Feeling Down About Keeping Up

The Internet is an incredible thing. I mean, here I am, with lots of better things that I could be doing with my time, and instead of being responsible and productive, I'm bullshitting in a blog that no one reads because it gives me a sense of pride in putting my writing out there and, to a certain extent, perpetuates my deluded notion that I'm providing a way for people to keep up with me. This kind of thing just wasn't possible before some smart (and currently, very rich) folks realized the cyberpotential and put it to productive use.

Things like blogs and Facebook and e-mail and instant message have made it so easy for people to stay in touch and communicate, but at the same time I feel like it's having this strange impact on the kinds of relationships I'm able to maintain, and it actually depresses, rather than uplifts, me to think about all the people on my IM list and how few of them I actually maintain contact with.

I'm sure you've all been there, or are there right now. Go on, take a look. Whether it's AIM, Adium, Pidgin, iChat, or some other program, there's probably anywhere between 100-200 names over there. And of those, maybe upwards of 50-75 are actually online or posting an away message right now. But how many of them have you actually held real conversations with in the past, oh, six months? My count is depressingly low -- I'm currently trying my damnedest to sneak it up into double-figures.

I've always been the kind of person who's counted more on small quantities of really close friends than large groups of friendly acquaintances. Some people like to roll the other way, and I respect that decision. For me, it's been about having a few people that you know always have your back, being able to turn to them and know that they'll be there to support you. Otherwise, really, what are friends for? I would expect to be held to that kind of standard as a friend, too, and I'd be more than willing to stick my neck out for anyone close to me who might need it.

Because of this, I've reflected a lot over the past few years about how going to college changes the relationships game. All of a sudden, people that you were extremely close to become devastatingly distant: questions your parents ask you about how they're doing are suddenly a challenge to accurately answer. And all the while you sit and wonder to yourself, Well, shit, when did that happen?

And you would think that the Internet would solve this problem, that you'd be so much more inclined to keep up with people if you saw their names on your buddy list every day. But instead, we (or perhaps just the royal we, what do I know?) look at away messages as judges of mindset. We follow what our buddies are up to by what they say they're doing, where they are, what movie quotes and song lyrics appear in their profiles. We have at our disposal the potential for incredible lines of communication but, just like we do when people become too distant in location, time, and memory to call them, we let them fall by the wayside.

I always thought, personally, it had to do with the phone. I don't like the phone. Something about it has always made me feel terribly vulnerable, but only when calling. I love receiving phone calls but I always feel horribly awkward making them, as if I'm intruding on someone's day by ringing them up. I panic about how they'll perceive the call, and try to predict how stupid I'll feel if the call doesn't go well, if we don't speak to each other again for weeks, months, or years, if my telephonic olive branch falls to the ground and toasts in the sun. It's probably a very silly thing, but I'm super-conscious of how I'm perceived when I put myself out there, and I always have.

But now, IMs and e-mails have taken over the same sort of category. I've got a list of a few people -- some friends, some professors, etc. -- that I've been meaning to keep in touch with, whose e-mail addresses and screen names (if applicable) I've kept around just so that I could reestablish contact with them if I suddenly craved hearing from them. And yet, like that dreaded phone call, I'm terribly worried about what happens after I click "Send." What if they don't write back? What if they get it but think I'm a loser/nut/stalker/worse because I've got nothing better to do than try to catch up with them? What if they're pissed because it's been so long and they wonder why the fuck I chose now of all times to reopen the lines of communication?

I seriously think it's a sickness, but I can't be the only one who thinks these things, can I?

I mean, if it really were that easy, we wouldn't fall out of touch in the first place. And sure, people's lives change and they move on and grow in different directions and sometimes the truly magical things that brought you together in the first place end up being insignificant trifles that fell by the wayside long ago but you were too lost in the moment to notice they were gone until now. I totally appreciate and understand that. But I still wonder why it's so hard, in the self-proclaimed Age of Communication, to, well, communicate.

I've got half a mind to send out a few e-mails now and see what people are up to, just because. Sure, I'll sit and wait and wonder what they think of me, and I'll probably freak out every second that goes by without a reply. But at the end of the day, I can sit back and enjoy the delusion that maybe they've read this post and understood that it applies to them and that they get that I'm actually interested in knowing how they've been doing.

But since I understand the nature of that delusion, perhaps it's better to just say it in the e-mail itself. Not only would it be more direct, and have a more guaranteed effect, but it might just be the beginning of breaking down these barriers between our desires to know how the people we care about are doing and our fears of what they may think of us now. Who knows? Maybe they'll be just as excited to hear from you as you'll be when(/if?) they send a reply. Now that would be communication at work.