From "bah humbug" to dedicated card sender

In December of 2016, I was having a bit of a "bah humbug" holiday season.

I'd been living in Chicago for a few years and was in the early days of building community around me, as I navigated my mid-twenties. I grew up moving around a lot and had friends and family located all over the world. My twenties were the first time I really got to decide to stay put and build a life in one place, invest in local connections and figure out who I wanted to be in this place that was increasingly feeling like home. Amidst all this big picture millennial twenties identity swirl, Christmas was swiftly approaching.

I've had a soft spot for Christmas and the winter holiday season for as long as I can remember. That particular holiday season though, as I was making sense of home, community, and feeling connected to the people in my life, I made a choice that has turned into an annual December tradition of mine ever since: I decided I'd send holiday cards.

Now, this might not sound like a particularly momentous capital D "decision" to you. For 26 year-old Sunanda, it felt like a decidedly grown up thing to do. The few people I knew who sent holiday cards regularly had husbands and children and sent big life updates about their new home in the suburbs. I was living alone in a one bedroom apartment in downtown Chicago, going on umpteen crappy first dates and not feeling particularly like a "settled" grown up in any way. 

So, sending holiday cards, from my family of one, was actually a bit of a bold choice.

(Pictured above: the one bedroom apartment I'd moved into a few months prior to the "bah humbug" December of 2016. Also, if you're curious, you can read all about my complicated Christmas feelings here, for the full 2016 "bah humbug" story, complete with a meet-cute and everything).

I remember walking into the Paper Source in Lincoln Park and feeling a mix of calm and wonder, mesmerized by all the beautiful cards and stationery on display. I got a few sets of cards, came home, and sat down to handwrite cards to the people in my life who meant the most to me. I sent cards to my favorite cousins, who I saw at Thanksgiving every year, to friends from grad school I hadn't chatted with in a while, to colleagues who made life at my prior job less miserable, and to new friends who I was excited to invest in over the coming months. I started a spreadsheet with all their addresses - a spreadsheet I proceeded to slowly grow over the coming years - and manually addressed every envelope one by one.

There was something really grounding about the process: writing out each person's address, remembering visiting them at that place or wondering what this new home of theirs was like; considering what memory I wanted to reference with each individual and what anecdote or snippets of my life I wanted to share with them. 

(Pictured above: a collection of holiday cards I received in December of 2023)

As the snow fell outside my window, city lights twinkling, as sirens sounded per usual, I felt so centered in the moment and loved the experience of pausing to pen words on paper to the people in my life I wanted to stay connected to. Ever since then, I make it a point to hand write holiday cards every December. The ritual involves taking stock of the people in my life, updating addresses, and finding the right card for the right person. Even on years where December is extra chaotic, I make sure to send out my cards every year. Some years they got sent January 8th (oops), but they did go out.

These days, I make my own cards (and that's a whole story in itself for another day) in addition to writing in them. I also try to send mail more often than just once a year. Because in addition to the delight of unexpected mail from a real human, there's a great deal of joy for the letter-writer as well. 

So, here's to more snail mail in the world and to all the mail-senders. Whether you send out annual holiday cards every December or the occasional birthday card, know that this old school analog ritual is a really special thing. Your words, your handwriting, your care in that moment, captured in a card and physically transported from point A to point B... I think that's pretty magical. :)

(Pictured above: my second attempt at hand-made holiday cards, circa 2024)