“One out of a hundred times it’s interesting.”
The above quote is from the play “Our Town”, by Thornton Wilder. Referring to the little dramas and tragedies we all play out in our everyday lives. The script that we make up ad hoc, for an audience we can’t see, and never seems to interact in our little play, is rarely unique, and almost never intrigues anyone but us and those in our immediate surroundings.
So, I have to ask, will anyone want to read the script of my life when I’m gone? Will I do anything to change this world, and cause my life to be written, studied, rewritten, praised or abhorred?
So, in the absence of universal historical significance, we expand our relational reach to everyone we feel we can trust or open up to. We call out, no, cry out, to those that will listen, opening ourselves, even just a little, to make an impact, to cause a remembrance, an impact, in someone’s… no, anyone’s life.
“CQ, CQ, CQ, this is KD5IJW, Kilo Delta Five India Juliet Whisky, calling CQ.”*
To be remembered? To be loved? Why do we call out? Why do we… twine together?
Whatever the reason, we are desperate for the social warmth of shared laughter, the support and caring of an offered crying shoulder, the knowing smile that crosses our face as we lean on each other, as equals, as friends, as mutual support.
These are true friends, the ones that we seek so diligently, searching as though it were our mission in life, that this were the only reason we even wake up in the mornings.
“CQ, CQ, CQ, this is KD5IJW, Kilo Delta Five India Juliet Whisky, calling CQ, monitoring the frequency.”
So we call out. Many of us do it surreptitiously, finding those that, to the best of our intuitions, will not shrug off our call, our request, our plea for friendship, for companionship, for togetherness. Some of us have resorted to practically screaming the call, broadcasting to all those in our vicinity, almost downright begging to be part of a greater community, if not to lead that community. Many are content to stand at the edges, while others must be in the center, the focus of all the emotion and power that this group exudes.
“CQ, CQ, CQ, this is KD5IJW calling CQ, monitoring the frequency.”
And still, despite all of this, nothing changes. Our communities will, eventually, disolve, and new communities will form out of the ashes. It’s a slow, hideous process, watching a group of friends fall to fragments, splintered and broken, until a stronger, or perhaps, just new community arises.
So, we call out, the only way we know how. We cry, we shriek to anyone who will hear, to join us, to become a greater group, to become… Us.
And, more often then not, our call goes unheeded. Our imploration for those that will join us in this walk of life goes unanswered, our cries greeted by the sullen sound of static. And yet, we continue to call.
“CQ, No contact, KD5IJW clear the frequency”
For all those who call, and get little more than dead air… For all those who are desperately looking for someone to cling to…
Cling to me. I’m always here. And I’m always calling.
* - A standard call in Amateur Radio. The “CQ” is a general call to the entire frequency, indicating that the sender is willing to communicate with anyone. “KD5IJW”, or “Kilo Delta Five India Juliet Whisky” is my Amateur Radio Callsign.
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