August 30, 2011--I want to hear your story, I really do, but...

So, today my company sent out a mass e-mail asking each of us to complete a twelve-question survey that basically boils down our level of job satisfaction. It's one of those "on a scale of one to five, with five being that you strongly agree" kind of deals.

It's true, the last year has been way less than "five" for me. As the day of this e-mail was approaching, I debated what I would do or say. There was great disappointment in the "turn out" for this survey last year, and so the build up has been pretty intense, including daily "coaching" e-mails to make sure each of us understands each of the twelve questions. I've actually had to endure training seminars on communication, and having it acknowledged that sometimes we just really need to be able to vent to our "Q10." (In case you're not aware of who your Q10 is, it's your best friend.)

It's a little bit like the "Twelve Days of Christmas" without the pleasure of singing the long drawn out "five golden rings."

I think I made my decision when I hit the delete button this afternoon. As I went on through the rest of my day, I still thought about it a little. Did I do the right thing? Should I have "engaged?"

Sometimes people ask us to tell our stories just to be polite. They don't want to seem uncaring or disconnected. Last night, I attended a dinner thanking a group of us from my company who assisted our veterinary hospital in Joplin, Missouri following the tornado. Very important people from our main office came along to meet and thank us. Among those attending was the owner of the hospital who received our help. He was asked to share with all of us what it was like to be involved in the crisis.

Everyone likes a good story, right?

Well, he proceeded to tell every detail of what happened, from the mundane and irrelevant to the pertinent--or at least what I felt was pertinent. As I sat there hearing his tale, I kept silently thinking "When is he going to talk about the hospital?" It took him a while to get there, but he did finally circle round to the part to which we could all relate and in which we were most interested.

I found myself feeling a little bad about the fact that I only half-listened to him talking about people and situations I didn't really know or relate to. After all, it was his story to tell, not mine.

Nobody else volunteered to say anything about their experiences. I'd intended, if asked, to remind everyone that the people and pets of Joplin still need help, and that we shouldn't lose sight of the enormity of the disaster just because it's now three months down the road. I think I didn't volunteer because part of me felt like just as I hadn't cared about all of the details of the veterinarian's story, it was likely that nobody would care about what I had to say either.

It's a horrible feeling when you have a story to tell and no one seems to want to hear it. As someone who wants someday to make it as a writer, nothing really matters more to me than being heard or being read. When people hear that you are writing a book or that you have written a book, they often say they can't wait to read it and they will be only too happy to give you feedback. They're often just being polite.

Sending out a mass e-mail to thousands of employees sounds like a nice thing to do too. After all, don't we all want to be heard? Don't we all dream of the opportunity to tell the people we work for what we really think? The problem I have is that assigning my feelings and thoughts a numerical value just doesn't work. They want to hear my "story," but only on their terms. I don't think the number two adequately conveys my opinion about anything. And, yes, I realize that perhaps it's a little arrogant of me to think that anyone should want me to wax philosophical about the disappointments I have about my career, but I also think it's arrogant to ask me how I feel without giving me a format in which I can adequately express it.

In the Druidic tradition, bards were well respected. Their charge was to guard and transmit the oral history of Druidic belief and tradition. As our technology becomes more and more advanced and aimed at less information in more portable formats, I think we are losing an important part of the soul of humanity. In the Druidic tradition, the bard would share stories and songs with a gathering of his people. A connection was needed in order to ensure that these stories and songs would live on in generations to come.

When I was approaching the final semester of my mass communications degree, whispers about "the internet" could be heard swirling around the newsroom of the paper I interned for over the summer. I didn't know what it was, but as people started to say that someday there would be no newspaper to hold, I, like Joan of Arc, declared my undying loyalty to the hard copy. To this day, I can't bring myself to read a newspaper online. I need to feel my news in my hands. As Kindles and Nooks are becoming all the rage, I know that they afford me the ability to carry a library with me anywhere I go. I love that portability, and the fact that if I decide to read something and it turns out to be really horrible, it won't be taking up space on my already over-crammed bookshelves. But when I reach for "The Complete Poems and Tales of Edgar Allan Poe," I want to feel the hard cover and binding as I flip through the pages to find "A Dream Within a Dream." Like the cord that attaches to my Kindle to charge it, I know that given the choice of reading the "Twilight" saga in its original form, or by push button, I still want to curl up and connect with the real books.

The fast pace of today's society allows us to stay constantly "connected" wherever we are. We can "connect" with our friends via social networking. We can text in order to stay "connected" to our loved ones as we travel.

We can download movies, concerts, music and books anywhere we go. We can fast forward through commercials, skip songs on the album we don't like and scroll through to the "good part" of the book. We can hear the "story" we want to hear, not necessarily the one the story teller told. When we do that, aren't we really making the story our own? Aren't we really saying, I know I asked to hear your story, but can you get to the part I wanted to hear and skip all the rest?

Thanks to technology, we have the potential and ability to really connect. But what is the price of all of this "connection?"

Can you wait a sec, I've got to update my status?"

http://youtu.be/uibMMmcr3rc

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