The things that make me the happiest have emotional and physical effects. These effects are felt even more when they are done for someone else. One of the most lasting is writing a personal letter. Born in the transitional time between letters and computers, many people in my generation have already shunned snail mail as a way to communicate. This makes letters rare, but a very inexpensive surprise.My grandmother was one of seven children, and they communicated with a round-robin letter. From mailbox to mailbox, they would add an update on their life and send it around to the next sibling. She taught me that letters are a valuable form of communication, something she’s emphasized as her memory slowly fades. I got into the habit of writing letters and during the times where I was most stressed, I would write a letter. Letters live somewhere between thoughts and stories. They are confidential and a piece of yourself that you can choose to scrap or share.
When I receive a letter, especially from someone whom I haven’t heard from in a while, I get a rush of endorphins, because I’m holding proof that the friend thought of me. It’s the same rush I get when someone is considerate or goes out of their way to help me. Most friends reciprocate with a call to say how happy they were to open a personal note rather than another bill.
I studied epistolary literature in college, often using my break from studying as a chance to write letters. Perhaps letters will go the way of Wells Fargo wagons, but I’ll single-handedly support the post office as long as my friends have addresses and my fingers can write. Letters are my personal therapy, my rush of endorphins, my connection with those I love, and my alone time-my regular serving of happiness.
