I wish I were a punk rocker (with flowers in my hair)

If I were to live on a deserted island for a year, I wouldn’t take with me people or modern conveniences. I’d even forgo a toothbrush and entertainment if it came down to it, but the one thing I don’t think I could live without is a supply of pens and paper large enough to last me my stay on the island.

I’m a compulsive writer. When I can’t sleep, I write. When I’m bored, I write. When I’m inspired, I write. When I have homework, I write. There’s just something satisfying to me about putting ideas down on paper, or has become the case since I got my laptop, on my hard drive.

I keep a diary most of the time, though there are stretches of weeks, even months sometimes, between entries where I forget to write or start writing but then never finish. And yes, it’s a diary, not a journal, not a log. To me, those are travel diaries meant for keeping track of adventures. A diary, despite the feminine connotations most people associate with it, is for writing about your mundane, everyday life whether you’re a man or a woman.

I also have a higher than average number of pen pals. An actual number is hard for me to give because I have a tendency to be the more reliable correspondent – which is just my passive-aggressive way of saying write me back, you dorks – but I’d hazard a guess at around seven depending on how long it’s been since I last heard from anyone.

Letters are by far my favorite thing to write, because unlike these essays I post or my private diary, they’re meant for a specific person to read. Sure there are easier, faster, more superficial ways to keep in touch, and I suppose in this I’m a bit of a throwback to the ‘70s (thank you, Sand Thom), but e-mail and facebook and the like lack the warmth of a real paper letter that arrives at your door/mailbox in an envelope.

Every once in a while I’ll find a Dear Abby rant or something similar by a baby boomer talking about how writing a letter is a dying art, that today’s youth don’t appreciate handwriting. I beg to differ. They just haven’t been introduced to the concept as they’ve been wired since birth. Look at me, I started the summer after my ninth grade year and I’m hooked. Sure, I don’t have my own personal stationary or anything and my handwriting could stand to be a little more legible, but I enjoy it, and what’s more, the people I write to enjoy it.

There’s a reason that acceptance letters and wedding invitations arrive in the mail and not over the web, and no, it’s not just to support the United States Postal Service. Receiving a letter in the mail is like receiving a package from the Unibomber, only instead of homemade explosives, you get happiness.