Who’s Your Friend?

If you’ve been around me the last couple of months, you know I’m really busy. You’d know that because I would tell you every opportunity I had. Thinking back, I wonder how much extra time I would have had if I hadn’t spent so much time telling people I was too busy to do anything other than whatever was on top of my busy list.

Luckily, I’m surrounded by good people. They would alternately smile knowingly or share in my weary frown and nod. For a good while that made me feel better. But something changed over this past weekend.

No, I didn’t catch up on all my busy work. In fact, the list got longer. And no, my appreciation for the kind people in my life didn’t change. These folks are wonderful.

At some point during the weekend, I realized I didn’t like being the guy who never has time to do anything. I even talked to Nancy, my wife, about it. She was thrilled to hear it. But she added, “You know, you’ve always tended to be a little too busy.” Or words to that effect.

One thing I know. When Nancy tells me something, I need to listen.

So now I’m listening. And in listening, I’m hearing things that are difficult. And questions arise.

One of the most difficult is “Who’s your friend?”

Don’t get me wrong. I have a lot of friends, technically. At least I have individuals who are gracious, caring people who are always there for me. The nuance to the question is in the true meaning of “friend.” In my book, the definition of the word is dependent on how I act. It’s not about who I can call on. It’s about who can call on me.

So, over this last couple of months — and perhaps most of my life — I’ve been a friend to projects and to-do lists. So I’m announcing that, while I plan to continue my quest for productivity, I’m planning on being a friend to real, live, breathing people.

I’ve got to tell you, I’m concerned that this decision could add to my busyness. But, as I look to the friends around me, I can see I shouldn’t be. Friends help friends. Friends are there for friends. Friends have time for friends.

Who’s your friend?

Conservatively Speaking

As I entered the office this morning, one of my colleagues pointed out that his internet connection was not working. He’s relatively new and works out of the part of the office that lacks wired connections. So, I assumed that the problem was the wireless transmitter.

Crawling over boxes in our storage room, I soon determined that the wireless network appeared to be operational. I then plugged in my laptop, found that the network itself was operational and then tested the wireless network. I, too, could not connect.

As we continued to puzzle over this technological void, others arrived for work. Over a twenty minute period, we received a variety of reports on the network. No one could access the wireless and the wired connections were up and down with no explanation or reason. Eventually a call was placed to our technicians. Verification was made — our network was officially down. This was not merely a problem with our satellite location.

My colleague left with his laptop under his arm and headed to a nearby coffee shop and free internet. The rest of us meandered through the office suite, bemoaning the fact that no internet was available. Then unexpectedly, my connection re-opened. When I reported this to my co-workers, machines were re-booted. Strangely, two computers were connected and two were not.

Another call was made to the technicians. “No, we told you the network is down.”

“Then why are two of our computers connected and the other two aren’t?”

“Oh,” the beleaguered tech sighed, “actually, we know that some computers are connecting and some aren’t. We just don’t know why.”

I was glad that one of our kinder, gentler people was on that call. I would have been insisting on why we were being told something that obviously wasn’t accurate. Instead of passing on the news that some of us could conduct business as usual, the universal message was, “Don’t even bother trying.”

I suppose it was easier to speak conservatively than it was to try and explain. Yet trust is built on understanding. And a relationship of trust is worth investing in an explanation.

Am I making too big a deal about this? Most certainly.

Conservatively speaking.

Blog 531 - Spam 432

Since I started blogging several months ago and basically stopped adding my writings to a regular website, I have seen my readers cease to show. For the most part, they’re just not blog-people. As a friend of mine celebrated his blog’s millionth (or was it 2 millionth) hit, I checked this site repeatedly for that first big milestone — 500.

The big bang was a couple of weeks ago and Distinct Impressions has since eked its way up to a dazzling 531 hits. “I’m not discouraged by that,” he wrote. “This blog is an expressive outlet for me. If no one ever looks at it, that’s all right.” At least that’s what I’ve read on dozens of other blogs that I’ve discovered by hitting the NEXT BLOG button on my browser.

In my case, that statement is mostly true. I used to write this kind of stuff in little spiral notebooks. But most of it was my complaints about life and how bad things seemed. I thought it was journaling. I discovered that writing out the really bad things that were happening in my life didn’t help me move past them. I guess I thought that venting would help.

Blowing out the frustration doesn’t really seem to impact things for me. So, when I’d go back to these journals and read the inevitable pity-pulp that was there, I’d feel ashamed at sinking so low. I’d rip out everything I’d written — including anything positive that came along — and start over.

Pretty much a waste of paper, ink, and precious time. I still have those notebooks — stacks of them. Lots of blank pages. But little to show for my effort.

I have discovered that when I share my writing with others, I think on a higher level. I look more for the positive. I enjoy the mild adventure that is my life. And it doesn’t really matter whether anyone ever sees — the point is, they could. My biggest complaint these days is the scarcity of time to sit and to write.

It’s been a few weeks since I’ve last written. I’m working under a big deadline at work. As these words tumble off the ends of my fingers and on to my keyboard, I feel a little guilty. I should be doing something else. And I really just came to the site to check my stats.

And that revealed to me 531 hits. I was just about to close the site when I noticed a more subtle number a little further down on the page. 432. Four hundred thirty-two spam hits that a magical program had diverted from my blog. Actually, there have been a few more. About ten spams attached themselves as comments to my entries in the early days. Then the magical program learned to defend against them as well.

So, like I said, I was about to close the site when I begin to think how cool it was that I’ve had almost as many spam hits as those from real people. For, if each spam hit cancels out a real hit, I have just about achieved the same level of readership as I had with my paper notebooks.

Pity-pulp? Hardly. After all, I’ve been blessed to spend the last ten minutes writing about nothing in particular and I love it.

And, even though I insist it doesn’t matter, I know that there are those faithful few who will drop by and give me a quick read. It’s those good people who keep my stats on the positive side and beat back the spam.

What a great life!