My Journey Into Proper Correspondence

My Journey Into Proper Correspondence

Certain things in life seem small until you slow down long enough to understand how much meaning they truly carry. A handwritten note is one of those things.

For years, I have been fortunate enough to receive beautifully handwritten cards, thoughtful notes, and heartfelt thank-you messages from my best friend, Kristi. No matter the occasion, she has always understood the quiet power of putting pen to paper. Birthdays, holidays, celebrations, difficult moments, new beginnings, or simply an ordinary day that needed a little encouragement—Kristi has always had a way of making people feel remembered.

Her notes were never rushed. They were not a quick text typed while doing five other things, a social-media comment, or a heart emoji sent in passing. They were thoughtful, personal, and intentional. They were the kind of notes that made me pause before opening the envelope. The kind you read once, then read again. The kind you tuck into a drawer, save in a keepsake box, or rediscover years later and instantly remember how you felt when they arrived.

For a long time, I admired that about her. I loved receiving those notes, and I appreciated the effort behind them, but I do not think I fully understood the joy that could come from stationery, envelopes, lined paper, and the simple act of writing by hand. I was the person who appreciated the finished card without necessarily understanding the process behind it. I knew a handwritten note was meaningful, but I had not yet made the decision to become someone who regularly sent them.

This year, that is changing.

With a new school year beginning and the familiar rush of routines arriving all at once, I found myself thinking about the habits I want to create for our family. School supplies, baseball practices, meetings, family schedules, lunches, work responsibilities, calendars, appointments, and everything else that comes with a full life can make time feel as though it is moving faster than ever.

In the middle of all that movement, I wanted to create something slower.

I wanted to create something meaningful.

I wanted to make gratitude a more intentional part of our everyday lives.

I have always believed that gratitude should be taught early and practiced often. I want Ace and Kingston to understand that when someone gives them a gift, supports them, teaches them, encourages them, hosts them, helps them, or simply goes out of their way to show kindness, that kindness deserves to be acknowledged.

A simple thank-you can mean so much.

As the boys get older, I want them to understand that gratitude is not only something you feel. It is something you express. It is a habit. It is a form of respect. It is one of the ways we show people that their generosity, thoughtfulness, and time did not go unnoticed.

That is why I have made it a point to have Ace and Kingston write handwritten thank-you cards. Whether it is after birthdays, holidays, special gifts, a team celebration, a trip, or a moment when someone has been especially kind to them, I want them to learn how to sit down, think about the person they are thanking, and write something real.

Not perfect. Not overly formal. Not complicated. Just real.

At first, it may feel like a task to them. I completely understand that. When you are young, there are always more exciting things to do than sitting at a table trying to think of the right words. There are baseballs to throw, games to play, snacks to eat, friends to see, and a hundred other things competing for their attention.

But I believe that one day they will look back and understand why it mattered.

They will understand that taking a few minutes to write “thank you” is not about following a rule. It is about learning how to care for relationships. It is about recognizing kindness. It is about practicing thoughtfulness in a world that often moves too quickly.

Somewhere along the way, as I encouraged the boys to write their thank-you cards, I realized it was time for me to begin a project of my own.

I have officially declared this year my Year of Proper Correspondence.

It is a phrase that sounds slightly old-fashioned, which is exactly why I love it. Proper correspondence brings to mind another era: polished stationery, elegant handwriting, sealed envelopes, postmarks, personal notes, and letters that traveled across cities and states carrying the writer’s thoughts with them. It brings to mind communication that required time, care, and intention.

In today’s world, we communicate constantly. We have never been more connected in the technical sense. Our phones are always nearby. Our inboxes fill up by the hour. We can send messages instantly, respond in seconds, share updates with hundreds of people at once, and scroll through the lives of people we may not have spoken to in years.

And yet, despite all of that connection, communication can sometimes feel strangely impersonal.

We send quick texts instead of making phone calls. We answer emails while doing five other things. We react to photos instead of asking how someone is truly doing. We type birthday wishes into a social-media comment box because it is fast and convenient, then move on to the next thing on our screen.

There is nothing wrong with technology. I love the ability to text someone quickly, send a photo, coordinate schedules, manage work, share a moment with family, or stay connected with people who live far away. Technology helps us run businesses, organize our homes, share opportunities, build communities, and keep up with the people we love.

But convenience has a way of making us forget that some things are worth doing slowly.

A handwritten letter is not efficient. That is part of the point.

It takes time to choose the right card or piece of paper. It takes time to think about what you want to say. It takes time to write it out, make a mistake, cross something out, begin again, address the envelope, find a stamp, and place it in the mailbox. It may take days to arrive. It might sit on someone’s counter before they open it. It may become something they keep for years.

A letter asks us to be patient. It asks us to be present. It asks us to offer something of ourselves that cannot be copied, forwarded, auto-corrected, or erased with one quick tap. That is what I find so beautiful about it.

My journey into proper correspondence did not begin with a grand plan. It began with a feeling. It began with memories of Kristi’s beautiful cards and thoughtful notes. It began with watching Ace and Kingston work through their thank-you cards and remembering how meaningful those small acts can be. It began with the new school year, that familiar season of fresh starts and good intentions.

It also began with thinking about dear friends who have always had a special gift for the little things.

Kristi, Betty, and Dani have each inspired me in their own way throughout the years. They are friends I have admired not only because of their accomplishments and the lives they have built, but because of the way they move through the world. They have always been thoughtful, focused, driven, organized, and intentional. They notice details that other people might miss. They remember things. They prepare. They follow through. They make people feel important.

Those qualities may sound simple, but they are not.

It takes intention to remember a birthday before a social-media reminder appears. It takes discipline to keep up with a planner, calendar, or datebook. It takes care to choose a card, write a note, address an envelope, and send it at the right time. It takes thoughtfulness to notice when someone needs encouragement. It takes focus to stay organized when life becomes busy. It takes a certain kind of grace to make people feel seen while still carrying the responsibilities of your own life.

Kristi has always been one of those people who understands the power of a thoughtful gesture. She has a beautiful way of making life feel more personal. Her cards and notes have always reminded me that the smallest acts can leave the deepest impressions. A handwritten message can be a birthday wish, a thank-you, a word of encouragement, or a simple reminder that someone is loved. But when it is written with sincerity, it becomes more than paper and ink. It becomes a keepsake.

Kristi has a way of making people feel remembered long after the occasion has passed. She does not let the moment disappear into the busyness of life. She pauses. She pays attention. She puts her thoughts into words. She creates something tangible that lets someone know they matter.

That is a gift.

Betty has always brought her own kind of thoughtfulness to life through her love of planners, binders, calendars, stationery, and beautifully organized systems. While so many people have moved entirely to digital calendars, phone reminders, apps, shared notes, and automatic alerts, Betty has always understood the joy of having something physical in front of her.

She has always appreciated the beauty of a well-designed planner, a fresh datebook, a thoughtful layout, a hidden pocket, a place for notes, a place for appointments, and a place for all the little details that make up a busy life. There is something very intentional about choosing to write things down. It requires you to pause and consider what matters. It allows you to see your days in front of you, rather than simply reacting to alerts as they appear.

Betty has always understood that organization can be beautiful.

She and Kristi would talk about new planners, paper products, layouts, colors, designs, pockets, sections, and all of the little details that I once did not completely understand. They would be genuinely excited about a new binder or a beautiful calendar in a way that felt almost magical to them.

I used to listen and smile, thinking, “How can someone get this excited about paper?”

Now, I understand.

There is something satisfying about opening a physical planner and seeing your life written down in front of you. Something is grounding about turning a page instead of tapping a screen. Something is calming about writing an appointment, a deadline, an idea, a reminder, or a goal in your own handwriting.

A planner becomes more than a tool.

It becomes a record of your life.

It holds school events, baseball practices, birthdays, travel plans, family dinners, work meetings, appointments, deadlines, celebrations, and all the moving pieces that make up a full life. It becomes a place where you can see not only what you have to do, but what you have lived.

A physical planner does not buzz, flash, interrupt, or demand your attention the way a phone does. It simply waits for you to open it.

That is a beautiful thing.

Danielle—Dani—has always possessed a focused, driven spirit and a deep commitment to civic action. She, Kristi, and I all attended East Lansing High School together—go Trojans—and even then, Dani was the one who was consistently organized, prepared, and ready for whatever came next. Her thoughtfulness felt effortless, her drive and focus were unmistakable, and she carried herself with a sense of purpose that was inspiring, even in those early years. That same leadership has continued to define her today, from running the BSU to stepping forward as a candidate for office within Jack and Jill. Dani has always been someone who sees a need, brings people together, and works with intention to make a meaningful difference.

Dani was the kind of friend who seemed to understand the importance of being prepared and forging your own path. She remembered details. She made plans. She followed through. She brought a calm, organized energy that made everything around her feel a little more manageable.

Those qualities have always stood out to me.

After high school, Dani attended Spelman College, while Kristi, Betty, and I attended the University of Michigan. Even though we took different paths, our friendship continued to feel easy and familiar. Dani visited us in Ann Arbor, and those visits are memories I treasure. There is something special about friendships that continue through different seasons of life, different schools, different cities, different careers, and eventually the many responsibilities of adulthood.

Some friendships are built around one moment in time. Others grow as life changes. They move with you from high school hallways to college campuses, from dorm rooms and busy schedules to careers, family life, celebrations, challenges, and everything in between.

I think about the quiet influence that Kristi, Betty, and Dani have had on my life. Each of them, in her own way, has always shown me the value of thoughtfulness, organization, preparation, focus, and attention to detail.

Kristi showed me the power of a handwritten note and being thoughtful.

Betty showed me the beauty of keeping life in a physical planner and living by personal mantras.

Dani showed me that being prepared, organized, and fearless in the pursuit of your happiness can be its own kind of grace.

Looking back, I can see that they were all teaching me something, even if I did not fully realize it at the time.

They showed me that the details matter.

They showed me that making time for people matters.

They showed me that the little things can create joy.

They showed me that thoughtfulness is never wasted.

They showed me that a well-lived life does not have to be perfect, but it can be intentional.

Maybe that is why this new journey into correspondence feels like such a natural next step for me. I am beginning to see that stationery is not just stationery. A notebook is not just paper. A planner is not just a schedule. A letter is not just a message.

These things become containers for memory.

They become part of the story.

A handwritten card may begin as a few sentences, but years later it can bring back an entire season of life. You can hold it in your hands and remember who you were when you wrote it. You can remember who received it. You can remember why that moment mattered.

There are not many things in our fast-paced world that ask us to slow down in such a gentle way.

A letter does.

As I began thinking about my Year of Proper Correspondence, I found myself becoming surprisingly excited about the details. I started looking for the perfect vintage-looking lined paper. I searched for envelopes that felt timeless and beautiful. I imagined stationery with soft colors, elegant borders, delicate florals, classic fonts, and the kind of old-world charm that makes you want to sit at a desk with a cup of coffee and write for an hour.

I found myself looking at paper differently.

I began noticing texture. I noticed cream-colored pages that feel warmer than bright white paper. I noticed the way lined paper can make handwriting look more polished. I noticed the beauty of an envelope with a simple return address. I noticed the charm of seeing a handwritten name on the front of a card.

Suddenly, I was the person who understood the excitement.

I was the person comparing stationery styles.

I was the person wondering if I needed special stamps.

I was the person imagining a drawer or basket filled with cards for every occasion.

I was the person who could see why Kristi, Betty, and Dani had always found joy in details that once seemed so small.

There is a certain pleasure in choosing something beautiful for an ordinary moment. It does not have to be expensive. It does not have to be elaborate. It simply has to make you happy.

A stack of notecards can make you happy.

A favorite pen can make you happy.

A pretty envelope can make you happy.

A fresh page in a new journal can make you happy.

There is no reason to apologize for finding joy in small things. In fact, I think those small things often make life feel fuller.

The Year of Proper Correspondence is not about perfection. It is not about becoming someone who writes flawless, formal letters with perfect penmanship and poetic language. It is not about pretending that life is slower than it really is. I still have a busy family. I still have responsibilities. I still have work to do, schedules to manage, meals to plan, practices to attend, and a hundred things happening at once.

This project is not about adding pressure.

It is about adding intention.

I do not need to write a letter every day. I do not need to send a card for every tiny occasion. I do not need to make it complicated. I simply want to create more opportunities to acknowledge people in a meaningful way.

I want to celebrate milestones, new homes, new jobs, new babies, anniversaries, accomplishments, and everyday victories.

I want to remember the people who have been kind to our family. I want to teach my children that gratitude is not an afterthought. I want to create a home where paper, pens, stamps, cards, and thoughtful words are always close by. I want correspondence to become part of the rhythm of our lives.

We live in a culture that celebrates speed. Faster shipping. Faster answers. Faster service. Faster content. Faster communication. We want immediate updates, instant responses, same-day delivery, and constant access.

But the best things in life are often not immediate.

Trust takes time.

Friendship takes time.

Family traditions take time.

Learning takes time.

Growing takes time.

A handwritten note takes time.

And because it takes time, it feels valuable.

When someone opens a letter, they know you chose to do something that could not be completed in two seconds. They know you paused your day. They know you thought of them. They know your hands touched the paper. They know you made the effort to send something that is just for them.

That is the difference.

A social-media post can be seen by thousands of people. A handwritten note is meant for one.I remember the excitement of checking the mailbox as a child. Most days it was bills, advertisements, flyers, and envelopes meant for adults. But every once in a while, there would be something with your name on it. That was different. It felt important.

It might have been a birthday card from a relative, a postcard from someone on vacation, an invitation, a holiday card, or a little note tucked inside an envelope. Whatever it was, it made you feel special because it had been sent directly to you.

There is a very particular feeling that comes with seeing your own name handwritten on an envelope.It is a feeling I want Ace and Kingston to know.

I want them to experience the excitement of receiving something personal in the mail. I want them to understand that people can love you from far away. I want them to learn that a card can carry encouragement. I want them to know that writing a thank-you note is not old-fashioned in a bad way. It is old-fashioned in the best way.

It is timeless.

There are many things that change from generation to generation. Technology changes. Communication changes. Trends change. The way we work, travel, shop, learn, and share our lives changes constantly. But kindness never goes out of style.

Gratitude never goes out of style. Thoughtfulness never goes out of style.

A handwritten note may feel like something from another time, but the emotion behind it is completely current. Everyone wants to feel appreciated. Everyone wants to feel remembered. Everyone wants to know that they matter.

That is why correspondence still matters.

As I prepare for this new project, I keep thinking about the people I want to write to. Some will be close friends. Some will be family members. Some may be people who have helped our family in ways they may not even realize. Some may be teachers, coaches, mentors, neighbors, business partners, or people who have supported the boys during their activities.

Those are the people I want to write to.

I want to become more aware of the moments that deserve acknowledgment. I want to notice kindness when it happens instead of telling myself I will thank someone later. “Later” has a way of becoming never. We mean well, but life fills up quickly. A few days pass. Then a few weeks. Then enough time goes by that we feel awkward bringing it up at all.

A note helps close that gap.

It says, “I noticed.” “I appreciate you.” “You mattered in this moment.” “Thank you.”

Sometimes that is all a person needs to hear.

The more I thought about writing letters, the more I realized that proper correspondence is not just about the recipient. It is also about the writer. There is something therapeutic about sitting quietly and putting your thoughts into words. It gives you a chance to reflect. It encourages you to think more deeply about your relationships. It creates a beautiful pause in the day.

So much of life is lived in reaction mode. We react to emails, messages, alerts, deadlines, requests, and news. We answer what is urgent. We handle what is in front of us. We move quickly from one responsibility to the next.

Writing a letter is different.

Writing a letter is proactive.

You are not replying to a notification. You are creating a moment. You are choosing connection. You are choosing gratitude. You are choosing to reach out.That feels powerful.

I have always loved the idea of traditions, especially the ones that are simple enough to actually keep. Sometimes we imagine traditions as grand events: big holiday dinners, elaborate vacations, special celebrations, or annual gatherings. Those things are wonderful, but traditions can also be small.

I love the thought of correspondence becoming part of our family culture. I can imagine the boys sitting at the table after a birthday party, each one thinking about the gifts they received and the people who gave them. I can imagine helping them find the right words when they are young, then watching them grow more confident in their own voices.

I can imagine looking back years from now at their early cards, with their big handwriting, misspelled words, and simple sentences. Those little cards will probably become keepsakes for the people who receive them. They will show a snapshot of who Ace and Kingston were at that age.

They may not realize it now, but their words will matter.

A child’s thank-you note has a special kind of sweetness. It does not need to be perfect. In fact, the imperfect parts are often the most memorable. A note that says, “Thank you for my baseball stuff. I love it, and I am going to use it a lot,” carries more heart than the most polished adult message. It is honest. It is real. It is personal.

I want my boys to know that they do not have to sound like anyone else. They simply have to speak from the heart. That is something adults can remember too.

Sometimes we avoid writing because we worry about saying the wrong thing. We worry that we are not eloquent enough, thoughtful enough, funny enough, or formal enough. We stare at a blank card, and suddenly the simplest message feels difficult.

But correspondence does not require a perfect speech.

It can be as simple as, “I have been thinking about you and wanted you to know.”, “Thank you for being there for me.”, “Your kindness meant more than you know.” “I am proud of you.” “I am grateful for our friendship.” “I hope this season brings you joy.”

The words do not have to be complicated to be meaningful. In fact, the most memorable messages are often the simplest ones.

As I searched for vintage-looking lined paper and envelopes, I started imagining the feeling I wanted each letter to have. I wanted them to feel personal and warm. I wanted them to feel like something worth keeping. I wanted them to have a sense of charm without feeling overly formal or stiff.

That has become an important part of this journey. Proper correspondence does not mean copying someone else’s style. It means finding your own way to communicate with care.

Maybe my letters will include a favorite quote. Maybe they will include a little update about the boys. Maybe they will include memories, encouragement, gratitude, humor, or a glimpse of everyday life. Maybe some will be short and sweet, while others will be pages long. Maybe some will be sent for holidays, while others will arrive for no reason other than the fact that someone was on my mind.

The beauty is that there are no strict rules. But the heart of correspondence is connection. It is not about getting everything exactly right. It is about making someone feel remembered. That is what I hope this year becomes for me: a year of remembering people well. I want to remember the friends who have walked beside me through different seasons of life.

There is something incredibly personal about handwriting. It is one of the few things we still do that is entirely our own. No two people write exactly alike. Even when handwriting is messy, rushed, uneven, or imperfect, it carries personality.

A handwritten letter contains little signs of the writer. The pressure of the pen. The way they form certain letters. The way they sign their name. The places where they paused to think. The occasional crossed-out word. The ink color they chose. The gentle curve of their handwriting across the page.

It is unmistakably human.

A typed message can be copied and pasted. A handwritten message cannot.A handwritten card feels like a small piece of a person arriving in the mail.That is something worth preserving.

I think about letters people have saved for decades. Letters from grandparents. Letters from parents. Letters between friends. Letters written during college, travel, courtship, illness, celebration, and every stage of life in between. There is history inside those envelopes.

In many families, old letters become treasures. They tell stories that might otherwise disappear. They reveal how people spoke to one another. They show what they worried about, hoped for, dreamed about, and celebrated. They preserve the small details that rarely make it into formal family histories.

A handwritten note can become part of a family archive without anyone intending it to. That is another reason I love this idea so much. It feels like a small way to create something lasting. I may write a note today because I am grateful for someone, but perhaps years later that note will mean something different. Perhaps it will remind them of a particular season. Perhaps it will make them smile during a hard time. Perhaps it will be found in a drawer and bring back a memory.

We never fully know the life a note will have after we send it. That is kind of beautiful. I also love the thought of carrying this practice into every part of life. If someone supports one of the boys, if a coach goes above and beyond, if a teacher makes a difference, if a client or business contact offers an opportunity, if a friend does something kind, I want to respond with more than a quick message.

I want to take the time. I want the boys to see that.

Children learn so much by watching what we do. They notice the way we speak to people. They notice how we respond to kindness. They notice whether we complain or show gratitude. They notice whether we treat people like they matter.

If Ace and Kingston grow up seeing handwritten thank-you notes as a normal part of life, perhaps they will carry that habit with them. Maybe one day they will write cards to their own teachers, coaches, friends, mentors, grandparents, and colleagues. Maybe they will become the people who make others feel appreciated.

That would be a beautiful legacy for something as simple as paper and a pen. This journey feels especially meaningful at the beginning of a new school year. There is always a feeling of possibility in back-to-school season. Fresh notebooks. New pencils. New schedules. New teachers. New goals. A new grade level. A renewed sense of routine after the freedom of summer.

Even if you are not a student anymore, the rhythm of the school year still brings a feeling of reset. It feels like a time to get organized, recommit to routines, clean out old clutter, refresh the calendar, and start something new.

For me, this Year of Proper Correspondence feels like a back-to-school project for grown-ups. It is my version of a new notebook. It is my version of sharpening pencils and setting goals. It is my reminder that personal growth does not have to be dramatic to be meaningful.

There is a phrase I keep coming back to: small things done with great love. That is exactly what I hope correspondence becomes for me. Not a performance. Not a chore. Not another thing to check off a list.A small thing done with love.

A card for a friend who needs encouragement.A thank-you note to someone who gave generously.A birthday message that arrives in the mailbox.A letter to a family member who lives far away.A note to say, “I am thinking of you.”A few handwritten words that let someone know they are not forgotten. There is no shortage of reasons to write. Sometimes we just need to decide to begin.

I think that is the hardest part of any new project. We wait until we have the perfect supplies, the perfect schedule, the perfect plan, or the perfect reason. We tell ourselves we will start when life becomes less busy, when we have more time, when we find the right system, or when we feel more prepared.

But life is always full. There will always be something to do. There will always be another email, another practice, another appointment, another errand, another responsibility.

If I wait for the perfect moment, I may never start. So I am starting now.

The thought of creating a correspondence routine actually makes me feel calmer. Rather than waiting for a major occasion, I can make room for letters in ordinary life. Maybe there will be a quiet hour on a Sunday afternoon. Maybe it will happen after the boys are in bed. Maybe I will keep a small stack of cards nearby and write one whenever the moment feels right.

I can picture a basket with stationery supplies: lined paper, thank-you cards, blank cards, holiday cards, envelopes, stamps, pens, address labels, and perhaps a few little extras. It does not have to be elaborate, but I love the idea of making it inviting.

If I make it beautiful and easy to access, I am more likely to use it.

That is true of so many things in life. We are more likely to read when our books are visible. We are more likely to cook when the kitchen feels organized. We are more likely to work out when our shoes and gear are ready. We are more likely to write letters when the paper, cards, and pens are waiting for us.

As much as I love the romantic idea of letters, I also know that correspondence is practical. A handwritten thank-you note can strengthen relationships in both personal and professional life. It can show appreciation after a meeting, a gift, a referral, a collaboration, or a business opportunity. It can help someone stand out in a world where almost everyone is sending the same short email.

A card can feel memorable because it is unexpected.

In business, people often remember how you made them feel. They remember whether you were thoughtful, responsive, appreciative, and genuine. A handwritten note cannot replace good work, honesty, follow-through, or professionalism, but it can reinforce those qualities. It can show that you are someone who pays attention.

That matters.

There is something almost rebellious about choosing a handwritten letter in a world built around instant communication. It is a quiet kind of rebellion. It says that not everything needs to be fast. It says that convenience is not always the highest value. It says that relationships deserve more than whatever time is left over after everything else is done.

It says that some things should take effort.

I do not mean that every interaction needs to become formal or complicated. I will still text my friends. I will still send emails. I will still use social media. I will still appreciate the ability to connect quickly when life requires it.

But I want to make space for something different too.

I want both.

I want the convenience of modern communication and the warmth of an old-fashioned note.

A handwritten note can make someone feel welcomed, celebrated, supported, and appreciated.

This year, I am choosing to make space for the old-fashioned letter. I am choosing stamps over shortcuts, paper over pixels, and meaningful words over quick reactions when the moment calls for something more personal.

I am choosing gratitude. I am choosing intention. I am choosing connection.

I am choosing to become someone who writes the note.

And so, with a new school year ahead, a fresh stack of stationery waiting, and a heart full of appreciation for the people who have inspired me, I am beginning my Journey Into Proper Correspondence.

May it be filled with beautiful paper, thoughtful words, handwritten thank-yous, meaningful memories, and the kind of letters that remind people they are loved.