This Pondering Heart

It’s about time I have my quarter life crisis. Oh yes, hello, twenty-five. I’ve lamented to some generous listeners in my life at how this number is hard for me to swallow. “You’re so young,” and “It’s just a number” are the most frequent responses. Still, somehow seven year-old Melissa thought she’d have a lot more figured out by the time she was 25. I should have at least one aspect of life in order, right? (She asks sitting under a heaping pile of laundry as the sixth episode in a row of Gilmore Girls plays on her four year old bug-infested computer and a pot of mac & cheese waits on the stove-top for dinner.) --------------------------- Fitzpatricks haven’t ever been big birthday people. I looked forward to them when I was younger, but even then I’m pretty sure my birthday excitement peaked at seven (only kidding, it probably lasted into my pre-teens). It’s something I now tolerate because it simply has to happen. So you can imagine how I was taken aback with one o...

Writing letters is my jam. I studied the - as some would say - dying art for my final undergrad comprehensive senior project ( The Greeting Card’s Survival in a Digital World, it was a fun topic). I’m a devoted letter writer and proudly (and consistently) have at least 3 people I correspond with via snail mail. I get giddy every time I open my 7 inch mailbox and find my name scrawled on a well-traveled envelope (on rough days you may even find me cracking a grin at junk mail). And I always, always have cardstock or some sort of stationary coupled with colorful envelopes on hand. There’s something about a letter; holding a piece of paper that someone else miles away held only days before, picturing how your penpal leaned over their kitchen counter in thought as their arm flew across the page and thoughts formulated in ink. Letters take time, sincere effort and carry a certain nostalgic only-seen-in-movies-and-books kind of charm. ---- One of my love languages is words o...