Debby Does…

We’ve moved a bit in the last 8 years from our dream house to my mom’s house and then to what turned out to be a transitional house, and from a vacation condo to what we thought was our retirement home. What those moves have in common was their proximity to each other. Each time, we were still within a 30-40 mile radius of where we had started. That made it easy to maintain our relationships with friends, support our favorite restaurants and small businesses, as well as continue the support of our local theater.

On Saturday night, despite some pretty nasty knee pain on my end, we went to the theater for a performance, potentially for the last time. I have to be honest. It felt weird, but probably not in the way I anticipated.

I realized that there were people I was seeing for the last time.

I also realized that there were people I didn’t give a rat’s ass about seeing for the last time.

One set made me very teary, while the other gave me a sense of freedom.

Look, I’m not telling you anything new. There are people in your life that you don’t like. You see them socially or at work and you tolerate them. You smile and nod and say the requisite number of “mmhmms” and hope that they will walk away.

Right now everyone I saw at the theater on Saturday night thinks they’re in that second group.

Stop. You’re not. And, even if you were, you probably feel the same way about me. There are some folks who cannot wait to get away from us, and we are ready to view our social landscape without their faces too.

Just because we’re all walking around being so #blessed and #grateful doesn’t mean that we all like each other. As a part of a civil society, though, we don’t throw monkey poo at our frenimies, we fake it and rarely make it. It’s okay to say this out loud. I promise.

Now, let’s get back to that first group.

The world gets smaller every day, thanks to and because of technology. We certainly learned that through COVID, though Zoom is no substitute for a hug or an in person gathering. Still, I maintain that there is no reason for people to think that 745 miles is an unconquerable distance. There are planes, trains, automobiles, and space ships to get you there. I only mention the last since every time I say that we are moving to Indiana, people act like it’s outer space and we have been abducted by aliens, who are allowing us to pack up our things and join them.

Time and effort are the issues, are they not? Do we have the time? Do we make the effort? Can we find the time? Is the effort worth it?

I know that I am guilty, even with local friends, of not making time or effort. We all are.

I propose a wee bit of a solution. Letter writing. It’s a lost art, a fading practice, yet its ability to connect people over the years is undeniable. I have a dear friend, who is inevitably reading this very post, that sends monthly postcards to a substantial group of people, each with a personal message. It’s lovely to receive. I have been assiduously trying each month to write to people in charming cards with little Debby messages of love and support. It’s amazing how much that note or letter or postcard can change the day or your perspective. Somebody loved me enough to write to me and tell me. That’s pretty great.

I think letter writing holds such significance because it is made up of those two elements—time and effort. And, it’s those two incredible gestures that tell us we are loved and valued and worth it.

Time and effort. See you at the mailbox.