给陌生人的情书 - 范文无忧网

[写于圣诞节和新年的情书2]在圣诞节和新年之际，人们互赠圣诞卡、贺年卡，已成风气，小小的卡片，载去了多少情意、祝愿和问候！但是，要是再写一封充满柔情蜜意的情书给亲人或恋人，是不是更好呢？这种情书写得好，也是...+阅读

I was one of the only kids in college who had a reason to go to the P.O. box at the end of the day, and that was mainly because my mother has never believed in email, in Facebook, in texting or cell phones in general. And so while other kids were BBM-ing their parents, I was literally waiting by the mailbox to get a letter from home to see how the weekend had gone, which was a little frustrating when Grandma was in the hospital, but I was just looking for some sort of scribble, some unkempt cursive from my mother.

And so when I moved to New York City after college and got pletely sucker-punched in the face by depression, I did the only thing I could think of at the time. I wrote those same kinds of letters that my mother had written me for strangers, and tucked them all throughout the city, dozens and dozens of them. I left them everywhere, in cafes and in libraries, at the U.N., everywhere. I blogged about those letters and the days when they were necessary, and I posed a kind of crazy promise to the Inter: that if you asked me for a hand-written letter, I would write you one, no questions asked. Overnight, my inbox morphed into this harbor of heartbreak -- a single mother in Sacramento, a girl being bullied in rural Kansas, all asking me, a 22-year-old girl who barely even knew her own coffee order, to write them a love letter and give them a reason to wait by the mailbox.

Well, today I fuel a global anization that is fueled by those trips to the mailbox, fueled by the ways in which we can harness social media like never before to write and mail strangers letters when they need them most, but most of all, fueled by crates of mail like this one, my trusty mail crate, filled with the ings of ordinary people, strangers writing letters to other strangers not because theyre ever going to meet and laugh over a cup of coffee, but because they he found one another by way of letter-writing.

But, you know, the thing that always gets me about these letters is that most of them he been written by people that he never known themselves loved on a piece of paper. They could not tell you about the ink of their own love letters. Theyre the ones from my generation, the ones of us that he grown up into a world where everything is paperless, and where some of our best conversations he happened upon a screen. We he learned to diary our pain onto Facebook, and we speak swiftly in 140 characters or less.

But what if its not about efficiency this time? I was on the subway yesterday with this mail crate, which is a conversation starter, let me tell you. If you ever need one, just carry one of these. (Laughter) And a man just stared at me, and he was like, Well, why dont you use the Inter? And I thought, Well, sir, I am not a strategist, nor am I specialist. I am merely a storyteller. And so I could tell you about a woman whose husband has just e home from Afghanistan, and she is hing a hard time unearthing this thing called conversation, and so she tucks love letters throughout the house as a way to say, e back to me. Find me when you can. Or a girl who decides that she is going to lee love letters around her campus in Dubuque, Iowa, only to find her efforts ripple-effected the next day when she walks out onto the quad and finds love letters hanging from the trees, tucked in the bushes and the benches. Or the man who decides that he is going to take his life, uses Facebook as a way to say goodbye to friends and family. Well, tonight he sleeps safely with a stack of letters just like this one tucked beneath his pillow, ed by strangers who were there for him when.

These are the kinds of stories that convinced me that letter-writing will never again need to flip back her hair and talk about efficiency, because she is an art form now, all the parts of her, the signing, the ing, the mailing, the doodles in the margins. The mere fact that somebody would even just sit down, pull out a piece of paper and think about someone the whole way through, with an intention that is so much harder to unearth when the browser is up and the iPhone is pinging and weve got six conversations rolling in at once, that is an art form that does not fall down to the Goliath of get faster, no matter how many social works we might join. We still clutch close these letters to our chest, to the words that speak louder than loud, when we turn pages into palettes to say the things that we he needed to say, the words that we he needed to write, to sisters and brothers and even to strangers, for far too long. Thank you. (Applause) (Applause)