Ask anyone who has cleaned out a relative’s house: the stuff matters less than you think, and the letters matter more.

When a house gets emptied, the surprise is what turns out to be worthless. Furniture, dishes and the good television go quickly and without much feeling, and then somebody finds a shoebox of letters and the whole afternoon stops. Words in a person’s own hand carry the person, while objects mostly carry the era. That gap is wider than anyone expects.

If you want to leave something, leave sentences. Write one letter this year to somebody you would struggle to say it to out loud, and put the date on it. Keeping the ones you are given is the other half of the same job.