How do you mourn the loss of an Internet friend?
In the MySpace days, my high school friend Kevin used to say that the more friends you have on the Internet, the less you have in real life. It was funny and true then. Almost twenty years later, he might revise his POV.
We still approach Internet friendship with awkwardness. “Nice to e-meet you”, we might say after an email intro. Despite the fact that at least a quarter of Americans actively use dating apps, there’s still a stigma. “Let’s say we met at Trader Joe’s.”
I admit I have followed along with the false distinctions of physical and digital lives. I have enthusiastically accepted dozens of requests from young marketers to be a mentor, never really considering the other side of the equation — that I was a pretty good candidate to be a mentee. Maybe I was looking for it to happen organically, like meeting at TJ’s as opposed to on Hinge?
Either way, that changed when I moved to the brand side. My old playbook doesn’t make as much sense here and I need new perspectives.
And then a couple months ago, the inimitable voices of creativity and connection, Zoe Scaman and Robyn Frost, put together an open-source ad mentor list and I saw Murray Calder’s name among the hundreds who offered their experiences to others.
Murray had been on the brand side with a whiskey maker and the CSO at a media agency. I had followed him and read his posts chronicling his terminal illness with rawness, toughness, and vulnerability. I didn’t know much else but I had a feeling I could learn a ton from him.
I sent him and email with a handful of questions. We’d go on to have a weekly correspondence, his replies much more punctual than mine. He was much more comfortable helping a stranger from the internet than I was asking for it.
To the surprise of perhaps no one who knew him, our ongoing conversation wasn’t about how to make better ads or media plans, it was about people. It was about how to speak languages that intersect with creativity on “this” side, like finance and sales. It was also about sources of joy and how to create an identity that appropriately balances work with a life outside of it.
I was spending a lot of time in the mountains this winter and told him how much energy it gave me. He wrote:
Glad you had active pursuits to energise you outside work. I was a keen mountain sportsman when I was younger/fitter/less ill. I think the mountains are what I miss most about being stuck to the sofa all the time.
I started my job remotely 6 months ago and have only met one of my coworkers IRL. But I feel like I’ve more than “e-met” (cringe) the rest, many of whom I’d call friends now. After the past year, a lack of physical presence no longer invalidates our experience. Digital things are at least as real as anything that happens in person.
Murray’s last note to me sat in my inbox on read for too long. In part because when I read the part below I teared up. How would I even respond?
I’m off to see my final resting place today which will be a relief to get finalised. Looks like a nice restful place and not far from home so easy for the family to visit.
Spending time with my wife and daughter continues to be my greatest source of joy and I hope I have many more weeks/months to do so. What’s yours?
I finally responded last week. Among other things, we had been talking about Robert Louis Stephenson and legacies. What would he want his personal or professional legacy to be, I asked?
It was too late for him to reply. But the answer is boldly clear in the tributes that have poured in here, today. Almost all are from people like me who never “met” Murray.
I was lucky to have today off. On my way to my morning surf I listened to the playlist that marketing Twitter created for him (see & listen below), raising over $10k USD in the process. Just listening I could feel the love of the community coming through.
I paddled out in chunky, uncrowded conditions and thought about Murray throughout my session, in a sort of meditative, appreciative high. I have no idea if he’d ever surfed but there’s no doubt he’d find joy in a sunny day in a peaceful seaside town. It felt like a fitting tribute to someone who’d been uncommonly generous to an Internet stranger.
How do you mourn the loss of an Internet friend? As you’d honor anyone else. Tonight we raise a glass to the man we affectionately call The Captain.
