Patience Is Hard

Five months into my postal experiment, I’ve written to 43 people and heard back from 18 through the U.S. mail. I’ve had, as previously reported here, several different emotional responses to the discrepancy, impatience and disappointment prominent among them. I thought today I’d try compassion and understanding.

First, for the mothers of young children. I recently spent the weekend with a dear friend, her 4-year-old, and her 2-year-old. Just two days with these houseguests and my ability to comprehend a vast new corner of the cosmos expanded farther than my reading Stephen Hawkings’ A Brief History of Time or The Universe in a Nutshell. I now wonder how mothers of toddlers have time to sharpen a pencil, let alone write a postcard.

These women are absolutely off the hook.

As to the rest of the nonresponders – well, in the spirit of empathy, I’ll just have to intuit. Maybe they want to, but simply aren’t in the habit. Just like starting a new exercise regimen, it’s hard to work that muscle group in that whole new way.

Or maybe they mean to, but keep forgetting. They forget to buy postcards. They forget to purchase stamps. They tell themselves on the way home from demanding jobs or carefree hikes in the redwoods or piano lessons, “Tonight is the night I’ll write and send that postcard.” Somewhere between the grocery store and the American Idol finale, it slips their minds.

Maybe they paid it forward. I did say that would be fine with me. I wanted to be the person who generously expanded out to everyone, through that whole Six Degrees of Separation phenom, the joy of receiving mail.  That was, in fact, a lie. Fine. Pay it forward. But write to me as well. I’m self-centered that way. Secret’s out.

Or perhaps they don’t think their lives are interesting enough. Possibly their lives have been so exciting and eventful they don’t want to brag. Maybe they just have to get something off their chests, start writing and before they know it, three typewritten, single-spaced pages of venting lay before them. “She won’t want to read all this crap!” They tell themselves and press delete.

Stop! Hit save instead! She doesn’t care if you complain. She wants that letter!

Those who’ve emailed to say they intend to write – cards on the way – letter imminent.  Thanks. I’m trying that patience thing, and it ain’t going so great, but the waiting gives me excellent practice.

As does the entire enterprise.