Greetings IWSG folks and nut-tree enthusiasts!
Last week I had the pleasure of being “found” by two old friends. Previously, I would have bridled at being discovered. (I’m an insecure fugitive at heart.) I am not one to attend high-school reunions and have left my past behind me in many ways. Several moves out of state and changes in perspective have left many of my old relationships –well, without basis for continuation and despite my penchant for writing, I’m really quite a lousy pen-pal. At any rate, this reunion with my two friends has been delightful, our social-web has reconnected, and now life continues… on Facebook, of course.
When we move, we always leave behind friends and acquaintances. One “friend” I left behind in my move from California to Wisconsin was my chiropractor, Phyllis. Phyllis came late in life to her practice, becoming a chiropractor at the age of sixty. She was a wise, funky, left-coast soul, and a bit of a psychic. While she worked out my kinks and knots, she would subtly mention these things about me and my life, things that only I would know, and I became acutely aware that my inner being was inextricably tied to my outer state. I always left Phyllis’ office feeling fresh and perfectly aligned.
I thought a lot about Phyllis after my move to Wisconsin, and remembered well her serious look and parting comment at our last meeting. “Keep in touch! You hear?” But I didn’t. I wanted to write to her and say “Thank you,” and “You made an impact on my life," but I didn’t do it for the longest time.
It took a year for me to write. A long rambling missive in my fifth-grader’s loopy handwriting and then I proceeded to let it rest on my desk for weeks, until it got moved to my perpetual stack of paper-dross, and then finally, months later, feeling that all the news in my letter was old and my confidences silly, I did what I often do to letters I write: I tore it up.
Shortly afterwards, a friend called to tell me Phyllis had died of cancer. I had not even known she was ill and now I had missed my chance. I still honor her life and death every Dias de los Muertos, though I do regret not sending that letter, though the memory of her smiling face always assures me not to worry. We connect in other ways now.
I thought of Phyllis when my two friends contacted my mother, looking for me. And with Phyllis in mind, I opened myself up to reconnect with my past. After all—if someone wants to find me, who am I to object? It’s not like people are lining up around the block to talk to me! Frankly, it’s nice to be wanted.
So lovely IWSG bloggers and dearest readers, I am curious to hear about your own experiences. Has social media allowed your past to catch up to you? Have you felt wanted or just plain stalked? Has your online presence rewoven loose threads or opened an old can of worms? Are you secure enough to face your past?Do tell!
P.S. That picture was taken of me by my long-lost friend David. The things you do on a long winter's night in South Dakota!
P.S.S. It was the eighties.