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Love Thy List

I found out this week, by chance, that my longtime veterinarian sold his practice and is moving out of town. Without even so much as a farewell form letter, he is simply closing up shop and disappearing into the Oregon fog. With a business of my own, built on decades of investment in good relationships, this news astounded me. I imagined pet owners all over Portland getting that “he’s just not that into you” slap in the face when they called to make an appointment with their trusted veterinarian and were told that he has moved on without bothering to mention it.

This veterinary saga brings me to my latest technology saga: my database. I’ve been self-employed for eighteen years, and in all that time, I have been faithfully entering the names and contact info of my friends, family, clients, colleagues, literary community members, media lists, and folks who specifically sign up to hear from me. I started sending holiday cards to all five hundred. Then, as the list grew over time, I sent valentines to all one thousand—then two thousand. And, of course, I send handwritten notes whenever possible, because they are my favorite way to connect.

One summer during my college years, I temped as a receptionist for an organization that provided in-home nurse aides. I had two people on hold: an elder person with incontinence issues who wanted to talk to a nurse, and a contractor who was renovating the home of one of the employees in the office. Somehow, those two hold lines mistakenly merged, and the contractor ended up fielding the incontinence call, much to his dismay.

I discovered recently that something similar had happened to my database. A streamlined list of about three thousand names somehow started leaping their fences and mingling with information from other entries, replicating whatever struck their fancy, to the tune of sixteen thousand spontaneously generated and mangled records. I saw it as a database cancer of sorts.

I spent many days cleaning up the mess, and it was quite frustrating. But as with all mistakes and mishaps, a very interesting gift surfaced: a journey of gratitude through my past. As I sorted through thousands of names and parsed the meaningful from the nonsense, I savored the rare opportunity to reacquaint myself with people from my past—people I like very much but haven’t thought of for years. Just seeing how many humans have touched my life enough for me to add them to the database made me feel connected in ways that I don’t often experience when I’m alone in my house, at my desk, with cats in my lap and the occasional conference call to connect me to the outside world.

And then, something even stranger than database-record mating started happening. A good friend and colleague from three cities ago called from his latest city to offer me a job. Another three friend-colleagues whom I hadn’t seen or spoken to in nearly a decade sent letters of introduction to potential new clients. I was invited to read as part of a poetry series. One of my best friends from college—with whom I’d last spoke in 1996—called to catch up. Work was pouring in, and friends were showing up to walk my dogs, feed me, or play with Theo.

Just engaging with and appreciating my list literally seemed to magnetize me to what I wanted and needed most.

Which brings me back to my shock and confusion about the veterinarian. He had this incredible list of people who depended on him, who adored him, and he didn’t complete the circuit to say, Goodbye or Thank you, or I’m sorry your dog will die of that disease, but I do hope the medication makes him comfortable. He didn’t love his list. And I imagine that is now costing him a foundation he spent his entire career building.

I believe every writer needs to honor, cherish, and tend his or her list of friends, colleagues, teachers, publishers, family, media, readers, students, and more.

The writing life is solitary in some ways, but like any endeavor that involves other people—colleagues, readers, publishers, editors—a significant source of potential happiness or unhappiness lies in the relationships you cultivate. Keep in touch with these people who matter to you. Make it clear that you value their interests, friendship, expertise, or whatever else. But even more important than telling them what you appreciate, tell yourself what you appreciate about the community you are cultivating as you hold those names and faces in your mind.

When you love your list, it will love you back. Try it, and you’ll see what I mean.