Keeping in touch
It matters to me
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
I think I have a disease. It's a debilitating, malignant illness that prevents me from returning greetings from people I haven't heard from in a long time. I always mean to but tell myself I'll do it later. Then later becomes tomorrow, tomorrow becomes next week, and next week becomes never.
Case in point: I recently got an e-mail greeting from a friend I met in college. I was happy to hear from him, to be reminded of some of the good times we had, but somehow I still haven't sent any acknowledgment that I even got his e-mail ... back in April. (Knowing he found me through this publication, and assuming he's reading, I'll at least offer an apology. Sorry, Evin).
Luckily for me this illness seems to be somewhat selective. Thankfully, it doesn't affect my professional correspondence, as so much of my job involves leaving and returning messages and doing so on a deadline. I'm all over those and am immensely grateful when the people I'm trying to reach return the favor. When I get a callback for a story, usually one of the first things I say is, “I really appreciate your getting back to me,” and, believe me, I mean it. My job depends on it.
But while I'm happy this affliction has yet to spread from my personal to my professional life, it does present a hypocritical irony for me — someone who touts communications skills on his resume and so consistently relies on others to get back to me — to suffer from it at all.
Looking back, I can't say when I came down with it. I would guess it would be sometime shortly after high school, the first time in my life when I didn't see the same people all day everyday. I can't guess what brought it on, but I know it wasn't the fault of my upbringing. My mom was always one to insist on thank you notes; my grandparents always sent cards for even the most minor of holidays. I remember having a couple friends move away while I was in school and keeping up with them, at least for a time, through letters and eventually e-mail.
Maybe my sad state came about because I never got into the online social networking scene, where interaction is the name of the game. Early on I thought sites like MySpace and Facebook were a passing fad, like Hypercolor shirts (which I was totally into). Now I realize I missed the boat — but maybe I never got into those sites because I knew I'd never return messages anyway. Either way, I'm supposed to be of the generation that's always plugged in. I've been typing as long as I've been reading, was registered with an IM program before I could register to vote, and feel naked if I leave home without my cell phone. I should be hypercommunicative.
But I'm not, and only recently did I realize how important it is for me to cure this problem. A friend and I went out for drinks and she shared the news that a girl we went to high school with had passed away. It was someone neither of us was particularly close to, but someone who had sent me one of those friendly “how are you doing” e-mails my freshman year in college. A week later, my hard drive crashed and I lost her address, which proved a convenient excuse, I suppose, but deep down I doubt I would have ever returned the message because I'd already become the way I am. Now I know I'll never have the chance, and I've got no one to blame but myself.
To let that happen once is sad, to let it happen twice is inexcusable. Life is too short and friends, even if they're not close, are too dear. Does that mean I need to resolve to talk to everyone I know every single day? No, of course not. But I think the least I can do when someone reaches out is to try to stay in touch.
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