I know you by names like cuethelaugh or lilymoon27. I know you each by the cadence of your sentences rather than the sound of your voice and I recognize your favorite interjections rather than your face. I may not know the shape of your smile, but I’ve learned to love the breadth of your mind.
Without ever being in the same room, we formed friendships that expanded my perspectives and supported me through bad days.
There’s something to be said for a friend I can’t see, can’t judge based on physical appearance or sound. We don’t make light chit-chat simply because we happen to be in the same place at the same time; we don’t wave or smile out of obligation as we pass. Instead, we make intentional conversation, ask hard questions, and give honest answers.
I know you in a way I don’t know many people in real life because in real life I can talk about the weather. Online, the trouble of clicking your name and typing a message forces me to say something worth saying—and to listen when you answer.
You told me about the week of hell when you had that mix up with your meds and I told you about my grief as my grandmother’s memory slipped away. We’ve mourned each other’s pets and celebrated each other’s successes. We’ve reminded each other to take time for self-care when disorders hit or life overwhelmed.
I devote attention to you in a way I seldom do to people in real life.
The sensory isolation of the screen forces me to focus on your words. There’s nobody passing by to distract me, no quirks of your voice, no chance for me to fill your silence between sentences with my own words. I see your thoughts in a coherent block, start to finish, complete with parentheticals and all-caps emphases when you get indignant or excited and I have to stop, consider and absorb your meaning before I can answer. There’s no chance to springboard off your thoughts. Through the focus of that blinking cursor on my screen, I learn to listen, to make you a priority, to read for your meaning and recognize your words as valuable.
Across time zones and countries, cultures and beliefs, you’ve taught me the value of different perspectives. You’ve shown me your passions for fields of study I’ve never considered. You’ve amazed me with your detailed knowledge of historical events, your agile analysis of sociocultural phenomena, your extensive experience with art forms I’ve never seen. You’ve humbled me, showing me how little I know. You’ve inspired me to learn and reminded me to ask questions—but you’ve also shown me how much I do know.
Your passions encourage me to pursue my own. Your excitement kindles mine.
You’ve shown me a diversity I don’t see around me in the physical world. I see more clearly than I ever would have just how different we all are, how unique, how beautiful each in our own ways. Perhaps most importantly, your friendship has taught me that no matter how different we are, we have more in common than we know—that no matter our differences, we can build relationships with the things we share.
