I’ve always been a big believer in letters.
Maybe it started because I love to write—or maybe it’s just a great excuse to buy pretty stationery (still true). But the deeper truth is this: I love what letters represent. They are moments made visible. Thoughtfulness made tangible.
Growing up, my dad used to leave me notes—short messages scrawled on scraps of paper, taped to my bedroom door or the bathroom mirror. Somehow, they always showed up at just the right time. A word of encouragement. A reminder I was loved. A signal that someone saw me.
Those notes taught me that writing can be presence.
And now, writing letters is one of the most consistent ways I practice being present.
I still try to write something every week—sometimes it’s a quick note tucked into my daughters’ lunches. Other times, it’s a thank-you to someone who went out of their way, or a message to a friend I haven’t seen in years. Occasionally, I even write to people I don’t know personally—just because they did something that moved me. A story they told. A moment they shared. A gesture I witnessed.
Yes, I still write letters to strangers. Because words matter. And so does kindness.
And now, years into this habit, I see it rubbing off on my girls. They love making cards and writing their own notes, especially my oldest. Recently, she even wrote a thank-you letter to a dog we were dog-sitting overnight. (It was heartfelt, thoughtful, and genuinely hilarious.) But it reminded me that this practice isn’t just about stationery—it’s about awareness. About noticing and expressing. About making space for connection in the middle of our busy days.
Letters don’t have to be long. They don’t have to be perfect.
They just have to be honest.
They’re a moment you gift to someone else—sometimes right when they need it most. Sometimes simply to remind them that they’re loved, seen, or appreciated.
So here’s my gentle challenge to you:
Write a letter.
To a friend. A partner. A parent. A child. A mentor. A stranger.
Make it short. Make it real. Make it yours.
You might just brighten someone’s day—and anchor yourself in presence while doing it.
I promise: it will feel good.
(And who knows? Maybe you’ll start a beautiful habit of your own.)
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