Reminders came my way that people are always watching you, the columnist. We’re always on stage. Even when we think we’re not.
The world is big, but the community is so small.
Last week, a man wrote me the following:
“Mr. Lieber, you most likely do not remember me, but I held the door open for you at a meeting at a church in North Dallas. You were a presenter and were pulling a wheeled container. I did not know at that time who you were, but wanted to make it easier for you.”
Do I remember? No. Do I care? Yes. Whenever this man sees my column in the newspaper, I know he thinks, “I held the door open for him once.” I know I’d think that. I hope I said a proper thank you.
Then last week, Friday around dinnertime, when I thought I was done, finally, for the week, the top editor at the paper emailed me to say he noticed that I had tweeted something eight hours before. Did I not, he asked sweetly, want to turn that into full-blown story? Like right away?
Of course, sir.
Who knew that a tweet in the morning can keep you working late into the evening?
And as if I needed another reminder of the end of privacy, after I posted that story so gently suggested to me by the top editor, I heard from a reader.
“I noticed your posting at 7:33 pm, a few minutes ago,” he wrote. “It’s been a very good day for you. Take the rest of the day off.”
I always thought that if I didn’t post personal information about myself on social media, I could maintain a semblance of privacy. Who am I kidding? Somebody is always watching.