This past week, in preparation for leaving my job of 13 years, I came across at least a hundred emails my husband and I had sent each other over the past 7 years. I had saved the ones that had felt important to me at the time - little declarations of love, thank yous, poems in progress, and discussions ranging from parenting styles to spiritual practice.
There were some difficult ones too: arguments and angst about where our relationship might be headed. In leiu of a box containing letters and mementos chronicling our love, I have an inbox folder. As we become a more digitally mobile world, this seems to be an inevitable progression.
I'm glad I was sentimental enough to save our emails, but the part of me that appreciates the tactile pleasure of pen upon paper comes away feeling a bit empty. It has also occurred to me that by the time our daughter is old enough to appreciate reading our electronic correspondence, digital formats may have changed. That means that our emails may one day be rendered inaccessible. It's possible that would occur, even if I saved them in another format, such as .pdf. My only option may be to print them out and save the papers in a safe deposit box. That seems wasteful, inefficient and so old school.
The Buddhist part of me says to embrace the impermanent nature of digital correspondence. The librarian part of me insists, "catalog everything!" Most compellingly, however, the mother in me wants our daughter to one day understand that her old, creaky parents were passionate about writing, art, social justice, spirituality - and each other. This past week, my husband and I had scheduled overlapping trips, which meant we were apart for six days. Reading through those emails, I was reminded again what a smart, funny and loving guy I married. All relationships - even a solid marriage - can use an unexpected infusion of passion. Emails (and increasingly, text messages) seem like throwaway communication, but in this case, I'm grateful I didn't hit the Delete key.
Comments
Dana,
Your post inspired me to back-up my special "love" folder on a memory stick!!
Good luck on the next chapter of your career.
Love,
Debbi
Having had the privilege of being in your house, and seeing the cards on the mantle, and my favorite, the card on your nightstand that your husband bought you in the hospital gift shop when you were going through your very difficult labor, I am sure Ahleia will grow to know her parents were passionate about each other :-)
(that is quite the run-on sentence, but oh well-lol)