Carrie Link

BOOK OF SHAME

I just bought a new address book. My last one is at least ten years old, ratty, and I have grown to hate the cover. The new one is bright and cheery, ready for anything. As I carefully choose which names will go into the new one, and which will be burned with the old, I am shocked my the emotions this process is stirring. Why do I feel so much shame as I read through the list? I have not done these people wrong, but how many of them truly need to be kept on record? How many do I really want to ever see or hear from again? What would be the point?

At Christmas time I thought about all the cards and letters we received. Over 150 people cared enough about us to send their greetings. I didn't learn a thing. It did not help me to connect to any of them. I was not brought along in their life journeys through their newsy reports. I joked with my friends that the reason we don't write a letter is that nobody would want to read it, it would be too depressing. The lesson I learned from all of this was that the people that really cared about our lives, knew all about our lives, and the ones that didn't, didn't. No judgment, I didn't know about many of their lives, nor care, either. There are just so many people with whom you can have intimate dealings.

So, as I pare down the address book, dramatically, I think to myself, "This book now accurately shows a list of those we love, and those that love us." I'm lucky there is enough to call a "book". There's no shame in that.