The power of the handwritten note
Words mean a lot.
We are living in an age when it’s literally never been easier or faster to send a written word. You can dictate a text message into your phone in seconds without even touching a keyboard. Yet I’ve also seen value in slowing it down and doing it the old-fashioned way, to set yourself apart from others and demonstrate the power of human connection.
Enter a 5,000-year-old technology with me: the handwritten note.
The handwritten note is a rare beast these days. It can’t get lost in your inbox like an email, a text message or a DM. It calls attention to itself in a mailbox full of bills and catalogs.
I have a long history with handwritten notes. Growing up, I’d use them with grandparents or aunts or uncles who lived far away. Exchanging postcards or notes in the mail was a lot more appealing for an introverted kid who didn’t care much for talking on the phone. The images on the back or the stamps from other countries were a bonus.
Ages ago, my then-girlfriend and I began our relationship across a long distance with a series of handwritten letters. (She’s now been my wife of 21 years.)
I once had a complicated relationship with a hard-nosed litigator at work. More than once, I’d finish a meeting with him and remark to a colleague that I felt like I’d been beaten up for my lunch money. So I decided to try something different. After yet another contentious conversation, I hand wrote a note thanking him for his enthusiasm in advocating for his perspective and advancing the work of our organization. I stuck it in interoffice mail and figured I’d never hear back.
But I did. He picked up the phone and called, telling me he should have been the one to send me a note. Apologizing for being somewhat overzealous at times, he pledged to keep an open line of communication with me and started the process of setting up a lunch meeting for us. I was stunned.
A few years later, I had just left my last full-time job and my coaching practice was in its infancy. I interrupted a very slow day in the home office for a walk to the mailbox, and was delighted to find a note inside. It was from a key stakeholder at that last job, on cream-colored Crane parchment stationery. She was thanking me for all of my hard work, acknowledging many of the struggles I faced in the role and congratulating me on leaving a legacy for others to follow.
I wasn’t expecting any of these sentiments from this person. It’s rare to get this kind of feedback at all, and even rarer for someone to take the trouble to look up my home address and write a note instead of firing off a quick email.
None of this is easy. And that’s exactly the point.
Writing by hand is hard for me. I’m left-handed, I write slowly and my cursive is illegible. If I’m going to get results, I need to think carefully about every character and watch what I’m doing. And then I need to stop what I’m doing, get up from my desk and walk from my house to the mailbox to launch the communique into the world. It’s a lot of effort. But I think it’s the effort that makes receiving one of these special.
This is why fundraisers often use handwritten notes to thank their donors. It’s why President Obama famously took letters back to the residence with him and wrote responses by hand.
I ask all of my new, private coaching clients for their physical street address. Once we’ve signed our contract, I send out a package with a handwritten note, welcoming them to their coaching journey. Because I never meet most of my clients face to face, I find that this small step makes our connection a bit more tangible.
How might you put handwritten notes to work in your own life? Consider this a friendly invitation to disarm your critics, delight your stakeholders and lend a little support to our beleaguered Postal Service.