The Lost Art of Writing it Down

On letters, cards, a glass of something delicious, and why staying in touch is worth the ink.

A few weeks ago, during an early morning and over a cup of coffee, a good friend and I got to talking about letters. Real ones. The kind written by hand, folded into an envelope, licked (or not, we’re not monsters), and dropped into an actual mailbox. We’d both, somewhere between the busyness of life and the convenience of text messages, quietly let the habit slip away. And sitting there, a little wistful about it, we both said the same thing at the same time: we should start doing that again.

So consider this a small declaration. A love letter to letter-writing itself, and an invitation to pour yourself something good and join us in bringing it back.

There's a particular kind of joy that arrives in a real envelope. The slight weight of it, the handwriting you recognize before you've even read a word. A text can't replicate that. It's proof that someone carved out time and spent it on you.

“A text says I thought of you for thirty seconds. A letter says I thought of you for thirty minutes and then went looking for a stamp.”

We’ve spent a lot of time on this newsletter talking about the slow pleasures of travel - lingering over a meal, sitting with a glass of wine long after dinner should have ended, taking the scenic road. Letter writing is that same philosophy applied to staying in touch. It asks you to slow down. It rewards you with something that lasts.

Pairing your pen with a proper pour

Here's where we come in. Because if you're going to carve out thirty minutes to write a few notes, you might as well make a ritual of it. Set the scene. Clear a little corner of the table. Put on some good music in the background. And pour yourself something that fits the occasion.

The Writing Ritual: A Glass for Every Kind of Note

A heartfelt note to an old friend → A soft, earthy Burgundy. Warm, familiar, nothing to prove.

A thank-you card after a trip → Crisp Albariño or Grüner Veltliner — bright, grateful, a little effervescent.

A birthday card for someone who deserves a whole party → Champagne, obviously. Or a good pét-nat if you’re feeling festive and a bit scrappy.

A long overdue letter to someone you’ve been meaning to write → A big, unhurried Nebbiolo. You’re in for the long haul. Settle in.

Here’s our one ask. Please go buy your stationery somewhere that cares about it. Skip the pack of generic cards at the drugstore checkout. Instead, seek out your local paper shop, bookstore with a gift section, or independent stationery boutique. The kind of place where someone chose every item on the shelf with intention, and where the person behind the counter will absolutely have opinions about fountain pen inks.

These shops are treasure troves. And they are, like so many beautiful small businesses, worth protecting with your hard-earned dollars.

On what to actually say

This is the part that stops most people before they start, myself included. The blank card, the pen hovering. But here’s the thing…you don’t need to be eloquent. You just need to be present. A letter doesn’t have to be a grand correspondence. It can be three sentences about what you’ve been cooking, or the wine you had last Tuesday that you keep thinking about, or the trip you’re planning that you wanted to share before you’ve even booked it.

The bar is lower than you think, and the effect is higher. What your reader will feel isn’t impressed by your prose, they’ll feel remembered. And that is, ultimately, the whole point.

Start simple. Write to one person this week. Pour something you like. Sit down without your phone. Let the next twenty minutes belong entirely to that one friendship.