Many of us go through life with a laundry list of things we're meaning to get to, like mending that shirt, flossing more, and resisting fast food in the wee hours after a night out. I just added one more thing to my long list of to-do's: writing more letters.

Last week when I sat down to write to a friend using real pen and paper during my lunch break, I was dismayed to discover that my hand was so out of shape that I could barely hold my chopsticks when the food arrived. I'd only been writing for five minutes, but I was cramped up to high heaven. For a moment I wondered whether I'd enjoy a future that relied solely on the keyboard for correspondence, and the answer was a resounding "no."

I am very grateful to be living abroad in an era in which I can call home on my laptop, text my sisters in the US, order presents for my dad online and see photos of my friends' new babies from across the ocean. When I was young, my older sister lived abroad, and I used to sit down once every couple of weeks and write out a letter on air-mail paper that doubled as an envelope to cut down on weight. It took weeks for them to arrive. When we spoke on the phone there was a five-second delay, making for some halting conversations filled with unintentional interruptions and endless apologies.

Despite the fact that technology has improved so much that I can communicate with friends and family at home instantaneously, there is something that I love about letters - both giving and receiving them. What brightens up a day more than opening a mailbox and finding a friend's return address in the upper-left corner? When I sit down to read these precious notes, I can picture the writer sitting at a desk, chuckling over the jokes in the text, which invariably make me laugh too. For a few minutes, it feels like we get to sit together, the paper they selected now in my hands.

The lost art of letter writing is one worth preserving. The voice one takes with pen and paper is generally more intimate, contemplative, and candid than in an e-mail.

Someone stopped everything just to sit down and devote thoughts and words to you. It's not dashing off an e-mail while at work, or squeezing a message into 140 characters. Length and form are limitless - some of the more delightful letters I've received included illustrations in the margins or even the middle of the page.

Whenever I sit down to write to a friend back home, I find myself giving a more eloquent snapshot of my life than I do in an e-mail. Since I know the message will take over a week to arrive at its destination, it's more natural to shift the tone accordingly, pausing to paint a picture of my day-to-day existence rather than simply updating the recipient on the events of my life. This is the stuff of intimacy, and it's worth keeping the practice up, no matter how many times I have to wring out my hand. Being abroad, far from people who mean the world to me, the practice of letter writing maintains our close ties, even if a phone call is just a click away.