Lost Art

I wrote a letter today. To my dear friend in the Big Apple. Affectionately, my Big Apple Pen Pal. Her name is Samantha and she writes in the most adorable bubbly cursive and she has such a way with words. I don't possess her ability, but I love to be a receiver of her letters. I convinced Ang to check the mail yesterday and, sure enough, there were two letters sitting quietly amidst the adds for German supermarkets and IKEA. I smiled the rest of the walk home. I was so excited to read the letter, but I wanted to savor the note, so I stopped myself from shredding the cute pink envelope open before I got to some light.

Naturally, I wrote her back today, and today, I experienced one of the most beautiful days since I've been here. I was at the park right across from Webster, and it was a cliche-worthy beautiful day. The sun was shining hard enough that I didn't even need a jacket. I was comfortable in the sun, the reflection of the sun on the water not too bright, but shiny enough to be slightly ethereal. I sat on the steps looking out over the Danube and wrote to my Big Apple Pen Pal telling her all about Vienna, asking about the Big Apple, and sent along a mini-German Lesson. She'll be here soon, after all. I sat there for a moment, dreading 2:00 because that would mean I'd have to leave this perfect little paradise I'd discovered. I took it all in. I took in Vienna. The light, the breeze, the Danube, the grass I was sitting near, and the seemingly ordinary cement stairs upon which I was seated. Compared to some places here in Europe, or even in Vienna, it's nothing spectacular. But it's a quiet spot with a great view, and for a moment, I forgot that I was thousands of miles from everyone I love.

Writing letters makes me feel connected. I love the pen to paper. Like my Big Apple Pen Pal said, it's amazing to hold something that she held just a week ago in her hand as she thought of me! The lost art of letter writing is something that I wish would be picked up again. It's a personal way to show someone that you took time to think about them. You care enough to take time out of your day.

You found the pen. It was hidden under the stack of books or in the bottom of your backpack. The paper was a little harder. You tore it out of your Psychology notebook or you stole a piece of paper from the lab. You sat down at your desk. Or you found a nifty nature spot. Or you're writing it on your commute. Whatever it is, you're giving up something to do this. You're taking the time to do this as opposed to an email. They will see your handwriting, your mistakes, your scribbles, your doodles, the heaviness of the hand, the splotch of coffee that spilled when the train hit a bump. This paper is your thoughts and a snippet of your life for just a few moments.

So. Go find a pen. Find some paper. Find an address of a friend and write.

Ask them how they are...I bet their Facebook Status isn't telling the whole story.