Monthly Archives: June 2017

Milestones By The Letter

Yesterday, my younger daughter reached a milestone in her life: she went to sleep away camp.

Although many moments in my childhood have faded at the edges, the unhappy memory of being dropped off at an unfamiliar place far from home remains crystal clear in my mind. To this day, my lifelong friend Lindsey, whom I met at camp 31 years ago, laughs with love and sympathy when she remembers me at 12. I was so homesick, and so terrible at hiding it.

But my daughter seemed ready for action in the days leading up to the big drop off. One of the things she was most looking forward to, she said, was getting mail. “I bet I will get the most mail of anyone,” she said with confidence, knowing that she comes from a family of writers.

At 9, she does not yet have a cell phone, but since everyone else for the most part does, she’s never really received many letters. She’s also never written more than one or two in a month, usually to her grandparents. More and more, she’s asking to use my phone to text people. Someone. Anyone. Soon, we will give in and she’ll get her own device. Soon, she will not have to wait more than one or two seconds to connect with a friend or loved one, whenever she wants to.

I am ambivalent about that upcoming milestone in her life. It’s part of the reason I appreciated Boston Globe writer Jaci Conroy’s recent article about the many benefits that flow to letter writers, and especially children. In addition to giving kids a chance to practice and hone their writing skills, Conroy points out, waiting for mail to arrive is a great lesson in delayed gratification.

Before my daughter went to camp, I promised to write to her every day. I plan to do so — I’ve got plenty of pretty cards to send, if not a lot of news. But when I dropped her off, I told her this: in the beginning, you will probably write a lot of letters. After a while, you might start to forget, and that’s ok. I’ll know it means you are having a lot of fun. For me, that will be better than getting a letter. 

I mostly meant what I said, about being happy not to hear from her. It’s an expected marker on the parenting road I’m on, and I want to meet my milestones as bravely and enthusiastically as my daughter is meeting hers.

Tangible Evidence

Per Marie Kondo’s advice, in the last two weeks I have made it my mission to pick up and hold each and every thing in my house that I have in order to determine whether or not it sparks joy. I am doing much the same thing in my office at school.

I have thrown out thousands of sheets of paper, gifted hundreds of books and clothing items, and placed myriad things into binders, envelopes, boxes, drawers, suitcases, and bags.

Naturally, some revelations have occurred to me as I have undertaken this challenge. Because no matter where it happens, school is always in session… I am learning while I am packing.

  1. I hold on to things. Old photo id cards, letters, books, scarves, hats. Papers I wrote in high school. Papers I wrote in college. Essays I wrote that never got published. Essays that did. Pins. Pens. Postcards. The sheer volume and relative pointlessness of the things I have held on to is stunning, embarrassing, and probably metaphorical.
  2. I have changed a lot since 2002, when I moved to Charlotte from New York. Pictures reveal a shifting face and body as I have raised two children and ushered hundreds of students through high school. My feet have grown a half a size. My hairline has receded what feels like half an inch.
  3. I have not changed much at all – not since 2002, maybe not since 1992. Based on the journals and other miscellany I have been sifting, the person I was when I graduated from high school is very much the person I am today. I am one who loves to read, write, think, talk, remember, exercise, travel, and eat. In that way I am completely ordinary.
  4. If there is one thing that always sparks joy in me, it is the moment when I see or create a connection. I hold on to things the way I do because those things are the tangible evidence of what can’t be held in my hands: ideas, hours, voices, love. The things that matter most.