The Dance of Disconnection (And Some New Moves)
You’ve probably had this happen to you.
You see a person you love after an extended time apart. It’s wonderful to reunite. You feel so fortunate to have this friendship; you’re sure you’ll keep in touch.
And then you go home, back to your everyday life, and you don’t call them for months.
This isn’t something you do on purpose. It’s just that one day you wake up and realize that you’re disconnected, despite your good intentions.
At this point, you have a few options. You can:
A) Shrug off the guilt, saying that you’ll call at an unspecified ‘later’ date. However, you know you won’t call. You feel too bad about not having called already. This a fear-based cop-out.
B) Pretend it doesn’t matter (‘They won’t really care one way or the other’). There’s just one problem: You do care, and most likely they do too. This is another fear-based cop-out.
C) Take a deep breath and pick up the phone (or write the email or set the date). This is the brave choice.
No judgment here; I’ve chosen all three. In fact, I typically move through A and B before C. I let guilt drive me, then I turn to denial, and then I muster up some bravery and do the right thing.
Such was the case when I called my dear friend Leo* to wish him a happy birthday. I’d had the joy of visiting with him in November, but I’d let the intervening time go by without picking up the phone. Though I knew that Leo wouldn’t give me a hard time, I felt bad for not calling sooner, and I had to psych myself up to do so.
But the minute I heard his voice on the line, it was so clear to me: we can’t let fear rule our friendships.
So if you’re doing that ridiculous ‘I can’t call/reach out now; it’s been too long’ dance that we all do, just know this: you only have to push past fear for the time it takes the phone to ring.
Leo and I spoke about his birthday plans and recapped local news. (A car literally crashed into the McDonald’s where he has coffee every day. Fortunately, Leo wasn’t there, and the driver is recovering.) He told me he liked my birthday gift. I glowed; “like” is high praise from Leo.
Gradually, we came to that pause that signals the end of a conversation. The pause in which you feel the distance between you, but also how you’ve bridged that distance.
“Okay,” I said. The small word held so much. I didn’t have to say, “I miss you,” or, “You’re like family.” It was all right there.
“Okay,” he replied.
“If it’s all right, I’d like to call more,” I said.
“That’d be good,” he said. “See you … no, talk to you … soon.”
I felt such energy and gladness afterward; it felt so good to be done procrastinating that phone call. For the rest of the afternoon, I flew through my work with enthusiasm. And the word enthusiasm comes from the Greek en theos, meaning, God within.
God within when we have brave days, choosing connection … and God within even when we don’t have brave days. Even when we fail to show others how much we care. Even when we feel, so acutely, the distance between who we are and who we want to be. Even then.
Because wherever love is, there is God.
What relationship do you want to rekindle? Join the conversation in the comments!
AWCC Around The Web:
- Guest Post at MindBodyGreen: Confessions of a Reluctant Yogi: 3 Life Lessons Learned on the Mat
- Guest Post at Be More With Less, Simplicity in Action Series
- Book review, I Was a Stranger to Beauty, from Brooke Law at BooksDistilled
- Featured post at Robert’s Sister, from Trish Hughes Kreis
Upcoming speaking engagements – if you’re in the area(s), I’d love to see you there!
- Florence Lauderdale Public Library, February 24, 2013, 2-3pm
- Living Spirit Church, Florence, AL, March 3, 1:30pm
- Faith Inclusion Network, “That All May Worship” Conference, Norfolk, VA, March 14-15
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*Names have been changed.
About Caroline McGraw
I'm a would-be childhood paleontologist turned full-time writer, digging for treasure in people and uncovering sacred stories in ordinary days. I grew up in New Jersey (think peaceful suburb, not Newark), graduated from Vassar with honors, then served as a live-in caregiver and program director at L'Arche Washington DC. Nowadays, my husband renovates our historic 1901 home in northwestern Alabama, while I try (& fail) to keep our cat Bootsie from developing an epic tuna fish addiction. It's a beautiful life. Follow me on Facebook, Twitter, or Google+.