I'm fascinated by the global system of MAIL (or as some countries call it, POST).
When I was a child, the only way to communicate with friends and loved ones was by land-line telephone or mail. There was no internet or smartphones. The only two means of receiving direct communication from someone far away that you knew was to either check the answering machine that was plugged into the wall in your living room, or to check your mailbox outside. It was such a basic way of making contact with others, and it made the act of finding a letter so exciting.
There was no Amazon, or any online ordering at all for that matter. If you wanted to buy something that wasn't stocked in the stores of your town, you had to find that item listed in a physical catalog, magazine, or newspaper, and "send away for it" by calling a 1-800 number or mailing a paper check somewhere. Then you had to wait. And when it arrived, it felt like magic. Like it appeared from a mysterious portal. It's weird to think about: Someone drops off a package at a delivery station, and from there it's on its own in a strange world that will somehow know how to get it to its destination. As if it's on an odd journey along with thousands of other little packages, trying to find its way to its new home. And it will be a stranger that will eventually drop it off at the end of the road, leaving it behind to be found by you.
What an adventure it must be for all those individual letters and packages traveling around the world every day to destinations far and wide. From a dusty remote village to a modern mega metropolis. From the frigid arctic to the sweltering tropics. Aboard trains, planes, and big rigs. Through processing plants, across conveyor belts, into sorting bins. All the while surrounded by the myriad echoing of music, traffic, and languages as interesting and diverse as the landscapes they cross.
I was lucky enough to work as a mail carrier for the United States Postal Service. Nearly every day while delivering mail, I pondered the complex web of international commerce while marveling at my minuscule part within it. It was truly an honor. I delivered postcards, parcels, periodicals, and letters to people from destinations around the globe. And I picked up the same from residents, to bring back to the post office as "outgoing" mail. I was the first person to handle these items at the very start of their huge worldwide journey, and the last one to handle them at the very final end of their long trip home. It amazed me.
Although apps and texts have wholly replaced the need to send a buddy a physical paper message, I still value the act of doing it. There is a ritual involved. A ritual that must be taught to you. You must write the name and address information (both sender and receiver) on the envelope in a careful, specific, informational template. It must be in legible penmanship. You must venture to the post office and purchase a certain value stamp, and adhere this stamp to said envelope. Then you must place it in a metal box and walk away. You have done your part, and now you must trust in a larger system to sort out the rest in a safe, reliable, and noble manner. It's a social contract that we've created with ourselves as a species. It's a vintage rite that we hold sacred.
I sometimes ponder ancient peoples, and I wonder how goods and communication traveled long distances via segmented trade routes stretching across the earth. What was it like to get a package back then? And what did the package look like? Was it sacks of spices brought by traders? Or a scroll with words from a foreign land? Or maybe it was items from a place you've never heard of, sent by a long lost friend. Who knows. Do you ever think about that? What do you think it was like?
I still send and receive postcards, and I hope they always exist in some physical form.
Take care.
-T
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