The Postcard

I have loved the postcard ever since I learned to read other people’s handwriting.

What’s not to love?

It’s visually stimulating with the glossy photo on the back. It implies travel, which appeals to romantic ideas of far-away lands, railway cars, Transatlantic crossings, and, my personal favorite, The Epic Road Trip.

Best of all, I can count on it to contain only the most straightforward of messages. There is no room for long-winded bullshit in a postcard, no space for self-indulgent drivel.

When I write one, no need to procrastinate –only takes a minute or two.

When I receive one, it’s like a handmade chocolate truffle nested in a bed of Cheese Wiz.

I grab blindly from the mailbox, sorting through stinky, inky ads as I walk toward the recycle bin. Most of it’s tossed without consideration, but as I tuck my indecipherable medical insurance form under my arm … what’s this? Something written in pen? In handwriting?

If you are one of those people (and, let’s be honest, we are all one of those people) who struggles to get to the point, the postcard is for you.

I am one who is wildly impatient with the written word, but I always have time to read a postcard.