The Frister Package

Los Angeles, California

Upon returning home from Carmel, I found myself (as I often do after vacations) in an amped-up state of motivation. Yes, I missed being there. And, I missed the easy, unscheduled time with Joel. But I felt no post-vacation letdown. My focus was forward. This is, historically, the best part of every year for me. My birthday opens up to the period between Halloween and Christmas, with much activity and, hopefully, merriment. So coming home from Carmel in the afterglow of the Halloween parade (see previous post), and so much sustained time with Joel, put me into that familiar space. And then...

The calls started coming in. Well, to be more accurate, the pre-call texts arrived. What is it about our communication these days that requires these layers? ...a text first and sometimes an appointment to talk voice-to-voice. Forget about face-to-face, although to be accurate that would have been wholly inconvenient as only one of the four calls came from friends who are local (and I really hate FaceTime).

So, I listened to four friends who were all in some state of extremis: Family or marital issues. Financial, personal health, and/or health of a family member issues. All real, legitimate OMG/WTF stuff. I heard the pain and emotion as I listened. And I tried to give some helpful input. Truth be told, I grew up not getting attention for my own needs, but rather for what I could provide for my mother's. So, I think I am better schooled at being needed than being needy. And maybe that's not uncommon. I can see so clearly when the issue is in the lives of my friends. It's only in addressing my own issues  that my thinking gets murky. So, I spent the time and offered what I could, to what degree of help I cannot know.

In full and reminding disclosure, I am an emotional sponge. When people are hurting, I hurt. It takes abuse of the privilege for me to get to a place where I have taken in too much and have to step back. And that rarely happens. With my closest friends, I will be there beyond reason, often abandoning what I need to be doing in  order to listen and try to help. So I was fully there during all four of these calls.

We are living in turbulent times. The news is horrible, there are wars in the world, continuing gun violence in our country, rage on the road in our communities, upheaval in our relationships. Sometimes all that I can offer my friends and myself is the advice to breathe, both physically and in the sense of taking a breath/break. I suspect we are all not taking enough breaks from the onslaught. And, to me, what seems to suffer the most is our lost art of communication. One of the things I loved most about being in Carmel was how many strangers we met. It happened in stores, and in bars, and at the parade. It wasn't just random, idle comments, but real discourse. It felt like good will, and it felt so retro. We used to do this. We used to connect.

I did connect in conversation with my hurting friends last week, after getting through the gateways of texting and time. But once the crises passed, it was back to texting, or worse, silence. I do get it. We're all rushing around. Not breathing. Not taking breaks. Or taking the breaks at night in the rush to watch one of many ongoing television series on our screens. I'm generally not watching these series, but I am still guilty of getting with the program. I text my friends that I am thinking of them. I text an offer to maybe connect for a chat... next week? I want to change this, but I also don't want to be intrusive. And, I do worry that we are too far past it. That our communication pickle can never be turned back into a cucumber.

I clearly remember that when we first adopted email, I was ecstatic. I felt we had reinstated the lost art of written communication. I wrote long emails, channeling the type of missives of Jane Austen's day, and eagerly awaiting responses. But, for the most part, that has gone out with the bathwater, as texting is now the primary form of communication. For me, texting is an expediency when confirming plans or running late. But it mostly reminds me of the brevity of passing notes between classes in school. And, speaking of expedience, tagging? The graffiti of communication? I demur.

In response to my friends' gratitude for my lending my ear and virtual shoulder, I texted back to them: You're welcome. It's all part of the frister package. It's just that in life today, it seems to me that the frister package is shrinking as our communication with each other has been predominantly reduced to keystrokes. And being on the other end of it increasingly feels very disconnected and isolating. There is a lot of talk about the epidemic of loneliness. Loneliness is a rampant reality, as is the viral toxicity of texting when it is used as a substitute for genuine connection. It is a pickle, indeed.