BY AARDE WRITES for WEEKLY VOLCANO | 9/25/2026
Hey Aarde,
I’m so tired of being plugged in. I feel like all the social media birthday reminders and predesigned emojis are stale and impersonal. It’s like I don’t really even know my friends; I know a digital version of them. It’s lonely. So, I’ve been thinking about writing letters instead. Do you think they’ll be well received?
Signed, Unconnected Friend
Hey Unconnected Friend,
Boy, do I hear you! For being so connected, there’s still a lot of distance. It reminds me of the points made in Dr. Bob Moorehead’s Paradox of Our Age. As usual, progress is a double-edged sword; technology has made staying in touch easier, but in doing so, it has taken away some of the effort and intention that make connection meaningful.
Now, I don’t want to devalue the effort people put into social media. While we all live busy lives and can’t keep track of every life event for every friend all the time, it is nice to have reminders to spark action. But there is a romantic reverie in sending traditional mail; the time it takes to travel a distance creates a sense of delightful excitement. I’m sure you’ve heard that “distance makes the heart grow fonder,” right? It means that the act of creating space allows you to think about someone organically, nudged by memories that pop up when you smell something that reminds you of them, taste a food you once shared, or hear something they would find funny. Yes, it is similar to sharing memes or GIFs but occurs naturally, with no algorithm, which seems more human and more meaningful.
Many people are lovers of ephemera, the tangible evidence of a life once lived. Correspondence has held an undeniable emotional and material beauty throughout history, as it records a relationship held dear. And maybe that’s the real difference: digital communication is so immediate, while a letter has a life outside of the moment in which it was created. It has a journey all its own to arrive, and then it can sit in a drawer for ten years and still carry the personality of the person who wrote it. It can become part of a box of photographs, ticket stubs, dried flowers, receipts, and other little pieces of a life that would otherwise have disappeared. In that way, correspondence becomes more than communication; it becomes part of the history of a relationship. There is great value in the intentional effort put forth, and it isn’t by accident. It isn’t sent because an algorithm prodded it to be so. A physical letter carries a hint of surprise, suddenly appearing amidst the junk mail, standing out with its special stamps and handwritten destination.
Since digital communication shows us only what people choose to present, physical correspondence can really reveal who is doing the presenting. A person’s handwriting isn’t curated in quite the same way as their Instagram feed. Nor are the weird postcard they picked up at a museum, the coffee stain on the corner, the misspelled word, or the choppy sentence they scribbled out. There is something charming about those imperfections because they aren’t trying to be charming; they’re simply evidence of a person being a person. I think that’s why snail mail (thank you, USPS) feels so intimate. It’s not just someone’s words; it’s the physical traces of the process of someone communicating with you. Their handwriting changes depending on how quickly they’re writing. They run out of room at the bottom of the page. They add a postscript and an XOXO. Maybe they forget what they were saying and go off on a tangent. All of those little imperfections are the opposite of the polished, edited version of ourselves that we’re accustomed to presenting online.
So, I think that writing physical letters will be extremely well received. There is something really special about finding a handwritten note in the mail. The paper that the sender chose, the color of ink they use, and the pressure of their penmanship are all really poetic if you think about it. A letter isn’t just communication; it’s evidence that someone stopped their life for a moment and made something specifically for you. A card during a difficult time or a love letter carrying a thoughtful message transcends time; unlike a text message, it doesn’t disappear into the endless scroll. It can be kept. Found again. Read years later in a completely different chapter of your life, reminding you of the anchors you’ve had or still have.
Not to mention the artwork that can be found on the cards themselves. There is such an abundance of creativity and expression when picking just the right one for someone. And what a cool way to support local artists too, who work hard creating images with watercolor, original printed art, woodblock, or photographs, carefully choosing the weight and finish of their product.
And maybe that’s what we’re missing. Not more ways to reach each other, but more reasons to slow down and make something tangible. Write the letter. Pick out the card. Buy the stamps. Find a pen you like. And don’t worry if it feels a little old-fashioned. Maybe old-fashioned is exactly what we’re craving. So yes, Unconnected Friend. Write the letters. I think they’ll be well received.
