Remember when your mailbox was right outside the front door? Perhaps you are one of the lucky ones who still revel in this luxury, but I for one, am not. When I was young, our front door and mailbox were the best of friends, existing side by side. Our mail carrier walked all the way up the driveway, through the courtyard, and onto the porch where he carefully dropped our mail in the mailbox. And by mail, I mean letters. And by letters, I mean hand written notes of love from friends and family, not the obnoxious result of direct mailing campaigns.
Am I the crazy one, or have we lost the genuine sentiment of expressing love to one another via hand-written communication? I surely am not one to point fingers, for even I am undoubtedly guilty of choosing speedily communication avenues such as e-mails and text messages over more timely methods, such as letters. But if you ask me which I prefer to receive, my response would not even require a second thought—letters and cards of course.
But I digress. Onto the theory….
I would like to propose the notion that as the amount of personal mail we receive on a daily basis has decreased, the distance between our homes and our mailboxes has increased. Case in point—when I was little, our mailbox was right outside the front door, connected to the house. Fast forward twelve years and the mailbox sat at the end of the driveway, next to the curb, while partnered with our neighbor’s mailbox. Fast forward another four years and the mailbox sat across the street, five houses down, lumped into a group of eleven other mailboxes. Fast forward another four years to the house I live in today, our very own home that we purchased in 2006. Our mailbox now sits around the corner, two houses down, lumped into a group with sixteen other mailboxes, completely out of sight from the front of our home.
Meanwhile, as the distance between my home and my mailbox continues to grow, the amount of personal mail I receive continues to shrink. So, my question for you is, which occurred first? Sure, I can blame the lack of personal mail on various forms of technology and social media, which has sadly but unarguably taken its place. But does the distance to the mailbox play a role at all?
Think about it. I believe that when your mailbox is attached to your house, you are more inclined to check your mail every day, or at least every other day. Why? Because it’s right there, in plain sight. Meanwhile, I can personally attest to the poor mail checking habits of a person who lives more than thirty feet away from their mailbox, because I am that person. We check our mail once, maybe twice a week. When it’s raining, we are perfectly capable of going nine or ten days without checking it at all. Partly because we are lazy, but more importantly, because we know we don’t need to. All of our bills are paid online and unless we are expecting a package or invitation, what’s the point? Besides receiving my Real Simple magazine that is.
Other aspects to consider—the mail carrier and the key. I have no idea what the name of my mail carrier is, nor do I even have the slightest clue whether he or she is….well, a he or a she. How awful is that? Granted, the mail arrives during the day while I am at work and I suppose it makes much more sense for my childhood persona to know the mail carrier by sex and name. After all, many minor encounters occurred between him and I during the summer months while I played in the front yard. “Hello” to him and a “hi there” back to me. Nonetheless, the current relationship between my mail carrier and I is utterly nonexistent and perhaps wouldn’t be, if I was able to spot him (or her) every once in a while when he (or she) is stopping in front of my home. But alas, I cannot see the mailbox from my home so how would this ever happen? Aspect #2—the key. Since when do we lock our mailboxes? This is a somewhat recent phenomenon and while I suppose it is a relatively smart idea, it again makes the mailbox seem that much more impersonal and inaccessible.
Which brings me back to the theory. If my mailbox is out of sight and out of mind, who’s to say that I am not slowly losing my personal attachment and dedication to it and it’s purpose? Perhaps if my mailbox was placed outside my front door, or directly in front of my home, I would often be reminded of the joy that accompanies a hand-written letter and thus dedicate more time and energy into creating pieces of mail for others.
Then again, maybe I wouldn’t.
But for now, as I reluctantly enter 2010, I am making my first New Year’s resolution.
I resolve to: embrace the glorious purpose of mail, both coming and going, as if the mailbox was attached to my home.
