Summer is for Letters

Time moves differently in the summer. The days last longer, the evenings linger, and ordinary moments have a way of becoming memories. Maybe that's why summer has always belonged to letters.

Like a lot of New York kids, I spent summers at sleepaway camp upstate. My mother, being the dedicated woman she is, wrote me a letter every single day, so I always knew I'd hear from home. There's something about the anticipation — the lack of immediacy — that fills a letter with nostalgia and delight before you've even opened it. Warm nights make me miss the very niche experience of feeling a thick envelope, and then ripping it open to hungrily read the letter inside.

The beauty is in the vulnerability of handwritten letters; it’s your rambling thoughts that don’t get the benefit of auto-correct or emojis to punctuate phrases and magnify your emotions. Your whole, unedited self is on the page, with run-ons, cross outs, and misspellings. You can embellish with whimsy by dotting your i's with hearts, doodling in the margins, slipping a sticker sheet or a book of matches in the letter fold, and for the romantics, a spray of perfume and a lipstick-sealed kiss.

You'll delete a screenshot without thinking twice, but you keep the old letters, the sticky notes, the cards from friends because a handwritten note carries a bit of the sender's soul.

There's nothing quite as intimate as sitting down to write someone a note just to say you're thinking of them. I hope you find time this summer to write a few letters. It might be the most luscious, joyful way to stay connected.