Papers, papers, and more papers

I am in a wistful mood after having sorted through letters from friends from my high school; letters from my friends I met when I was an exchange student; letters from college friends; letters from old boyfriends; countless birthday cards--one can amass quite an impressive pile at my age; postcards sent by friends from places as far flung as Australia; invitations to weddings, baby showers for mothers whose children are now well into their elementary years; and the thank you notes for dinners at our home, or some sundry gift given on someone's special occasion. I have, since high school, collected, quite compulsively I might add, any written correspondence. Yes, since high school. I might add compulsive to my list of quirky--euphemistic words are needed here--qualities. The worst, but funny part of this strange habit is that I have carted around boxes of these correspondences from Philadelphia to Washington D.C. to New Haven, to Los Angeles, and the countless apartments and houses I have lived since moving west. You can also add peripatetic--the definition that doesn't relate to Aristotle, but to the definition for one who walks constantly--to my list of quirks. And were we not moving to New York, those boxes, unopened for so long, would remain closed, but shipped to the new address. Yes, strange, isn't it? I'm certain that no one I know holds on to these correspondences the way I have over the years. So, for my friends, if you've sent me a card, letter, thank you note, believe me when I say I've held on to it and have now reread them during this period of purging.

After sorting through it all, I am feeling nostalgic about friendships that have endured and those that have not. Each card and letter brought back many of the same emotions I had for that individual during that particular period of my life. It was quite remarkable to be transplanted back to my flat in Camden Town, London, sitting around with my flat mates drinking our way through a bottle of cheap, bad wine, talking about books, films, music, so passionately, the way one does when they're at university. The sad reality for me is that so many of my friends from university are overseas, living in Europe. But what I'm really nostalgic about is the fact that receiving a card these days is out of the norm since all of us use Email as a way to stay in touch. Unlike my compulsion to hold on to written correspondences, I am equally as compulsive about purging electronic correspondences. I'm always afraid that my computer will crash because of information overload. And since all of my work is on the hard drive, I am obsessive--there's that word again-- about deleting emails. Quite a contrast to those boxes, if you think about it.

So, this wistfulness is for the changes in communicating with other people. I can attest that the flow of letters from my friends overseas dwindled around 1992 when everyone seemed to be signed on to an AOL account. The piles I've accumulated over these last thirteen years are for special occasions that call for cards: birthdays, announcements, thank you notes, and a few postcards. Even those whimsical cards with images of exotic locales have been replaced by an email with a picture of someone standing next to the Arc de Triomphe.

As I finally get rid of all those correspondences--I have kept a few, particularly letters--I'm feeling nostalgic about all the relationships that will fade away once I leave Los Angeles. It is just the nature of life, isn't it? I suppose I will stay in touch with a few, but many will become just a part of the landscape of memories I've collected during my time here. And now that I have thrown out all of those cards, I won't even have those reminders. There it is again, that wistfulness. But trust me, I'm not complaining.