The Power of a Heart
The power of a heart.
In a world filled with violence and unspeakable cruelty, human connection is essential. We find it in different ways and different places. As is inevitable, retirement and the physical limitations imposed by aging and mountain bike calamity shrink the terrain of physical community.
Nine years ago that community was a bubbling cauldron of spirited children and their only slightly less boisterous teachers. And while the contact was less intimate, my wife and I experienced New York City as fully as time and appetite allowed. That appetite diminished over time, as all appetites do, but we never lacked for human stimulation.
Now our immediate community is each other, augmented by son, daughter and two nearby grandchildren. The emotional pond we inhabit has less width, but more depth.
Our non-family besties are the baristas at the Fox Dog - local coffee shop - and the drive thru window person at Starbucks, which we would boycott but for the aforementioned grandchildren. We see neighbors, of course, and even chat from time to time, but gracefully sidestep any more comprehensive overtures.
But I come to praise the heart, not to bury the lede.
Much scorn is rightfully heaped on social media and its convenient partner, texting. Much nonsense fills my daily Facebook feed, and misinformation may spell the end of our democratic experiment. Text messages are convenient, but increasingly commercial or political.
But as our physical emotional environs have narrowed, technology has opened another world.
Only through technology have I reconnected with deeply meaningful people and experiences from many years ago. Examples abound.
I have not seen my Army friend Will Vance for well over 50 years. I found him in Peoria, Illinois through a 10-minute Google search. We now text occasionally, sharing a few personal stories and mutual despair over the state of the world. Every brief contact summons vivid memories of our cross-country hitchhike in December,1966.
Through Facebook I maintain contact with hundreds of students to whom I handed diplomas over my 19 years as head of the Calhoun School. I get glimpses of the antics of their children and the lives they’ve chosen. My earliest student friends are now more than 40 years old! When they or I append a heart or “care” emoji to a photo or comment, it carries meaning and memories of the years of our life intersection. I can’t know what these exchanges mean to them, but each one of these seemingly trivial gestures feels like an affectionate human touch.
Routine text messages with family members organize our days and a tapped emoji or two carries a sense of mood and, usually, assurance that all is well - enough. They carry reminders of drop-offs, pick-ups, late arrivals and unexpected changes, usually with a heart attached - not as a casual throwaway, but as a form of intimacy.
My daily mountain bike rides are a source of worry (and generosity) for my wife who, not that long ago, suffered the arrival of policemen at the door when I had been helicoptered to a trauma center, near death with multiple neck breaks. Now I pause mid-ride and send hearts and a-ok emojis as partial comfort. I expect a similar response. If, for whatever reason, the airborne gestures are not transmitted, a slight sense of urgency attends the ride home. Silly, perhaps, but ’tis life in our 70’s.
I could do quite well without ever again attending a Zoom meeting or watching a grainy video feed of a town council meeting. But that same technology brings our Vancouver, B.C. law school student granddaughter into our family room via FaceTime every now and again. I’m sure the arrival of an envelope was similarly anticipated in a bygone era. But we get to see her beautiful face and usually “enjoy” part of her daily routine as she eats, moves about her apartment and generally multitasks her way through our chat. Hey, we take what we can get - with gratitude.
I’ve adopted a habit of sending a bright red heart in a text box for each of my two younger grandchildren every night at bedtime. (Mine, not theirs. I am long into core sleep before they stop vibrating.) No text, which allows the heart to swell and fill the space.
They sometimes respond - he with a similar emoji, she with a lower case “I love you.”
Recently I asked Jack if he knew why I did so. He said with overtones of duh, “Because you love me.” I said, “Yes, of course, but more than that. Every night I want you to remember that whatever happened during your day, good and bad, you’ll know that I always love you.” Corny, I suppose.
He just nodded with a slight, silent smile.
The power of a heart.