I spent the weekend travelling across the country, leaving the negotium of North Carolina for a weekend of otium by the bay. No, I did not find myself sipping vino a Napoli, but the San Francisco bay is a close second (actually, it was Mimosas in Dolores Park). I may have been physically in California, but in a more abstract sense, I was in a different state: I spent the weekend nestled in the old blanket of friendship—for, isn’t that what friendship is, a familiar cloth tattered and worn from all the memories, but nevertheless comforting and strangely fresh?
I set out to write a piece on travel, specifically how travel would have been and would have been conceived of differently in the ancient world. This seemed apropos on the plane ride over, but reflecting back on the weekend the traveling seems much more a means to an end, not the focus of my energies. But, of course, itineraries are general outlines, not strict guidelines, so let’s wander for a bit.
I crossed the country to see my old friends and brothers, Lenny and Owen, for a weekend of festivities accompanying the Bay to Breakers marathon. For the sake of probity and posterity, I’ll leave the Bacchanalian parts of the weekend out, but I can’t say enough how great it was to have even a few days with old friends. I have kept up with both of them, more or less. I’ve seen them both multiple times since graduation and try to drop them both lines—but truly, nothing compares to an extended amount of time in their physical presence. And for Owen, as he lives in San Fran, I was able to see him in situ, so to speak, that is, in his new environment. I met his friends, observed his new stomping grounds—in some ways, I got to see old, anew. So this was a journey or a pilgrimage with old friends—Cicero hopping to the provinces just saying “Salve!”
My time among old friends forced me to contemplate the other long-term, long-distance relationships in my life. It also made think of how they’d have been maintained in the age of Alexander or Augustine. In some ways, imagining an epistolary relationship is easy for moderns and in others, it’s mind-boggling. Let me explain: I, like many net-savvy Facebookers and Googlers, regularly communicate with friends, or even strangers, through online and digital media. This morning, I received a skype phone call from my friend in London, while I chatted away on Facebook to another compatriot slumming it in the UK. They both reside in London for the moment and probably have less than ten physical miles between them, but they don’t know each other—probably never will. (Now, of course, they have loads in common; they both attended school in North Carolina, both live in London and both have had the luxury/duty of accompanying me as a formal date. Perhaps a digital introduction is warranted?) Needless to say, like our ancient counterparts (well the literate, at least), we our forced to maintain friendships (even make them) through letters. IM’s, e-mails and Gchats differ from epistolary relationships, in that there is immediate responsiveness. With video chats, there is even more responsiveness. You see the lines of your friend’s face curl around as they smile at your joke or they stare blankly on—wit lost to cyberland. No months waiting for news on vellum or paper! No lingering questions burning in anticipation. What did you mean? I don’t understand. PFFF! Instant answer. Gone is the painstaking writing, checking every detail, every line to convey perfectly your points, as it might take months to hear back. Moreover, there is no more zeal for interrogating each line of a friend’s crafted response, studying and memorizing the precious jewels of sentiment.
Perhaps it was never this romantic. Augustine, things are well—Alypius. Or maybe it was not so meaningful. Marc Antony, way too drunk last night, killed several Gauls, miss you, buddy—C. I. Caesar. Many surely knew their letters might be published. But I can’t help but feel that in this age of digital expediency, we speak more often, but less deeply
