Sunday 21 March 2021

Pen pals.

I have been writing to people I have never met across the Atlantic ocean. And in Germany. And in the north of England. I was drawn to the idea of pen pals as yet another way to heal, and as another activity to do in the long days of lockdowns. Now I have several across the United States, and some closer to home as well. Some of my family and friends have commented on their own lack of patience for writing letters, but I enjoy the opportunity to handwrite and to make connections with strangers in an unusual manner. 

Most of my pen pals put my dreary lined paper and white office envelopes to shame. They send me stickers and wax seals and washi tape. One sprayed their letter with perfume. I liked that idea. That a scent had travelled all the way from Brooklyn to my house. Sometimes I send a postcard too, or write in a bright  colour to shake things up a bit. 

One pen pal spent the time to make me a cross-stitched coaster. We had only been writing for a couple of months and although I have never seen her face or heard her voice, I feel as though we are friends. 

My pen pals and I write to each other about books we have read, TV and films we have seen, about the weather and what living through a pandemic is like in our respective countries, about love, about travelling, about cooking and goals and plans for when the pandemic is over. 

I don't know if I will ever meet any of my pen pals. I really hope I will. And I hope that for a long time to come I can sit down on a Saturday morning and write them a reply in pink, or orange, or green depending on where the mood takes me. I find letters peaceful to write, and incredibly exciting to receive. I can highly recommend it as a way to sit and stop and think for a while.