Web of Friends

I thought I “got” the internet.  Need a movie time? Google the theatre.  Want a book? One-click service at amazon.  Can’t get the New York Times delivered in rural New Hampshire? Read it on-line. Need to get a message out to the members of your book club?  Send a group e-mail.  Wondering what your college sophomore son is up to tonight?  Check his status on Facebook.

All of that still seems pretty amazing to me.  My kids can’t believe it when I tell them that, in my first job out of college, I typed letters on an electric typewriter, meticulously hand-correcting my five carbon copies every time I made a mistake.  Or that, back in “my day,” doing research meant going to the library, making plans with a friend required a phone call, and reading a piece you missed in yesterday’s newspaper meant rummaging through the household trash till you found it.

Like most parents of a certain age, I’ve worried about the influence of all this new technology on my children’s social and emotional development.  I read the Atlantic Magazine article “Is Google Making Us Stupid?” and wondered if I still had the intellectual bandwidth to read a 600-page book cover to cover, and whether my kids could indulge in their habitual web-surfing while also developing the kind of mental fortitude necessary to enjoy George Eliot or Tolstoy without skimming.  On beautiful summer days, I’d fret that they seemed more engaged in the virtual world than the real one.  And I observed, as they came of age and the number of family laptops increased by two, that they seemed to be spending more time staring at computer screens, less time just hanging out and “interfacing” with one another.

In ways large and small, most of us have sensed that our lives, our families, our relationships, are continually being transformed and shaped by the ways we use the technology at our fingertips.  I’ve watched it happen in my own house, as my sons each seemed to intuit how to do just about anything on the computer–play games, find access to arcane information, compose music, post videos, create art, and tend virtual gardens and pets.  At the same time, I was pretty sure that the on-line world held no siren call for me.  After all, I define myself as a here-and-now kind of gal, more comfortable in the kitchen than at a keyboard, preferring walks in the woods to web hopping.

And then, last fall, I published a book.  Ten years ago, when my first book came out, I went to five states on a book tour, came home, and created a fat file folder of reviews as they arrived from various small daily papers across the country.  I flew to Washington and did an interview with the Post.  A week later, Oprah called.  That was exciting; and the book pretty much sold itself–here, and in nine other countries as well. Simple.

This time, I knew things would be different.  For one thing, most of those daily papers are gone or, if they do still survive, they certainly no longer have book critics on staff.   “You need to market it yourself,” a few savvy writer friends advised in the months before pub date. “And the way to do that is to get on-line, create a presence there, reach out to your readers.”

So I asked my son Henry to help me create a website and a Facebook fan page.  And I promised myself that, once a week at least, I would make myself sit down, write something, and post it on my site.

I thought I was just doing my job as a mid-list author in this new down-sized age, getting the word out and then cultivating an audience, so that my publisher would perhaps be willing to invest in me again.  But I found that the discipline of writing a blog, even one or two short pieces a week, has kept me in closer touch not just with my readers, but with myself.  Like prayer, or yoga, or meditation, writing, too, is a practice.  I sit down, turn on the computer, and say hello to the watching, reflecting part of me.  And then I listen, and write down what that quiet inner voice has to say.

And little did I know, as I began this solitary on-line enterprise,  that I was in fact joining a remarkable community.  In the past few months, I’ve received well over a hundred letters through this website –thoughtful, introspective, generous letters, from both men and women who, having read my story, feel inspired to write and tell me a bit of their own.  Readers of my blog have welcomed me into this new world by sending me links to theirs — a vast variety of people who take the time to capture, transform, and freely share glimpses of their everyday lives.

That’s why I love a morning like this one, when the quiet of snow, and a bit of white space on my calendar, allows time for checking in on various dear friends I’ve never met, but whose lives have crossed paths, online, with mine. Thanks to these occasional blog visits, I’ve poured over Christmas photos, mourned the death of a beloved dog, cheered for teenagers accepted to college, laughed at a friend’s blow-by-blow account of a day from hell, been introduced to poets I’ve never heard of, and bought books recommended by kindred spirits whose voices and tastes I’ve come to trust.

Alas, I doubt there will ever be enough time in my own ordinary days to meet deadlines, make dinner, get the laundry done, write to my mom, talk to the kids, see a movie with my husband. . .AND read about all the doings in all of my friends’ lives as well. And yet, I do love knowing that they are out there, each one of them doing their best to live fully and thoughtfully, nurturing and loving and writing, sharing glimpses of their days and their innermost selves with anyone who has a moment to stop by.

Last night, I did an on-line chat in The Writer’s Chatroom and had occasion to mention one of my favorite blogs, justonefoot.com, written by one of my new on-line pen-pals, a mother of four who writes about family life and navigating the world on one leg, since hers was amputated six years ago.  Little did I know that she was “in” the room.  (That’s the beauty of attending a party at which you don’t actually see the guests–most of whom are probably in their pajamas!)

“I do feel that no one reads my blog most days,” Judy wrote in an e-mail afterwards, “but I generally do it for ‘me’ anyway, so if even one person sees it and smiles, that’s gravy.”

I think that, when it comes right down to it, most of us do write for ourselves, not for an audience.  We write to remind ourselves of what’s important in our lives, to move beyond our petty cares and concerns and to get in touch with our true essence, our souls, the people we are in the process of becoming.  And then, in gestures of faith and solidarity, we offer our gift, the gift of ourselves, to the world.

So, I’ll admit it here: I do feel transformed by the internet, enlarged and connected and inspired, and deeply grateful for the support and friendship that comes my way each day through the words of so many generous people, all of them engaged, each in their own ways, in the humble work of honoring the precious moment that is now.