inherent to building and sustaining relationships. Naturally, this means that the evolution of my relationships are reflected in both the content and cause of the mail: fallout, reconciliation, new traditions, milestones or just because.
As someone who feels a certain compulsion to own anything with enough aesthetic value, no matter how impractical (re: two hundred dollar antique store bracelet I would literally never wear…), stationery provides a much better outlet for my more material tendencies. Sourcing sporadically from bookstores and flea markets, I’ve started looking for things that remind me of other people instead of myself. That’s the main reason why making letters is valuable to me: the difference with stationery lies in knowing the best of what I spend my time curating goes to others. In three years, I’ve delivered more than fifty letters, a testament to the significance of these connections and the number of moments worth remembering. After graduation, when I have an excuse to mail letters out through the postal system, I look forward to finding more items to add, events to respond to and, of course, people to add to my mailing list.
