A few weeks ago, I received an email from the managing editor of the paper with the subject line “Fan mail.” It caused my heart to skip a beat — fan mail from the managing editor?! In retrospect, a wild notion. Rather, what arrived was equally delightful: fan mail delivered the old-fashioned way, via snail mail. Not from my editor, but from a reader in Litchfield.

For those so young (or old) you’re unfamiliar with the term, “snail mail” refers to mail sent through traditional postal delivery services. While I do receive emails regularly from “fans,” and occasional emails from those who are decidedly “not fans,” this was my first fan snail mail. And it was thrilling!

Why was this such a big deal? Because I recognized the effort involved. Jane, the reader who sent this letter, embarked on a journey. She first had to source a card, a lovely one, adorned with a tufted titmouse, and thoughtfully put her words to paper. She included a note on the envelope so that someone at the paper would read it and pass it along to me. Next came the task of locating the paper’s mailing address, addressing the envelope (do kids these days even know how to do this?), affixing a stamp, and dispatching it via mail. Jane demonstrated such dedication to sharing her thoughts on my column. It was not lost on me. Then someone at the paper meticulously captured the card in photos, and the managing editor sent it to me via email.

Jane’s efforts made her note incredibly meaningful and moving. It touched me deeply, prompting me to drive to the paper’s office that very day to retrieve it. Then I made a beeline to the store, determined to find the perfect card upon which I could pen my gratitude to her.

Throughout the day, I found myself filled with happiness — from receiving the email to searching for the ideal card. Each step brought me immense joy, all because someone took the time to offer me simple, yet profound, kindness.

Oddly, I’ve been holding on to the card I bought for Jane. I felt the need to put the same effort and care into a response and life has kept getting in the way. I think letter writing — especially via snail mail — is a lost art. It demands proper attention and care. I need to make time for it.

This experience reminded me of a thought-provoking segment I heard on NPR months ago about the value of expressing gratitude. As I pondered how to reply putting forth the same care and effort Jane had, the insights from the NPR piece resonated deeply. It discussed how expressing gratitude not only uplifts the recipient but also the giver. The interviewee emphasized that many individuals hesitate to offer compliments or express thanks because they worry about crafting the “perfect words.” However, the takeaway was the wording doesn’t matter — what matters is the positive impact it has on the recipient. And this is the part that stuck with me — we don’t have to worry about getting the words right because people won’t remember what you said, only how you made them feel.

I’m going to repeat that — They won’t remember what you said, but they will remember how you made them feel. So, it doesn’t matter how you say it. When you say it. Or where you say it. What matters is that you say it, because they’re going to remember how you made them feel. And when you offer gratitude, it makes them feel good. And isn’t that what we all want? To simply be happy?

And if small gestures like Jane’s enhance our own well-being, we should probably spend more time thinking about others. And maybe we already know this. We just forget to take the time to do it. But what happens if we think of the act of performing kindness as being part of our self-care — and that it is something that must be practiced to reap the benefits? By reframing kind gestures as acts of self-nurturing, we can rewire ourselves to prioritize them more naturally. And if we make it easier to do, maybe we’ll do it more often. Maybe stash a stack of “Thank You” cards in your desk at work and write one at lunchtime.

As for letter-writing and thank-you cards, I plan to save Jane’s. I can’t promise to remember her words years from now, but I’m certain I’ll remember how she made me feel — uplifted, grateful, and inspired to pay that feeling forward.

In a world where we’re constantly plugged in, it’s easy to lose sight of the power of ink and paper. Remember, it can cut through the noise and make someone’s day brighter.

Now, if you’ll please excuse me. I have a thank-you note to write …