How often do you get a “personal” message—meaning a handwritten note from someone you actually know—versus a “personalized” brand communication using your first name? With my real-time and virtual mailboxes constantly bombarded, I didn’t think about it much until a letter with carefully packaged dried marjoram showed up from Des Moines, Iowa.
My dear friend Kate—a journalist with a talent for gardening and beekeeping—shared an offering from her herb patch after I expressed disappointment in my inability to find a starter plant this late in the season. Milder and sweeter than typical oregano, marjoram is a welcome addition to my soups and salads.
Kate’s gesture got me thinking about “personalization.” It’s a marketing thing. An organization uses your name and up-to-the-minute data about who you are and what you’re seeking from a branded product, service, or experience. They’ll engage you through ads, videos, email campaigns, social media platforms, collateral, etc. If they “understand” who you are and continue to woo you in just the right way, you may reach the transactional phase of “the relationship.” If it’s not for you, you’ll say no. But if what they’re offering is for real and satisfies, then the arrangement may be mutually beneficial.
But is it “personal”? An entity can collect bits of data on my consumer habits and info-gathering trail. They can track my interactions with a brand, measuring perceptions, feelings, and reactions throughout my “journey” as a customer.
Do they really know me the way a close friend or relative does—when we comfort each other through loss, celebrate joyful moments, share stories and laughter through a leisurely lunch, enjoy quiet strolls, listen during a dark night of the soul, or experience the distinctive sound of a human voice from miles away?
Communicating via screens is convenient, especially when time is short and distance an imposition. Still, there’s a chance of compromising focus on another human being during a disembodied conversation. How many of us “multitask” while virtually interacting?
Decades ago, Kirk (my study buddy and close friend) told me a story about a graduate student brilliant at understanding complex literary theory and using it to analyze texts. The details of her fate are fuzzy, but here’s the gist. One day, she walked away from university life and took a post office job. Asked why, she said, “I just want to feel what it’s like to moisten a stamp and put it on an envelope or pull a stack of mail from a bag and put it in a box.”
Maybe the student returned to academic life. I have no idea. But here’s the point: she was living so much in her head that the sensory world receded until she made an effort to connect with physical reality.
Remembering that tale turned my thoughts to letters. My grandmother’s generation corresponded regularly. There’s something charming about holding a letter with penmanship like copperplate. My own handwriting is a sad state.
How easy (or difficult) would it be to send a handwritten note to a cherished friend or relative each day for a week? The author Gina Hamadey made a splash a few years ago with the publication of I Want to Thank You: How a Year of Gratitude Can Bring Joy and Meaning in a Disconnected World. The book documents 365 days of writing thank-you notes to friends, neighbors, strangers, and family.
I’ll let you know how my experiment works out. Kate, the real-deal gardener, does not make social media a habit, so I better find some stationery and get busy.
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A veteran of Time Inc. and Dotdash Meredith, Catherine Hamrick is the author of The Tears of Things: Poems (Madville Publishing). Her poetry has appeared in Appalachian Places, Appalachian Review, The Blue Mountain Review, The Citron Review, Pine Mountain Sand & Gravel, storySouth, and elsewhere.
If you have a friend who might enjoy these stories, freely given, please share. Many thanks for reading!
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Yep, A short while back I wrote a letter to an old h.s. friend, with spiraling letters like those we sometimes wrote in our old notes about boys and mean girls and trouble siblings and menstrual cramps. It meant so much more to her than email.
I always appreciate a letter! Everything is so convenient on the computer. We forget how meaningful a letter can be. I need to rethink my habits! Thanks for checking in.
Fern has become pen pals with a few friends down South and I’ve been reminded about how special (and exciting) a hand-written note can be.
I am so glad to hear this. It is special! Thanks for stopping by. xo