Wrightsville Beach Mailbox: Leave A Note

I first stumbled on the Wrightsville Beach mailbox over a year ago when I encountered a funky found art exhibit on the north end of the beach.

There are stairs leading to a platform, a mailbox that has written, “Leave a note” on it, a tree limb firmly held in place by the sand that is decorated with seashells hanging by string, and two strings between several posts from which more seashells dangle from strings.

Each week, the display changes at the Wrightsville Beach mailbox. Objects come and go. Found objects are placed there by people passing by, and objects disappear as they washed out to sea or people take them. People leave notes in the mailbox, scribbling their hopes, dreams, desires, prayers, losses, and things for which they felt grateful. Sometimes they leave notes on the steps, held in place by shells. 

This place surrounding the Wrightsville Beach mailbox has become a place of comfort and a source of magic and mystery in my world. Apparently, it has become a source of the same for many others. Last week, I read all of the notes in the current journal in the box (it appears as though so many people write in it that a journal gets filled within 5-7 days), and people had written about coming back here each year to the mailbox. 

Some people get engaged at this spot, and others apparently get married here. Some come to leave notes to their dearly departed parents, spouses or children, and others come feeling forlorn and leave notes of prayer or wishes for connection to other people. People leave notes about feeling grateful for love, the beauty in the world, or the particular season. Still others leave notes to their departed pets. 

It’s a quite magical place, this end of the island. It’s always fascinating to me to see who walks by the mailbox never notices it versus who sees it right away. I must confess that I was enchanted with the north end of the island on my first visit. I was walking alone, and the brilliance of color in the sky and the water were astounding. The north shore is also a protected bird habitat, so there were hundreds of migrating birds there, which made it all the more appealing for me. I knew right away that it would be my regular go to place for comfort, connection, belonging, and renewal. Last October, I scattered the ashes of my last three dogs here on the anniversary of my mother’s death. For months, I imagined that a brilliant artist had created this space as an art exhibit of found objects. Since I never saw anyone there, I assumed it was the artist’s intention to remain a mystery.

Last week, I asked a friend about the place, and her speedy detective work revealed that this space was serendipitously created by a gentleman who found the first set of stairs washed up on the shore, and, recovering from a heart condition, he dragged the steps into the dunes as a resting place on his regular walks. The rest apparently evolved over the years since 2003, when he first sat on those steps.  One note in particular got my attention last week. It was a prayer to the universe asking, “Please help me live my best life. Please give us peace.” These words sum up what I believe we are all being called to step into, to live our best life. More about this later, perhaps in my next blog.

Meanwhile, this whole thing got me thinking about what a gift it is to have a place to write and leave our stories, prayers, hopes and dreams and how critical I feel that sharing our stories is to living an authentic life and creating a sense of belonging. I invite you to leave your own note here as a comment, anonymously or with your name. Write your wishes, prayers, hopes, dreams, expression of gratitude, notes to loved ones—alive or deceased, or whatever you feel inspired to say.

Telling a little bit of your story always inspires someone else to do the same and can lead to a greater sense of connection and belonging. Leaving a note like this is an act of courage, and acts of courage and authenticity inspire more courage and authenticity in yourself and others. Give it a try.   

Jen Johnson is a mindfulness teacher, coach, and therapist, photographer, and writer. Learn more about working with Jen.