A Letter in Your Mailbox

My dear readers,

I must apologize most deeply for my hiatus over the past few months. I won’t bore you with excuses now, but I feel compelled to write to you after watching You’ve Got Mail, that cheesy movie about Internet romance, with my family this Christmas.

This is going to sound a little silly, but it’s true—the characters have these old-fashioned laptops that they use to write to each other (my mother would have a fainting spell over my calling them “old-fashioned”—Caroline, those were laptops I used back in the day), and the keyboard clacking sounds were so satisfying to listen to. All the clicking and rattling made me want to type too, and the more I watched the movie, the more I got inspiration. All of that, of course, culminated into this long overdue blog post.

*SPOILERS AHEAD*

Kathleen and Joe, the main leads in the movie, are business competitors in the real world—Joe is essentially running Kathleen’s mom-and-pop bookstore out of business with his tycoonish Barnes and Noble fictional equivalent. As a result, Kathleen pretty much despises Joe—it would be unprofessional not to. On the Web, however, Kathleen is smitten with him, since they exchange quick-witted letters and he always supports her. Neither of them know who the other is, which is the entire appeal of the story, until Joe inevitably discovers Kathleen’s true identity. Afterwards, he tries to win her affection without revealing his Internet alter ego.

I think the movie is charming because Joe knew so much about Kathleen based on her online messages—that she liked daisies, that she loved Pride and Prejudice, and that she wished she had clever remarks to things people said to her in the moment. It’s incredibly intimate to have someone read your writing—incredibly intimate, and incredibly exhilarating. From some typed out paragraphs, Joe understood Kathleen on a personal level, because within those paragraphs contained the inner workings of her mind, the strings woven in her heart. For her, writing was a bridge to one person. For me, it is a bridge to you. Although I can’t quite grasp your thoughts and reactions while reading this, I know you can grasp mine, because here they are, bare and laid out. From my past posts, and from this one, you know how I think, what I tend to say, and a little bit about my likes and dislikes (for example, my affinity for the Lord of the Rings and British fashion).

What I’m trying to say is, I’m thankful for you, and I’m thankful for the wondrous invention of the written word. As someone who, like Kathleen, sometimes struggles for the right things to say at the right time, writing is my shield and my weapon, a spear that I hurl out into the great ocean hoping to sink a fish, to catch a thought worth sharing. It is my opportunity to cram everything witty that I want to say at my pace, and it is vulnerable, it is me. Think of it—if you had to listen to me say all this in person, I wouldn’t blame you if you fell asleep in your chair. That’s why writing—and for that matter, reading—is so important, and, really, so beloved to me. It’s your opportunity to absorb everything you want to see at your pace, and it is vulnerable, it is you.

It’s intimate.

Merry Christmas, folks.

Warmly,

Caroline