The Lost Art of Connection: Finding our way back to Heart to Hand Communications

In a world that spins ever faster, where convenience often trumps connection and efficiency can overshadow empathy, we find ourselves navigating a landscape increasingly dominated by the digital. Change, as they say, is the only constant, and while much of it propels us forward, there are certain threads of humanity that feel perilously close to fraying, perhaps even breaking. 

This isn't a call to reject progress entirely, but rather a gentle, perhaps slightly ginger, plea to pause and reconsider what we might be losing along the way – specifically, the beautiful, tangible, and deeply personal art of heart-to-hand communication.

Think about how we mark moments now. A loved one's birthday pops up on a digital calendar, a friendly nudge from our phones. Our response? Perhaps a quick tap, selecting a pre-designed digital card, adding a flurry of emojis – stars, digital glitter, a virtual cake – and hitting send. 'Happy Birthday!' flashes across the screen, and just like that, the moment is acknowledged, ticked off the list. 

Or consider gift-giving. We browse online stores, read reviews, click 'add to cart', tick the 'it's a gift' box, and have it shipped directly. Flowers? No need to visit the florist; their website has everything. Pick your bouquet, type your message, and they'll even write the card for you and deliver it. Convenient? Absolutely. But what does this efficiency cost us in terms of genuine connection?

Hand picked flowers - Natures Gift today 

It seems we've become adept at outsourcing our affection, delegating the tender gestures of care to impersonal, commercial entities focused on transactions rather than true sentiment. While these services undoubtedly offer convenience in our undeniably busy lives, they strip away the very essence of what makes a gift, a message, or a gesture truly meaningful: the investment of our time, our effort, and our authentic selves. 

We are losing the touch of giving our time and effort to the people we care about as we increasingly resort to impersonal and commercial items to proclaim our love. It's no wonder a sense of disconnection permeates our interactions. I can’t imagine how many people out there feel so isolated and alone on a birthday despite receiving  hundreds of HBD messages on their timeline. Love, time, and presence are subtly eroded by our unwillingness to see and offer our true, handmade, authentic selves to each other. Nowadays, the focus is often on the premium price, the perfectly cut, the most exclusive – a paradigm shift that feels cold and distant.

Was there a time when selecting a greeting card involved lingering in an aisle, reading messages, searching for the one that perfectly captured the nuances of your relationship with the recipient? The kind of card that, when received, would make them melt into a knowing smile, as if to say, "You get me... you see me." This simple act, taking a few minutes to choose, sign a personal message, and then the deliberate act of mailing it – what is the value of this seemingly small effort?

Cards hand picked to make you smile…

Its value lies precisely in its simplicity and the preciousness of the gift it represents: your true presence, time, and attention. In a world clamoring for our attention from every digital corner, offering someone your focused time is perhaps the most profound act of love.

I was reminded of this recently during one of my walks. Along a familiar route, there's a wood-lot, a quiet, unassuming spot that serves as a popular rendezvous for lovers. Occasionally, on weekends, I see them – shy, seated together, talking quietly, building those beautiful, ephemeral castles in the air as they simply enjoy getting to know one another. Sunshine filtering through leaves, fresh air, soft grass underfoot, the gentle buzz of bees and flutter of butterflies, the subtle, clean aroma of eucalyptus – it sets a charming, unhurried mood. No fuss, no muss.

Being outdoors, sun or rain-kissed, breathing in fresh air under open skies, feels like a lost art in today’s concrete jungles – a world often described as cynical, wounded, rushed, busy, digitised, over-competitive, showy, and over-commodified. But these nature-loving lovebirds serve as a gentle reminder that there are far more precious and important things in life than the digital whirlwind. They remind us of the profound value of living in the present moment – not dwelling on the past or anxiously anticipating the unknowns of the future. And being present is, perhaps, the most valuable gift anyone can ever offer you.

Walks in nature

This reflection on presence and tangible connection recently intertwined with another experience. I came across a set of collectible Kenyan stamps, and a flood of nostalgic memories washed over me. Holding these small, perforated pieces of paper, seeing the intricate designs and faded postmarks, transported me back. Here were a few cancelled Kenyan stamps from a seashell collection released in 1971 – tiny windows into a specific time and place.

As a child, I dabbled in stamp collecting, supported enthusiastically by my family, but it was a hobby I eventually set aside. Seeing these stamps sparked something, and I've decided to pick it up again. There is something deeply rewarding about revisiting or trying new, forgotten hobbies as a form of self-care. For me, this feels like a wonderful way to explore Kenyan and other African countries' history, geography, and politics in a uniquely tangible and fun way.

I was so pleased to learn that Kenya Posta is still actively releasing stamps – a diverse range of commemorative and thematic issues reflecting matters important to Kenyans, stamps that convey messages beyond just postage. My curiosity led me to discover the Kenya National Archives houses a vast Pan-African stamp collection from the late Joseph Murumbi. The thought of visiting and exploring this collection is incredibly exciting. It feels like an inspiring way to trace and learn more about our history and identity through these past releases, appreciating how far we have come by looking at where we've been, one stamp at a time.

Collecting stamps, like sending a handwritten letter or giving a handmade gift, is an act of deliberate engagement. It requires patience, attention to detail, and a willingness to connect with something tangible, something real. In a world saturated with fleeting digital interactions, these 'lost arts' of connection – handmaking, heart-to-hand communication, taking the time to be truly present – offer a path back to deeper, more meaningful relationships, both with others and with ourselves. 

Let's resist the pull of purely commercial, impersonal gestures and choose, instead, to remain soft, personal, vulnerable, and willing to offer the most precious gifts we possess: our time, our effort, and our authentic, handmade selves. 

Let's choose the imperfect, tangible beauty of the handmade over the flawless, mass-produced item. Let's choose handwritten notes over emojis, home-cooked meals over click-to-order delivery, hand-picked wildflowers over florist arrangements. 

Let's choose connection, real and true.