My Mailman Wears Earphones

May 4, 2010 · Filed under Relationships, Voluntary Simplicity · Tagged Relationships, Voluntary Simplicity

A few days ago, I happened to open the front door just as my mailman was approaching. I smiled and said hello, but he didn’t respond. That’s when I realized he was wearing earphones. I was in one world, and he was in another, even though we were occupying the same physical space.

When I was a little girl, my mailman didn’t wear earphones. He was Mr. Novak, and he had gone to school with my mother. He knew my aunts and uncles, and he knew me. If I happened to be walking home from school when he was delivering mail on our street, he would call to me, “You walk like your mother.” (I do.)

I don’t expect my mailman today to know that my daughter walks like me (she does), but I must admit, I do expect him to be in the same world I’m in. I guess that’s expecting a lot, considering how high tech some people’s worlds have become. But I want social exchange with the people who cross my path, and my mailman crosses my path regardless of wind, or rain, or hail . . . you know what I mean.

James Collins knows what I mean. He wrote a recent New York Times article about doormen, in which he said, “they provide an extra layer of face-to-face social connection that is not strictly ‘necessary,’ but is tremendously gratifying nonetheless.” That’s what I want from my mailman. Do I need the mailman to say hello to me? No, but a hello is a good thing. It’s a little extra insurance against depersonalization, and I want all the insurance I can get.