Appalachia Year

My German friend, Annabelle, once told me that when she moved to the United States at 19, she found the American habit of love declarations to be bizarre. It's not enough to just love the people in your life, you have to tell them! Reassure them constantly! Not just your family, or your significant other, no, you have to tell all your friends!

This struck me. Isn't it unequivocally good to tell people you love them? This was completely naturalized to me, something I thoughtlessly accepted as The Way Things Are. It was so ingrained in my culture, that funny quicksilver thing, that I could hardly grab hold of it. From Anna's perspective, it seemed vain and unnecessary. Well, of course you love them, they're your family. Telling them all the time seemed fruitless, like telling a bird it could fly, and your love couldn't be measured in words or phrases anyhow. Furthermore, she felt like all this "I love you"-ing going on stateside was linked to the expectation of reciprocity, a compulsive need for gratification. And she's right: what's great about telling someone that you love them, is that a lot of times they tell you that they love you, too.

While it has never been difficult for me to profess my undying admiration for friends and boyfriends (often to a fault), I am no good at doing this with my family. After Anna and I had that conversation, I conveniently adopted her philosophy to justify this to myself. Yes, of course! It's understood! Thanks, Germany! But I can't help it, I'm American, and hesitate uncomfortably at the end of phone conversations with my parents.

What I'm getting at is that Lauren gave me a really beautiful stationery set and I wrote my mom a letter today and I'd like to write letters every day.