For the last few years I’ve felt like a slave to my computer. Hand wrapped around my phone, desperately trying to type fast enough to reply to reply. Ears plugged in and I walk along recording voice notes to people. Message after message, mail after mail, mounting inbox anxiety has taken it’s toll. Yes, it takes it’s toll on me (which is bad enough) but also as bad s, is the way I often communicate with others.
Screening at me. The glowing divide as I tap on a keyboard, the small icon that represents a smile frozen in time, is all I have to conjure up some kind words. And add to that the pace of my life I live, chasing the next thing, selling the next event, communicate to ask for something and overly concerned with “what’s in it for me here?”
In person, I’m a lot different (most of the time), I’m slower, I look into people’s eyes, I sense opportunities to offer help and support, or listen deeply to care. But over the past few years I’ve notice my attitude change online – to one of resenting the inevitable “ping” as another email lands in my inbox. Or the complexity or sorting messages into folders. Or the feeling of guilt if I leave a message more than a couple of days.
Tonight as I sat down, at 12am to make an attempt at clearing my inbox, it occurred to me that I cared more about the feeling of empty space. The emptiness representing a quiet space in my mind. A space I would love to fill with creative time or quiet time. But instead, I sit down to complete a task. I think about the interaction as a task to complete, not as opportunity to connect.
Instead, I did this. Before writing my first email, I got out of piece of lovely A4 paper from my printed and started to draw. I’ve always loved to doodle. It then occurred to me to set an intention for how I’d like to connect with these people.
And here it is…
(a few mistakes, forgive my humanness)
Behind Every Email…Is A Human