Stamped and Misdelivered:

A Love Letter Lost in Translation

Dear Reader,

In college, handwritten mail was the communication de rigueur. Sure, I could use the phone, but I was a broke student and long-distance calls were expensive. Calling after 11 p.m. was an option, but classes started early. So I wrote letters. Lots of letters.

I wrote to family, friends, and—during my freshman year—to my boyfriend at a different school. Sometimes I’d sit down and write four or five letters in a row. I always addressed the envelopes first and stamped them too. That way, when I finished a letter, I could slip it in and send it off. It was efficient. It was motivating.

Until it wasn’t.

One night, while juggling letters to multiple people, I accidentally put the note meant for my grandmother into the envelope addressed to my boyfriend. And his letter? Off to Nana.

I didn’t realize the mix-up until a few days later, when my boyfriend called. As soon as I answered, he said, in a slow, dramatic voice: “Dear Nana…” and then proceeded to read her entire letter back to me. It took me a second to grasp what had happened. And then a cold wave of horror washed over me.

“Uh oh,” I thought, trying to remember what his letter had said—and picturing my grandmother, standing at her mailbox in her housedress, reading it at that very moment.

I’ve always prided myself on being a great multitasker. Let’s just say… there’s been a learning curve.

Yes, we make mistakes. We're human. But when you stop and think about it, it’s pretty remarkable that we can send a piece of paper from one state to another—or across the world—and more often than not, it actually gets there. In one piece. On time.

How many times have you misplaced a piece of paper in your own house? Or lost it between the car and the front door? But every time I slide an envelope into one of those blue mailboxes, I trust it will find its way. Every time.

Sure, mail gets lost sometimes. But I still believe.

When I’m standing at the post office with a package and they ask, “Do you want insurance?”
I say, “No, I want assurance.”

And for the last 250 years, that’s exactly what the Postal Service has given us. Even when I accidentally mailed the wrong letter.

With love (and a long-overdue apology to Nana)

Felice

P.S. Got a mail mishap of your own? A misaddressed love letter? A postcard that went on an unexpected journey? I’d love to hear it—drop your story in the comments or reply to this note. Misfires make the best mail.

SONG OF THE WEEK

Return to Sender by Elvis (I’ve been waiting months to use this song!)