Isolation and Connection

Earlier tonight, I had a nice opportunity to catch up with a colleague I don't see outside of meetings very often. You know, it's odd, private practice therapy can be a bit of an isolating profession -- one that attracts people who are generally very sociable. I got into this business because I enjoy being with people, and I find them (us) fascinating as a species. And yet, the friendships we make in this line of work are often of the "passing in the hall" variety, because the work itself is done behind closed office doors.

Our therapeutic relationships, in which we spend most of our professional time, are -- intentionally and appropriately -- completely one-sided. For that 45-50 minutes, my personal needs don't matter, there's very little small talk, and no one asks questions about my life. And if they do, I have to graciously deflect them anyway... [I once had a friend who told me he felt guilty because every time he went to see his therapist, he just sat down and started talking, and never once asked her how she was doing. I told him that the fee he pays at the end of the session should totally absolve any feelings of guilt on his part. On reflection, he agreed.]

This contrived pseudo-isolation is just part of the weirdness of the job, and most therapists get used to it pretty quickly. But unless we plan specific ways of getting together with colleagues, we tend to miss out on those little conversations that most people experience at the water cooler. This could be one reason the occasional late client or canceled session isn't always devastating -- because it gives us an opportunity to chit chat with one another, or surf the web like normal people do during down time at work. Albeit, our gossip sessions and social networking aren't generally paid, but still... it can be nice.

As I chatted with my colleague, she asked me about some little detail of my life, and then followed up quickly by explaining that she reads my blog (I guess so I wouldn't think I had a stalker, though I have to say I'd be flattered). And, if she's reading this: sorry, it was either write about this, or the weird guy at Starbucks who reached down from the drive-thru window to pull a hair off my sweatshirt this morning...

Anyway, I thought it was funny because she is definitely not the first person to say that to me. It's funny how many people read this blog but don't comment (not a problem, of course, and in fact that's how I tend to be as a blog reader myself). The weird thing about being a blogger is that you put something out there and sometimes you get a big online reaction -- comments, e-mails, Facebook responses -- and other, times, silent.

And you don't know if it was silent because it just didn't hit home with anyone -- which is okay, too, it happens -- or because lots of people read it, nodded their heads and went "mmm-hmmm," and then went on with their busy days. Or, maybe it was such a spectacular post that there was simply nothing else to say about the subject. Who knows? I'm lucky that I do get lots of great feedback, so please, don't think I'm fishing here; but it is sort of a vulnerable feeling to write something about your life and send it out into the world, never knowing how it will be received in the moment or even down the road.

I've had people come up to me weeks after I published a post, people who I didn't even know followed my blog, and tell me that something about it made them laugh or resonated with them. And that's cool. It can also be sort of weird, because even though my blogs range from quirky observation to fairly personal confessions, I tend to forget what I've written... oh, about 5 seconds after I click 'publish post.'

Of course, I don't publish ANYTHING that I'm not 100% comfortable with anyone, anywhere, all over the world knowing -- clients, friends, ex-husband, mother-in-law [who is very sweet and always tells me she enjoys my posts], bosses, etc. That's a good rule of thumb for all of us with regard to things we put online, even things that we *think* are private, like FB status. But still, when you're chatting with someone in a different context and a topic emerges that you blogged about weeks ago, it can be a little jarring.

The internet is funny that way. It connects us in ways we never would've been connected -- someone I haven't seen since high school can enjoy frequent pictures of my kid, for example. And when I write something I'm going to put 'out there,' I generally do imagine the people who might read it and wonder what their response will be (internal and expressed), and in that sense I do become connected to them. I also become more connected to my emotions and my intellect, as I try to squeeze my internal experience of the moment into something tolerably readable.

But then it's gone.

The connection comes and goes quickly. I update my status, publish a blog, flip through a friend's photo album, and then log off again. Sometimes an actual connection is made -- a comment or a message -- but more often, not. There are times where a blog entry I write or read actually does lead me to a deeper understanding or at least a real conversation with someone; but so often it's all fleeting.

As with my profession, blogging and social networking represent a weird sort of pseudo-connectedness. It is there, it is real; but it is not a full and equal conversation in the traditional sense. And in a way, I'm glad. Like therapy, online connections can serve their purpose, but they are always a means to an end: better, real connections offline.