There’s a school of thought that talking, being open, sharing one’s thoughts, is a good thing. Conversation can be fun, enlightening, energizing, and invigorating.
A long time ago I wrote down
Shared pain is lessened, shared joy is increased. What more do you need to know?
(It wasn’t a quote from Spider Robinson. I would have to go find a paper in a file in a filing cabinet downstairs to remember where I read it. Please forgive me.)
I pull that quote out regularly, to hand off to my children, or friends, or acquaintances.
I said here, a few weeks back, that I write for a specific audience – Write for Your Audience. I do. – and suggested that perhaps that practice didn’t reflect too well on me.
And so: I was out in the park today, walking the dog, and it was too warm for a February day, and most of the snow was gone. But the sun was out, and we were walking around the pond in the town park.
And it was glorious. I quite enjoyed it, and the little dog did too.
I wanted to share the joy of that experience – you know, so that it would be increased – and so I posted a little tweet about it.
But in reality, there was one, exactly one, person that I wanted to tell about it, and share the experience with. This person also has a little dog, and perhaps I might claim that that was the reason I wanted to share my experience, and the glorious afternoon. But there’s a darn good chance that that would pretty much be a lie – the dogs are not really a key element to be considered here.
All I wanted was to share this experience, or the feeling of this experience, with this one person. And I can’t.
I’ve said it before. Apparently, I am a sick. sick. man.