I've had this post floating around my brain for a few days, and though its not quite ready yet, I just need to get Jack Bauer off of the top of my blog, no matter how awesome he is.
While at my parents this weekend, I started flipping through
Letters by Majorie Pay Hinckley - a collection of letters she wrote over the years. She wrote about her struggles, her testimonies, everyday life, her little joys. She wrote to her husband, her children, and her family. These letters are treasured by her family, and now can be treasured by the world. I was touched.
I have been thinking for a while at how much communication has changed, even in my life. When I was about 12, I had a pen pal that lived in Ireland. We wrote back and forth for quite a while. I don't remember her name, or even much of what we wrote about, but for a small moment, I felt connected to someone half a world away.
In some ways, we are even more connected now. I can contact people around the world in minutes. I get updates of everyday moments of a lot of people, some of whom I had lost touch with before we "found" each other again. That is cool.
But there is something missing. Through all of the "stuff" we hear about all the people we know, we miss what they are really trying to say. With facebook and email and twitter and texting - all of this "surface communication" we lose the ability (or maybe just forget) to see past the surface to the soul of a person. How many of my "friends" could I call if I were really in trouble? Or just want to go out to the movie?
Sometimes I just want to sit back with a pen and paper and write a letter. It is a lost art. And I think its leaving a gap. We are connected, and that
is cool. But part of me would leave it behind for a stack of letters, yellowing with age and tied with twine, from people who knew my soul. That is what it means to be connected.