Writing is on my mind because I haven’t yet sent a very.important.card. I keep turning over in my head what I want to say. It needs to be just right. I keep procrastinating.
It got me thinking of all the cards we receive over a lifetime. The ones we save forever. The ones found in a drawer, on a shelf, tucked in a book to mark a page.
I can conjure up some of the cards and notes I’ve saved. The one from Charles when my dad died “Life keeps changing gears, sometimes without the clutch.” Postcards from around the world–from mom, to mom from me, college friend Chris in random, foreign lands. Those blue, fold up, letters-as-envelopes par avion from Janelle in Japan. All things addressed to “mama” from my kid over the years. A handful from grandparents. Postcards, cards, sticky notes, receipts, anything from Sara, whose prose is poetry.
Even in the age of Marie Kondo, recycling, and Apartment Therapy, I keep some of this detritus around to remind me of who I am. Pockets of the past come to life when I happen upon notes, cards, and letters; voices and friends live in these words and sentiments. This paper trail maps the topography of my life.
What does your paper trail show? Who has been marking the waypoints for you? And on whose trails do you show up? Consider the impact of the notes we release into the world.
Some of the words written are profound, but some are just ordinary, every day words reminding us that every day is a good day to send a card.
-Tash