Ever since then I have been particularly fond of letters. While this form of communication may be antiquated in today's helter-skelter paced exchange (with notifications of when your text message was read and phone settings that include having notifications pushed into your awareness), I believe it is timeless. There is something so magical and exciting about receiving a letter. You don't really know when it was sent or what it may be about, and how you receive it is entirely up to you. You can tear open the envelope at the mailbox, devouring its contents in haste; you can take it in with you, set it aside with curiosity and wait until you can process it. You can read it all, immediately, without interruption; you can take it piece by piece, walking away from it or setting it down. You can read it once or several times. You can throw it away or tear it to pieces or burn it or frame it or cherish it. It is a physical object usually just from one person and usually just meant for one person--YOU.
Naturally, when I happened upon this book on the library shelves, I took it with me. And, finding this one as I sat in the parked car on the driveway, door opened to enjoy the fresh spring breeze, my spirits could not been better cheered. And I wanted to share it with you, dear reader. I am thinking of writing such a letter of encouragement to myself. I could use it.
Here is E.B. White (the thoughtful writer who gave us Stuart Little and Charlotte's Web and host of other good reads) in response to a man's despair at the state of humanity in 1973. May it lift you as it lifted me.