The Great Uncool

In my last post, I referred obliquely to a chance meeting I had with a woman who let me know that my music had made a difference in her life. She didn't tell me that right away...and I'm not telling you the whole story here either.

We seem to be bounded by unspoken rules of decorum, some of which are actually about privacy and courtesy and others which are a reflection of our fear of connection and vulnerability. If I told you how much her comments meant to me, would I be betraying some kind of confidence unless I notified her that I was writing about them? If I did notify her, would she think I was placing undue emphasis on our conversation and think less of me? Would I look silly? Uncool in some way?

Maybe I can write about it in a blog and not have anybody really notice.

What are we afraid of?

Several times recently, I've been made aware of conversations that might have happened, but didn't. I'll hear, for instance, that someone I knew saw me in the subway but didn't say hello...or I'll think of picking up the phone and calling someone, but I hesitate and then don't.

A few days ago, there was a story in the Globe & Mail about Toronto subway passengers not pressing the yellow emergency strip when a car suddenly filled up with mysterious white vapour (which turned out to be something benign related to air conditioning) just days after the London subway bombings.

Nobody wanted to be the first to say something...so nobody said anything at all.

They didn't want to to look uncool.

Meanwhile, the car filled up with refrigerant.

The newspaper columnist wrote about it afterward, from the remove of his desk, admitting that he didn't do anything either until later when he left the train and spoke to the TTC operator who said, "Um, you should have pressed the yellow strip."

Personal boundaries are necessary and useful of course. And it's physically impossible--not to mention inconvenient and probably boring--to give voice to everything that enters your mind (which is exactly what many other bloggers seem to be doing) or to try to connect meaningfully with everyone you've ever met.

But once in awhile, you have to press the proverbial yellow strip, to say: "Hey! I see you!" or "You touched me!" or "I'm afraid!" or "That's beautiful!" or "What do we do now?"

Perhaps the trend toward blogging and podcasting and rampant self-expression in all forms is a response to our increasing inability to connect personally and meaningfully with just a few people, on a few important subjects, for the relatively few moments we physically inhabit the planet.