e-bravery

At orientation tonight for my newest part-time job, the boss had us copy down her email address in case we needed to contact her. She said to give a max 3 day stretch before we should expect a reply. She then went on to caution us about the syntax of our pieces. I’ve had some pretty crude resignations, she said. “Email makes us brave.” So read over what you’re saying a couple times before you send it, she advised.

After replicating my address five times, wishing at least one form might have something like “Favorite Zoo Animal” or “Target Weight” slyly placed somewhere between “Street” and “Zip,” I thought about my own emails. Email does make me feel braver. I feel bolder, more out“spoken” when I have the computer to mediate my communication. When I can draft and edit my thoughts, I feel more confident expressing and transmitting them.

I don’t think emails necessarily make me brave, but they stand as this unguarded venue where I’m allowed to go wild on stage. I’m in control; no one else is helping guide the flow of conversation. I feel empowered, more courageous, because there isn’t a gigantic audience gawking at me. There aren’t concert goers, band members, stage crew I have to engage. I can craft who I am, how I sound, how I appear without any immediate reactions or contentions from others (even though they probably will come later, and I know that).

I went to see Sex and the City today at Tinseltown. I laughed, I cried, I admit I enjoyed most all of my 135 minutes in the theater, ok? At the end of the film, Carrie Bradshaw decides to peruse a file that saved all of Mr. Big’s emails she hadn’t opened (Mr. Big left her at the church on their wedding day, and they hadn’t spoken since). The file was jam-packed, each email titled “Love Letter,” the final tagged “from me.” He copied and sent several famous love letters and ended with a pretty simple but pretty brave testimony: I know I screwed up, but I will love you forever. Naturally, Bradshaw proceeds to whimper and acknowledge the mistake she’s making—this all because of a single-sentenced email Big composed.

Now, I’m hardly saying emails are the stuff love’s made of. But, they can be powerful channels when it comes to saying more than we could dream of face to face. Whether I’m angry, confused, upset, or head over Bradshaw’s Manolo Blahnik heels, writing itself serves a very curious, empowering purpose for us all. I can be more daring, or animated, or sappy, or callous, or deceitful, or straightforward in writing. I can feel brave because it’s my monologue I’m getting someone else to read. Even if I ask questions in my letter, it isn’t a discussion. My questions contribute to the overall flow of the piece, just like the rest of my sentences.

My grandma and mom have the most animated persona in cards and emails. They underline, insert countless exclamation points, and use vocabulary they rarely use in person. It’s like they have alter personalities. But I think it’s easier for them to express their excitement and love through writing. Yes, these things are part of their personality, it’s just they show themselves more frequently and vividly in my inbox than in person.

I think email makes us feel brave because the venue sanctions us to run wild, break out of our shells a bit, and push our own conventions. Sometimes my performance is received well; other times, it’s not. But because my audience doesn’t respond right away, I'm confident enough to continue my routine until I decide to end it. Because people aren’t watching, reading, simultaneously as I type, I am gutsier, more secure with how I want to (re)present myself.

Email makes us brave. Writing makes us brave. Whether this is a good thing or bad, it is no doubt something empowering, scary, insightful, something packed with intrigue. It’s something worth contemplating, experimenting with, and understanding. But first and more than anything I think, it’s something about us worth appreciating.