The Wonders of Writing Letters to Strangers
A curious practice for you and others
Today I left a letter in a park for a stranger to find.
It was typed on a single sheet of paper with a typewriter. It was spritzed with one of my favourite perfumes and tucked in an envelope, read me inscribed on the front.
Within, I poured out my heart.
I don’t know where it will go, who will find it. If it will simply sit there until the rain comes and turns it to mush and bleeding ink.
Not knowing is the reason I do it.
It is easier than ever before to connect with people in this world. Our ability to communicate and share information is truly mind-boggling. But in the days of the virus, we are also the most disconnected because we are deprived of the most essential connection of all. Personal, physical, tactile.
The idea to write my letter came to me in the evening when I just wanted to use my typewriter. That machine is like therapy. There’s nothing quite like it.
And I thought about my old penpals from my childhood. They were sisters who lived in the USA and I still have some of their letters and the origami and photos they used to send me. I never met them in person, but I will always have those little slices of them with me.
