When was the last time you wrote a letter?

Not a quick text.

Not an email dashed off between meetings or errands. 

 A real letter — written slowly, with intention, meant for just one person.

 I was thinking about this after reading the novel - The Correspondent,by Virginia Evans, just published last year. 

It’s quietly taken off… and what makes it so compelling isn’t a dramatic plot or big reveal.

The entire book is told through letters — the correspondence of the main character, a woman in her 70's navigating her life, grief, regrets, successes, and of course, connection. 

At first blush, it doesn’t feel extraordinary.

But on second glance, it captures something deeper — everyday life, and the threads of connection that shape it.

We live in a time when it can feel like everything is broken.

Scroll social media for a few minutes and you might think the country is hopelessly divided.

Turn on the news and it can seem like anger is everywhere.

It's depressing. 
It's worrying.  
It just seems so far away from how things used to feel.

But I read a piece this week that made a simple point that really made me think.  
Most Americans are simply living their lives.

Working.
Raising kids.
Helping neighbors.
Coaching Little League.
Going to church or synagogue.
Dropping off meals when someone is sick.
Volunteering in their towns.

They just don’t post about it.

And the data backs it up.

Last weekend I spent time with close friends, talking, sharing, and laughing nonstop. By the end of it, I felt lighter, calmer, and more like myself again. It was a powerful reminder that joy and connection aren’t luxuries—they’re essential habits for a long, energized life.

There’s real power in that connection. Gathering around a table, hugging family and friends, sharing stories, passing down traditions, adding your own something special to the meal, cheering for a favorite team…

Out on my morning walk yesterday, I started thinking about Mark Twain.

And, I know you’re thinking … that’s odd.

Well, I can kind of explain it.

Just the other day, a friend sent me a video of Conan O’Brien receiving the Mark Twain Prize for American Humor. 

(if you're interested in hearing a clip of Conan's acceptance speech expressing his reverence for Twain, here is one.  

Yesterday, I saw the news that the Pulitzer Prize was awarded to James by Percival Everett — a novel I read a few months ago. 

It’s a fictional retelling of Twain’s Huckleberry Finn, but this time through the eyes of Jim — or “James,” as he’s called in the book - a Black man who was enslaved.

If you’re not familiar with Huckleberry Finn, it’s set in the pre-Civil War South and centers around Huck, a young white boy, and Jim, a man escaping slavery. 

Reading James through Jim’s perspective offers a profound shift in understanding - one that expands empathy and reminds us of how easily we miss the full truth when we only view a story through our own lens.