Important Things

Several months ago, I reconnected with a middle school friend via Facebook (coincidentally, this long lost acquittance happens to be on payroll for the popular social networking site). We exchanged a few messages, talking about the colleges we attended and the spouses we had since acquired in the decade that had passed since we last spoke. In a later message, he revealed to me that his parents had died - suddenly and tragically - when the private plane they were flying crashed. I can't even imagine what he's going through in their absence.

This fall, this friend of mine, Jason, took a month off from work. At the end of his sabbatical, he posted the following note to Facebook, making it viewable to all of his friends on the site. As I was reading it, I was really struck by the message and the way that he perfectly captured the "Cookie Monster" thinking that birthed this blog. Not only was he talking about things that really mattered, but he adeptly (and unintentionally) captured the unexpected intimacy that web-based communication can bring. With his permission, I am re-printing his note below.

important things

A lot of people struggle with the idea that I took a month off without "doing anything." I didn't backpack through Europe, I didn't build homes for underprivileged youth in Zimbabwe; in fact I only left the Bay Area once to go fishing with a friend near Weaverville. Mostly I watched television, movies, ate a lot, worked out occasionally, and finished the pile of video games collecting dust next to my TV. It was pretty awesome. Yet I got these looks like I had wasted my time, like I had this amazing opportunity and by spending it on the couch in my underwear I somehow missed a chance for... something, I was never clear on that, but apparently there was some experience I should have had that I didn't.

I don't have a point, I just found this reaction interesting.

I got back to work and was shocked to discover that my job seemed really important. Don't get me wrong, I love my job, and I love Facebook, but one thing I've always been good at is recognizing that, at the end of the day, it's a website. One might think that especially now I'd have perspective on the relative importance of things but oddly, for the last few weeks, I found myself getting personally attached to the events happening around me at work. An egress drop was an embarrassment, a bad bug unforgivable, an obnoxious email grounds for fisticuffs (aside: I can't believe I'm just discovering how awesome it feels to use the word 'fisticuffs'). Fortunately I managed to display some restraint in acting on these feelings but every day I came home from work completely drained, unbelieving that it wasn't the weekend yet. I never used to get so tired. Eventually I realized what I was doing and I'm making a hugely conscious effort to take a breath and let things go, but it's amazing how hard I'm finding this experience. Detachment is supposed to be hard, I guess, but it's something at which I was used to being good. It's almost like I suddenly forgot how to do basic arithmetic.

It's good to be reminded that I can always be a better person. I have this amusing tendency to think the only big personal challenge I have left to work on is my shitty behavior around competition.

I probably wouldn't be writing any of this if it wasn't for my sister. As I've said before I have this fear that all we're doing at Facebook is teaching people to self-promote how awesome they are and hide all the things that make them interesting, that make them human. Reading her note I found myself learning things about what she's going through, what she's thinking and feeling. This is my sister, and I'm learning about her on Facebook. It made me realize that most of the people I see on a daily basis probably have no idea what's up with me.

After all, who walks around telling the world what they're really thinking, especially at such a shitty time of life, especially at work? Yet if other people are anything like me, they crave to know Who I Really Am, because honestly, who gives a shit about the corporate masks we wear to get our jobs done? I actually believe the masks are a necessary evil of doing business, but they don't make me care about the people around me. If Facebook can help us be real people and still go to work and get things done, well, I like that idea. A lot of people I know are afraid of this idea, and with good cause. Most industries seem to penalize you if they find out something about you they don't like, and I'm very grateful I'm not in one of them.

All of this has been a long-winded introduction to Who I Really Am right now. When people ask how I'm doing I just say 'OK', which is true, but a version of the truth. The real answer is awkward to discuss in person and much easier to write here.

Every day sucks. We saw each other every Thanksgiving so this week sucks a lot. Someone wished me a Happy Thanksgiving and it took all my self control not to be horribly nasty in response because actually this happens to be the least happy Thanksgiving I have ever had. But people do their best and there's no reason to make them feel bad about trying to be nice. But then, I wonder, why is it my job to look out for other people's feelings right now? Don't I get to be a total shithead? Then I think about my Mom, and smile, and try to be the best person I can be.

I feel like large swaths of my past died with them. My sister and I were talking about this the other day; anything we don't remember is gone. And even the stories we do recall, it's not the same. I can never tell a story about myself as a five year old the same way they could.

There are days I don't even feel human. I don't know how people look at me without recoiling.

Sometimes I get angry or sad when people talk about their parents, or when I see parents in the street, or even when we see [some friends]. Sometimes I don't. I almost always get sad when I see grandparents. There's nothing to say or do except wait until it gets better at some point in the future.

I think about the future. My sister's wedding, kids, anniversaries, birthdays; every occasion will be tinted by their absence.

There was a long stretch of my life, before college, when I wished I could fast-forward. I was really unhappy but I knew that, at some point in the future, I would find all the things I was looking for and life would be good. Eventually I got there. I made amazing friends at Brown. I loved living in California, working in tech. I lived within 40 miles of tons of friends. I met [my wife], bought a house, started a new job, got married. I was lucky to have so many great years. But my parents died and now I just want to fast-forward again.

But despite the horribly depressing last few paragraphs, I wake up every day. I live my life. I still have a great job, great friends and co-workers. I love my sister and my wife and her family. I love [other friends]. I love my Aunt, my Uncle, my cousin, and my grandmother. I love all my parents' friends back home who treat us like family. I couldn't ask for better people around me.

I know it will be better. There are too many good things in my life for me to feel like this for much longer. As trite as it sounds, I know my parents would want me to have the happiest life I possibly could. It's just that, right now, I can't possibly imagine what 'being better' would feel like, and that's a little scary.

So that's where I am right now. Please don't feel obligated to respond because, as I found myself telling a friend recently, there's not always something to say. But, if you do, tell me something real. I've heard enough about prayers, and thoughts, and strength.


*For the purposes of this forum, I've edited this post to eliminate any names to protect the author's friends / family members.