There is a place where faded memories and forgotten people live forever. In this episode, we examine an ancient text called: The Address Book.
Art by Pete Whitehead
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Story performed by: Aaron Calafato
Audio Production: Ken Wendt
Original Art: Pete Whitehead
Additional Vocals: Cori Birce
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We're not just saying that. Aaron, can you tell everyone a little bit about what you've been doing on Fishbowl?
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And I may or may not jump in and occasionally interrupt him and try and redirect him. And it's really fun and probably a little annoying for him. But I also have been using Fishbowl for career questions that I have that I would maybe be a little embarrassed to ask if people knew who I was.
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This episode, The Address Book.
The summer after my freshman year of college, I took an internship in Washington, D.C. My uncle worked for a company, and I had an opportunity to have a really cool gig. It was an office job, and I got to meet some really cool people that summer. But more than that, that summer was really about coming into adulthood because I had my own car. I was driving around a city that I was unfamiliar with. I had to learn my way around. I was driving back and forth to work, and even at the time, I was like 18 or 19 in a place like Washington, D.C., and I thought to myself, "I can't believe I'm doing this. Six years earlier, I was watching Ninja Turtles, and now I'm commuting to work in an office and getting paid money to do it." It was surreal, but it was so important for me.
I felt that that summer, something shifted in my life. And I remember loving the office that I worked in and the people that were there. And there were so many awesome people on our floor. And I remember just going to office to office, and I was like a social butterfly talking to everybody. And we would have lunch with each other. I would have deep conversations with people. We would do stuff after work. We'd go to the bar happy hour. And it was this really cool community. I had never experienced anything like it.
And as the summer drew to a close, I remember kind of getting worried because I thought, "Man, I have all these new friends and a few in particular that I was really close to. And I want to make sure that I stay in touch with them, that we stay connected because these relationships are valuable to me." And I went to the store, Staples, some place, and I got this address book. And I went around to everybody the last day of work and I got everybody's cell phone number and their email address. And it was like two or three pages worth of people. And I was really excited because I thought, I'm going to have this address book, and this way my intention is I'm going to stay in touch with everybody and continue what we started here.
I go back to school, sophomore year of college starts, new relationships emerge, new commitments. I emailed a few people back in Washington, D.C., then I called them. And as the weeks went on, it was less and less people. It was one email a week. I was like, "Should I text this person?" And eventually, eventually, I wasn't contacting anybody. And all that was left was this address book. And I put it in the drawer and for years it just went with me to house to house when I left college and moved. And I still have this address book.
I opened the address book just a couple of days ago and I felt sad and frustrated because I'm looking through all these names, turning the pages. And besides one person that I infrequently stay in touch with on social media, I had a hard time placing some of these people's faces. And I have a photographic memory, which is weird because I tell these stories. I have very clear images that I share with people every week on this podcast. But for some reason, a lot of time had passed. They weren't actively part of my life. And the memory and the things that were important in that summer and the relationships that I had, I remembered the feeling of those things, I just couldn't remember the details of these people, and it was just fading over time.
And some of the people in the address book, I literally didn't know who they were. I didn't know who they were. How did they get there? And I thought to myself, how the hell does that happen? And, you know, it makes me very aware of this complicated relationship I have, and I'm sure many of you have, with time. What if a day wasn't 24 hours? What if a day was a year? I really wish that sometimes because if that were the case, I could fit so much into a day. All the things that I want to do, all the relationships I want to keep, all the commitments I want to keep, all the people I want to be in touch with, all the deep conversations I wish I could continue to have, and all these different things that you want to do, your intention is to do, to expand your horizons and know people and experience things. But you are limited because you're just one person.
And in real life, there is only 24 hours in a day. And as life goes on, responsibilities add up and your time becomes less and less and less. And you have to then sacrifice and make decisions for where you're going to place that time even if you wish. In a different universe, you didn't always have to make that sacrifice if you wanted your cake and you wanted to eat it too. I just wish even for a year that were possible, and what that would be like. It's hard for me to square that that's not possible. Man.
I remember years ago, I met this guy on a park bench in New York City. He was from Italy, his daughter was touring colleges, and he had all this time to kill. And so did I. And he and I had one of the best conversations I've ever had with anybody in my life. Never met the guy before. First time. We went deep, we talked about all kinds of stuff, and I thought, "This is an awesome dude. I wish I could have him meet my family or I could go to Italy." This would just be a guy you'd want to stay in touch with, you know? And I knew, even if that was my intention or his intention, I knew at the end of the conversation that this was going to be the last time I ever spoke to this guy.
And we have these things happen to us in life all the time. And for me, there's just something bittersweet about that. And I kind of press up against it and I wish I could change it. And I think that if I could change it, it would be great to have all this expansive time and do all the things you want to do. There would be value in that. But I've been trying to look at things differently, and I'm looking at this address book that's been sitting in multiple drawers for years, and I'm thinking, "How can I change the way that I look at this and try to find the positive in this?"
And I thought to myself, you know, maybe it's limitation itself that creates the value. Maybe it's the fact that you only have what you have and the time that you have, that the limitation that you have itself makes all these experiences as short as they are extremely valuable if you choose to value them. And I do value them, but maybe I can actively value them more when I'm in it instead of thinking about I want more and more and more after this. What about what's happening right now?
I put the address book away and I didn't feel as sad anymore because I remembered that amazing summer in Washington, D.C., the incredible friends that I made. And they must have been important, because I put all of their names and numbers in an address book.
Seven Minute Stories is created and performed by Aaron Calafato. Audio production by Ken Wendt. You can connect with Ken or inquire about his audio production services at media216.com. Original artwork by Pete Whitehead. Find out more about Pete's work at petewhitehead.com. Special thanks to our partners at Evergreen Podcasts. And lastly, I'm Cori Birce. Make sure and tune in next week for another story.
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