Open Journal #16

full collection links 1- 10 . 11-20 . 21-30

This is the second night of not being allowed in chat.

I’m sure it’s supposed to be a punishment, though I’m still not sure what for. I made a complaint and asked for the decision to be reversed. Nothing yet. And at this rate, there won’t be a decision until the punishment is complete, so saying anything was probably pointless.

I understand they’re busy. I even understand the role of a moderator; I did it myself for a few years. It’s often a thankless task. I suppose I hoped they would look at the conversation and see that the punishment didn’t fit the crime – if there even was a crime.

I tried to avoid the usual he said/he said. So much online chatter breaks down over tone and intent — the gap between what’s meant and what’s heard. I know. I’ve lived there.

When we were first married, my wife and I worked abroad for a leading software house, early adopters of the groundbreaking idea of a home computer. We’ve been talking to people online since before a lot of you were born. I am no stranger to the misunderstandings that happen when you type your soul into a glowing box and hope someone reads it right.

This time, though, it couldn’t matter more.

I had just told The Mentor that maybe it was time we took our foot off the gas. Three solid weeks of talking. I wasn’t in danger. Maybe it was time to be a bit grown up. Build in a pause. Stop thinking about it all every minute of the day. Ok, every other minute. Besides, I was acutely aware of the time he was giving me. It was about time I let him off the hook a little.

So we agreed: Friday, I would send my last missive, and he could reply or not as he liked. I wouldn’t post again until Monday morning; he wouldn’t check until Monday evening. A sensible weekly plan. No surprises.

Friday morning, my wife left to organise a running event, leaving me and the dogs to fend for ourselves. I spent the morning writing to The Mentor, as I do — writing, sitting with it, tweaking, rewording. I sent it off early afternoon.

Silence.

I went into chat to see who was around — I had an hour to kill.

Three weeks ago, I’d never heard of you. Had no need for you. If someone had suggested you to me, I might have laughed. Or you would have laughed at me.

I’m not going to gush. I won’t embarrass either of us by being un-British and talking about feelings or other such nonsense. But in three weeks, you created a feeling of trust and security so strong that I spoke of things I had carried silently for over fifty years. You might think it’s an everyday occurrence here. Run of the mill. Probably happened to you when you first arrived.

It’s no mean feat. A heady mix of kindness, concern, and empathy. I have sat at the back of the room and watched you do it for others, those who came after me. I don’t think I could ever do what you do. You bring patience, wisdom, a sense of brotherhood that draws people in.

When I find myself alone with a new person wandering aimlessly, I just panic. I switch off the joke button for fear of offending. I make conversation and I listen. But it just makes me want to cry and hug them — both utterly useless gestures in a digital world.

My point is, you are brilliant, and I am glad I found you.

Right now, though, I have to cope without you, and I don’t like it.

I tried talking quietly with people via direct messages. Until someone warned me that our messages were probably being read. That messed with my head. I don’t want to get anyone into trouble. And in my current mood, if I spoke freely, it would be inevitable. So I stopped. Silence is safer.

Weirdly, I had just started to unlearn that particular silence.

I think the person who handed out this punishment is a bit of a bully. Every interaction with them has been unpleasant. I was already being cautious, keeping my distance.

If it’s personal — if he just doesn’t like me or what I say — well, I can’t argue with that. I feel the same way about myself.

If the idea was to hurt me, it worked. If the idea was to teach me a lesson, I’m slightly concerned I have learnt the wrong ones.

I have learnt that he is not to be trusted. That this place matters to me. That I am not able to do this without you. And that the night can be very lonely and very dark.