I have an old-fashioned sense of honor. I believe that what is sent between two people in personal email correspondence is private, not to be shown to another without express permission. I appreciate the irony of a certain diarist threatening another diarist with a lawsuit for defamation of character because diarist number one has never hesitated to publish private email in public forums without permission. It appears that morals are in short supply these days. It's so easy to rationalize breaking rules, isn't it? One can always find a reason to claim circumstances justify rude, unconscionable behavior.
Not being perfect myself, I do cling to certain standards of behavior in order to sleep well at night. One rule I cleave to is not publishing private email in public forums. A second is not blind copying people, ever. Use of bcc is cowardly and sneaky. A third rule involving email is to simply trash, unread, email from people I've declined to correspond with. Anyone who would engage in behaviors one or two is not someone I either trust or respect, and that person goes on the list of people whose mail is deleted sight unseen. I don't change my mind, either. Once a sneak and a coward, always untrustworthy. Gothic of me, isn't it?
I wasn't always so nice in my perceptions. I used to excuse all kinds of behavior in friends . . . up to a point. Anyone who thought lying, cheating, stealing, and betrayal could be acceptable always lost my friendship. Fudging a bit, taking advantage of situations, any of the fuzzy stuff I was inclined to overlook by assuming the best. I'm idealistic and optimistic; I'm a good person, why wouldn't everyone else be? Part of growing up is learning when to apply cynicism, so I learned. But overall, I'm still prone to hoping for the best until the worst is proven true. Sadly, some people have never learned that just because you can do something and get away with it doesn't mean it's a good idea.
Many years ago, a friend was describing how she viewed various mutual friends' minds as if they were places. Person X, she said, was like a baroque carving: all flourishes and capitals and intricate details. It looked substantive, but in the end there was nothing but the details. The heart of it had been carved away. Tell me what I'm like, I begged her, delighted with her assessment. She thought about it for a while. Finally, she said she thought my mind was like a funhouse. You wander around in it, having a great time, laughing at the various displays, until suddenly you take a wrong turn or a misstep. A trap door opens up and whoosh! You're gone, never to return. Ride over. Some people, she said, never even notice they've taken a wrong turn. Others never take a step wrong, and don't notice the absence of the few who fell. I was very impressed. I think she's right, in many ways. I don't like confrontation. I don't see any reason to tell off everyone whom I find unworthy of my friendship. I just slip away, letting them carry on with their own lives. If pressed, I do tell them what went wrong or clarify that they're history. But I do that rarely. It's not my business if they have different goals and ethics than I do. I simply don't want to be around them.
In other words, I respect their privacy. Please respect mine.
