The most valuable lessons in life sometimes cost the most

I’ve recently learned the power words have.

This probably comes as a surprise to many of you. “Only recently? Like, aren’t you a writer?”

Like, yeah. And some days, I’ve even a smart writer.

But some days, I can be pretty dumb.

Over the course of writing this book, I’ve developed some incredible relationships. I’d dare call them friendships. Relationships mean the most to me. Through relationships, you learn about life, about the world, about other cultures, about other beliefs, about other perspectives. And perhaps more profound of all the lessons relationships teach us are the ones we learn about ourselves.

Earlier this week, I sort of wrecked one of those relationships.

It was really quite an innocent misunderstanding. I posted a comment on one of my new friends’ blogs. There’s no need to name names or go into specifics, because I’m just writing this to explore a lesson difficultly learned. This comment wasn’t the nicest of comments. It also wasn’t as mean as my friend took it. In it, I asked him said something that in my mind was a question. Only, I framed more like a statement, a statement that, when read the wrong way, came off as a harsh accusation. More tragically still, this accusation was about something I already knew my friend was sensitive about.

I followed it up with a compliment about his work, and how he was just doing his job, and how he does his job quite well. And then, without re-reading or even thinking to edit the comment, the Tweedle-Dee in me hit “Post Comment” and away I went, off to some other Internet place.

Not too long later, my soon-to-be-ex-friend emailed me. The word “ludicrous” was involved. It was quick email, but it cut and hurt, like the deadliest of daggers. I’ve felt it in my stomach ever since. In short, we were no longer friends. He told me not even to email back.

I have a relatively strict policy in my office regarding the Internet. I’ve long abstained from, with rare exception, posting around the Internet. For a long time, I wrote stupid things online. I posted stupid blogs. Not to say that my blogging now is something of genius, but I’m at least trying to be smarter.

There is simply too much room for misinterpretation, too much at risk. I always sensed that. Now I know it. I violated that policy with my friend. And it cost me the friendship.

It’s been an exciting, wild week. The book is officially on its way to print. We have a release date much earlier than I originally thought. I’ve picked up some great freelance assignments. I am happy.

But the dagger wounds are still there, still in my gut. Of course, I emailed my friend back. And I Facebook messaged him. And I posted another nice comment on his blog, explaining the previous one.

Now, a couple days later, I haven’t heard back, and my nice comment has since disappeared. The wounds will heal, and I’ll forever remember what happened. I’ll forever remember how a few seconds of typing and one click wiped out a year of him helping me and me defending him when other loonies went nuts on him on his blog.

Just a few sentences. Just one click. And now it’s all over.

The wounds will heal. We’ll both move on, and before long, I’ll be fine. I’m still happy.

I know that this was a valuable lesson to be learned. We writers should feel the full weight our words carry. I didn’t get it until now.

I just wish it didn’t cost so much. 

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