"I SAID" 03: write a f*cking card 💌
sharing my collection with you all
Welcome back - it’s been a while. I spent the past week at the beach doing things I love to do like laying out on the beach for nine hours at at time, but also ignoring texts, reading on a kindle and eating bread focused meals twice a day.
My therapist makes fun of me because I still talk about summer like it’s any different than the rest of the year. When you’re in any part of school, you have summer break and it feels like its own special thing; when you’re an adult working in the office it’s the same as the rest of the year except for maybe the fact that everyone seems to be dodging emails. Maybe I still have that essence of childlike wonder, maybe I’m not that cynical yet, but summer still feels different. Everything is flexible, it’s warm and inviting. Anything can happen.
I’ve been subscribing to a bunch of different substacks for inspiration on what I plan to do with UMOV. The truth is I still don’t really know, yet. I felt the urge to do something a bit more personal this week, so check it out. TLDR: Write your friend a card, no matter the occasion. Say something vulnerable. Tell people you love them!
There are two shoe boxes under my bed at my parents’ house in Larchmont. One is an old Stan Smith box, I think for my red pair. The other is a lavender Vera Wang box that very briefly held the pair of shoes I wore to every sorority date night and formal.
In said boxes, I hoard. They hold everything special from high school, old polaroid pictures that hurt to look at, that random summer camp correspondence with a childhood friend I never though I’d stay close with, old notebooks with burnt pages, some pretty intense poetry I thought was pretty good at age sixteen. I’m exposing myself here, so Mom, don’t go looking. But there’s good stuff in there. If anyone ever wants to make fun of me, just go find that box and you’ll have years of content.
Whenever I want to cry, I’ll look through those boxes. It’s therapeutic, it reminds me of simpler times when I wasn’t worried about switching onto my own health insurance. Youth paves the way for sentimental memories, it’s full of stuff that still can make me feel something, some ten years later.
I debated moving those boxes into my apartment when I moved in 2021, but they didn’t make the cut. They belong in my childhood bedroom, the headquarters for where those memories were formed and those feelings were felt!! They can’t be disturbed and brought to a new era of life; they belong over there in the past!
Naturally, when I moved to New York, I started a collection. An adult collection, a post-grad, mature, collection. It’s stashed in an old STATE backpack that they don’t make anymore. Even now I thought I’d have more collectibles, maybe like some ticket stubs from amazing fancy parties and New York events I’d attend. I’d come to learn most of the “events” I go to are memorialized digitally and it’s a rare treat to walk away with a tangible item.
This collection isn’t as robust as the Larchmont collection. I don’t have any dramatic mementos, I have outgrown the scribbling of angry song lyrics on note paper and have graduated to happy doodles of flowers and tiaras and hearts. Maybe I’m just happier, maybe I’m just older, but when I was in need of a good cry in my Brooklyn apartment and opened the bag, I was faced with the crazy realization. I only have cards to reread. No love notes, no angry journal entries, no pictures where my forehead lines aren’t there yet.
Before I move on: I am so blessed that people write me cards. I want to stress that. It was engrained in me from a young age that this was a big part of maintaining relationships and that writing a card was just as important as the gift or occasion it accompanied. I know that people see this gesture differently, but I am really trying to articulate how we should celebrate this act. This substack is not a brag like "look at me and all the people in my life who love me." I mean it's partially that, as I usually want to celebrate that aspect of life and spread positivity but it's also not that deep. I'm celebrating the people in my life that have done impactful things that I cherish. Write a card if you want, don't if you don't (I think you should) and know that if you write me a card I'm keeping it. I hope you do the same! Cards. We’ve all written them, fudged them, forgotten them, had afterthoughts later about what we could have said….It’s a universal experience.
When my dad is writing a card, he underlines every single word from the printed message and then continues writing on the left side. When I was looking through these cards to write this, I noticed that my grandma does the underlining thing, too. I guess he got it from her.
Brian writes in all capital letters. He has some of the neatest handwriting I’ve ever seen.
My friend Taya always doodles on the left side. Her birthday cards usually feature animals of some kind, like this one.
My Mema always writes her smiley faces with exclamation points. So it will always look something like this.
My friend and sorority mother Zoe writes a card for every occasion. The holidays, birthdays, Valentine’s Day. I keep them all. These are my favorites.
Hannah Kahn sent me this postcard for my 23rd birthday and I will keep it for the rest of my life. Mostly for the loving message on the back (which cannot be shared publicly) but also because, well. It’s f*cking hilarious.
Cards from my old roommates, Ab + Lane who are also sometimes Abby and Alena but mostly two people who lived through 2 birthdays with me and ALWAYS made me feel special with the sweetest notes that appeared on our teeny dining set in the morning.
And finally, some favorites from my first friends and two other people that share this sentiment with me.
I feel lonely sometimes. Don’t we all? These serve as a reminder, not just on my birthday or Valentine’s Day or around Christmas, that I have the best people in my life.
As the birthday card has begun to be replaced by the birthday text, it’s more important than ever that you write a card. Even if it’s two sentences. Even if it’s handmade. Write it. I’ve collected what is probably around hundred cards over the years and rereading them hits the exact same as that childhood memories box. Know that by writing something as simple as a card, you can serve this purpose later for someone you care about. I SAID write the f*cking card.
i love your writing and this one really was such a nice read. thank you victoriaa!!!! glad fernwood cove taught me the joys of snail mail <3 xoxo
Now I’m worried that I might not ever have sent you a card 🧐