How I started sending postcards from home
I was scrolling through TikTok, the universal pastime of anyone in a procrastination spiral (you know exactly what I mean), when a video about Postcrossing popped up. The idea intrigued me immediately: you create an account, receive a random address somewhere in the world, and send a postcard to a stranger. It’s simple and doesn’t need to take a lot of time in our busy schedules. It was the beginning of this grand new adventure in sending (and receiving) handwritten postcards.
When I went through my desk later that evening I found a few forgotten postcards waiting to be sent, it gave me the chance to start immediately. I grabbed a pen, wrote the card, got an envelope and posted it. It was the perfect opportunity to bring back that nostalgic feeling, like I was a kid again on holiday; picking the card that my grandparents would receive about our vacation, careful not to stain the card while writing and waiting for the moment we visited them to see the card on the door of the fridge.
In a world obsessed with innovation and digitalisation, recreating those small, tangible moments isn’t such a bad idea.
Someone might call it a lost art and maybe they’re right. It’s something people no longer choose because it’s no longer necessary. Why write a letter when you can just send a quick text with a photo attached: “This is my view today” or “The weather in Italy is amazing”? But letter writing used to be more than that. It was a form of conversation, of connection. A way to share the ordinary and the extraordinary: small talk, travel stories, updates from afar, handwritten fragments of a life. Reaching to others was the whole point. When the cellphone arrived, that ritual faded. Why wait for a letter if you can send a message right now? Why use a pen when you can type? Why choose a postcard when you can take a photo in seconds?
But maybe that’s exactly why Postcrossing resonated with me. The act of writing something physical, something that will travel beyond your control, reminds you of the beauty of not knowing everything instantly. You drop a postcard into a mailbox, and for a moment you’re part of a quiet chain of people who still believe in simple gestures.
And the best part?
When you open your own mailbox weeks later and find a card from a stranger on the other side of the world… It feels like a small miracle. A tiny piece of someone else’s life, written just for you. The proof that connection can still be slow, thoughtful, and delightfully unexpected.
Maybe letter writing isn’t lost. It was just waiting for us to find our way back to it.
27.11.2025