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July 17, 2004 ~ Snowball
Saturday.
Ever have a discussion that dangerously snowballed? You see it going in a direction opposite your intentions, opposite the intentions that you know your conversation partner has, yet you both can't seem to stop it from playing out, from falling, the way that it has? Where you can see the gigantic snowball building momentum and gathering mass, falling in a direction that you know will end messily, people are going to get hurt, but it's too late to stop it?
Having one of these discussions over email, where huge chunks of the conversation are sent all at once, is like taking the film of that snowball's fall and looking only at frame captures from every thirty seconds. The snowball gains a shocking amount of mass in each consecutive frame, the path veers abruptly closer and closer to the worst direction, and with each delayed frame the end looks more and more grim. That's what happens when the words come all at once in a great chunk, instead of allowing for back and forth exchange in small portions.
And when you find yourself crying into your keyboard after one of these chunks, you should know that it's time to step away from the email and pick up the phone instead, instead of sending a huge chunk back.
What you want most is to end the whole mess. But you send a chunk back anyway, because you are hurting and not yet forgiving, and the gigantic snowball--no, snowboulder--hits the village (your friendship) and you're not entirely sure if the damages will ever be repaired, because both parties are hurting and there's a HUGE mess to be cleaned up, and your heart just sinks and stays there.
Then, finally, you get a clue. You pick up the phone and call, and within a half hour the two of you are laughing again, and you know that things will probably be all right. Three hours later, you feel that familiar warmth and you know that eventually it will be okay.
But--you silly, slow human--couldn't you have picked up the phone a few days before and avoided the whole mess?
Sheesh.
And did I learn the lesson? Well, I almost didn't. Because the very next day, Morgan sent me an email that had me angry and crying once again, hurt, and as I was in the middle of writing a fiery retort, but I stopped, thankfully. Took a few deep breaths. And called him instead. Worked it out. No more gigantic email snowboulders for me.
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