Anatomy of a Love Letter by Hannah

Anatomy of a Love Letter by Hannah - January 2017 Scholarship Essay

I have always felt a strong connection to words. Words to me offer a sense of peace and relief, whether I am penning my own thoughts or reading the prose of another. Words provide a safe haven from an often cruel world. Words, whether simple or eloquent, contain a power that can move mountains or heal a broken heart.
On one particular dreary afternoon nearing the end of 2015, I was halfheartedly flicking through the monthly issue of Reader’s Digest when an article caught my eye: “Love Letters for Strangers.” Ever the romantic, I immediately began reading. Much to my disappointment, the article did not entail a shred of romance. What it did include, though, was a spark of inspiration for a new personal project.
Hannah Brencher, the founder of More Love Letters, began leaving notes of daily inspiration and encouragement for strangers on subways in the Big Apples in 2011. When I looked up her website dedicated to The Letters and began reading through comments of people who had both given and received letters, I marveled at how happy they all sounded. Writing love letters for people? Was it somehow connected with happiness? It couldn’t hurt to try, I reasoned.
I immediately purchased supplies to begin writing my own letters for people, including 100 cards and envelopes. When my mom asked what all of the stationary was for, I replied vaguely, “Oh, just a project.” I drew up a list of more than twenty people I knew who could use some anonymous but loving encouragement. I tried to work on crafting letters every night before I went to bed, each heartfelt note taking me nearly one hour. On nights when I didn’t write letters, I would throw black clothing on and drag my little brother on a jog with me to deliver letters in the dark.
Soon my list of People In Need of Encouragement began to dwindle and I still had more than three-quarters of my cards left. I had no idea how I would use them all up. In school, I was becoming extremely frustrated with some of my teachers. I felt like I was missing real intellectual stimulus, and that school was becoming a stagnant waste of my time. One teacher in particular received a lot of criticism behind her back from me and some fellow students. “She doesn’t know what she’s doing,” we complained. “Is she even qualified to teach?” Later, while writing my letters, I began to think about this teacher. I was being so unfair in my judgment of her—I wasn’t even stopping to consider her better qualities. Did she even have any, I wondered? I was positive that there was nothing I could do to make the situation with her better. Nevertheless, I trusted my gut and sat down to write a letter for someone who I considered to be, in my ignorant adolescent mind, one of the worst, most undeserving people in the world.
Later that week, I quietly slipped the card onto her desk after class and dreaded the next time I would see her, knowing that she would have seen and read the card by then. When the next period I had with her arrived, I was trembling like a cowardly chihuahua. After the bell rang, she sat on her stool in front of the class, the card nestled in her hand. She was quiet for a moment. Then, slowly, “I just want to thank whoever left this. I rarely receive encouragement or acknowledgement for what I do at work, and—” her voice broke. Tears were streaming down her face. “Thank you,” she said, smiling at the class. Right before my own eyes, my teacher became human. I felt my partisan hatred melt away as easily as the tears dripped down her cheeks.
My happiness comes from quietly observing how the recipients of my letters react. Some keep their letter a private matter. Others share their experience, hoping to somehow express their thanks to their anonymous benefactor. And some have even begun to leave letters and kind words of their own. Through the simple yet loving words that we give, we have begun to form a more selfless, caring community.
I have done nothing truly remarkable. My efforts are quiet but steady. I continue to write for people I dislike, for people that I love, for people I do not know. It is the people that receive my letters and then immediately give back to others that I truly admire. They give me more hope than I offer them, and observing the effects that our words have on our community inspires me to continue to give. Perfectly put in the words of Vincent van Gogh, “The more I think it over, the more I feel that there is nothing more truly artistic than to love people.”