Friends, I need your help.
No, not money, even a pittance, though you can send a pittance if you please, to cheer me on. This help is more precious. Introduce me to a friend or several whose lives may be enriched by our time together.
All of us have intimates – some a few, others dozens – the folks with whom we share our lives, thoughts, fears, the thrill of being. Life’s zest arises from sharing it, comparing feelings, kindling heat by rubbing against each other. We love most where we’ve shared most. We love family, I’m convinced, less because of any blood imperative than because we’ve spent time together. With my grandkids, I can grin at the memory of the seagull snatching Juno’s hotdog out of her fist at Rome’s zoo. That episode was hilarious – I’m nearly laughing now, years later – and only those seated at that pocked hot picnic table – the three little ones, their mom, Jane and I – can ever fully appreciate the astonishment, humor, horror and delight of that surprise. That memory is a scrap in our treasure chests. “For where your treasure is,” said Jesus, “there shall your heart be also.”
You are my intimates. The more time we share, the deeper our bond. Our relation may feel lopsided, since I’m doing most of the talking, but I’d argue otherwise. Each of us is spending precious time, to discover, delight, rage, weep, commiserate. I write, I say often (too often, Jane cautions), not to instruct or convince, but to be together – companionable, compatible souls holding hands in the spooky dark.
Introduce me to a friend who might enjoy such company and, if the spark takes, you’ll be doing us both a mitzvah.
Why this request? Why can’t my words make their way on their own?
Electronics and the Internet have set the world roaring. Everybody, practically from toddlerdom, has their channel, where they share likes, dislikes, jokes, snapshots, memories, the detritus of consciousness. Hurray for the empowerment of individuals, unhindered by gatekeepers! So what if the content’s often meretricious – it is good to be heard.
The problem is noise level. We’re so busy keeping up with pals and professors, who has time to form new friendships?
My problem is compounded by categorical cloudiness. Strangers sometimes ask, “What’s your lane?” My essential teachers – Paul Krugman, Heather Cox Richardson, Tom Friedman, Josh Marshall, Taegan Goddard, Tom Gardner, maybe half a dozen others – each has expertise in a topic I want to know about. But what’s my topic? Me? The perplexities of being? Morality? Non-professional responses to literature, beauty, political malfeasance? The death of literacy? Our crying need for love? A talking dog? Where to shelve me? Under essays – that squishiest of denominators? Next to Montaigne, Thoreau, Dr. Johnson, please, and others who spoke their minds, whatever was on them.
Introduce me as you might two friends who’d like each other. One-on-one, via Facebook, X, texting, group email, Substack, whatever your preferred conduit. Why do I seek more readers? Because the more, the more – the more participants, the more stirring the discussion. Not for the money. My daily offerings have always been and will remain pure gift.
Some of you do this already, bless you, so we know it works. My audience keeps growing, every week more, but gradually. If I could bring more interest, consolation, joy to fellow wayfarers, that would make me glad.
Share with me news of any introductions at [email protected] and I’ll report the result. “Think where man’s glory both begins and ends,” wrote Yeats, “and say my glory was I had such friends.”