Message in a Bottle

Although I haven't lived in the San Francisco Bay Area for nearly a decade, the San Francisco Chronicle is still my daily paper.  It's smart and literary and cares equally about the news and about contemporary culture.  They've spawned several generations of daily columnists, most prominent among them Herb Caen, Art Hoppe, Leah Garchick and Jon Carroll.  Carroll is one of my favorite writers, and I turn to his work every morning.  He's closing in on his 30th anniversary with the paper (he started in 1983), which means that excluding vacations and sick days and so on, he's written something like six thousand essays.

In an interview once, he said something that I've found enormously valuable for my own life as a writer.  "By definition, one of my columns is going to be the worst column of the week."  That's pretty liberating, being freed from believing that every single thing you write has to be better than anything that's come before.


His most common structure is to write about something he saw or attended or read or noticed, and then to shift to a larger lesson that the specific illustrates.  Which is what he did yesterday.  He began by ostensibly writing about OnStar, the GM-based roadside assistance program that allows you to push a button on the rear-view window and be connected to a call center that can bring you a tow truck or an ambulance.  But it soon became evident that the real topic for the day was loneliness, and the reassurance that comes from being able to talk with someone, even a stranger, when you have no one else to talk with.

I read the essay to Nora, and we both just sat for a minute when we finished.  "That's why we check our e-mail ten times a day," she said.  "It's not just because some news or some work stuff might have come in.  It's really about 'Maybe somebody wrote me a letter...'"

This blog is a form of OnStar.  We write a little story, and we push the little button that sends it out into the world like a message in a bottle.  We trust that it's seen; in fact, we have empirical evidence that it's been seen about six thousand times, by people around the world.  And we hear back on a regular basis from about five or six people, people who let us know  that the messages are received.  You're our OnStar call center. 

Too many people are alone, with no one to reach out to.  Even people who ostensibly are surrounded by co-workers and friends, but who don't have someone to whom they can tell their secrets, with whom they can be silly, or afraid, or joyful.  Or just read a newspaper to.  That's the great joy of being with Nora; she knows me in all of my manifestations.  While planning the wedding, we often remarked that one of our strengths was that at least one of us at a time was sane.  Never the same one of us from one day to the next... but when one of us struggled, the other reassured.  That's continued since the wedding as well.  We talk ourselves into strength.

Just a castaway
An island lost at sea
Another lonely day
With no one here but me
More loneliness
Than any man could bear
Rescue me before I fall into despair

I'll send an SOS to the world
I'll send an SOS to the world
I hope that someone gets my
Message in a bottle

A year has passed since I wrote my note
But I should have known this right from the start
Only hope can keep me together
Love can mend your life
But love can break your heart

I'll send an SOS to the world
I'll send an SOS to the world
I hope that someone gets my
Message in a bottle

Walked out this morning
Don't believe what I saw
A hundred billion bottles
Washed up on the shore
Seems I'm not alone at being alone
A hundred billion castaways
Looking for a home

I'll send an SOS to the world
I'll send an SOS to the world
I hope that someone gets my
Message in a bottle

Sending out an SOS 

The Police, Message in a Bottle, 1979