Nothing to Write Home About

Some estimates say that the population of this great planet topped 7 billion people a while ago. I have a difficult time imagining 7 thousand, so to extrapolate a few more zeros and stretch this number out to  the billions seems crazy. Sometimes, because I live in Big Sky Country, I forget just how many people are sharing the same piece of earth as me. I don't feel too awfully crowded as I drive down 93; I have a tough time passing 7 cars at certain times of the day.

So, here's something that might even be more mind-staggering than the tidbit of information contained in the first paragraph. Out of all the people in the world... the billions upon billions upon billions... None of them saw fit to write me a letter. I did not receive a single piece of mail today. Nada. Zip. If you created a play list for my mail experience this afternoon, it would be composed of the sounds of crickets and wind gusts, or even a Sad Trombone. Do you realize how incredibly small the odds are that out of all the people on this planet, not one of them felt compelled to write to me!? Cue the depressing Charlie Brown droopy- head music. I know this argument is a bit of a straw man. I don't know every single person on the planet and not all my global brothers and sisters have access to mail services.

The reason this feeble attempt at an article wandered into my mind is because of something I saw at our shelter a few weeks ago. Anytime one of our residents receives mail, we post his or her name on a list and post it so they know to come to our office and collect their letter or parcel. Our residents get so excited when they see their names on that roster and they are reminded that they still count. They are still part of a greater community that sees past their situation and difficult circumstances. A glimmer appears in their eye and they feel connected. All because of a letter.

We take these little things for granted sometimes. I often become annoyed when I receive things in the mail if I don't approve of their contents. I blow things out of proportion and fume even though I exist in the eyes of whomever sent me something. Many times our residents get very sad when their names are excluded from the mail list. It's one more reminder that they are invisible to society. They are ghosts that show up on no one else's radar. It's the little things, I suppose, that make us feel connected. But these little things are not so little to everyone.

Lately, I don't look at the mail the same way.