It started with a tweet...

Well, a Twitter direct message actually. Then it was a LinkedIn note, an SMS and finally a good old-fashioned (already; I know) email.

Nowadays, we traverse the digital waters with ease. Conversations move seamlessly from one medium to another. Facebook have embraced this trend, and found an excellent trick to keep disengaged users from lazily ignoring their persistent friends: what starts as an IM quickly becomes a Facebook inbox message (which, incidentally, you get notified about in your email inbox. Possibly as part of a digest [aside: interesting approach. Are their open/delivery rates that low?]).

But do we really remain constant across the channels? We tolerate mindless nonsense from certain TV networks, whilst from others we demand high-quality entertainment. Do we, in turn, change our expectations when we find ourselves participating in digital channel surfing?

- Flick: Email is for keeps. Even the most fervent of archivers will find each most recent email most likely contains a lengthy chain of correspondence. As such, are we more careful about email content?
- Flick: Interactive messaging, on the other hand, is erased once we sign off (storing logs is of course possible but, I'd wager, uncommon). Are we less discerning? More abrupt? Do we stutter our way through, asking short-fire questions rather than exchanging detailed news (the very nature of IM is that it has to follow a Q&A approach, else it quickly stalls)?
- Flick: But king still is the SMS. It might as well stand for "See Me Soon", so incessant is its cry. We'll attend to a text before any other medium, I believe, simply because it's the demanding child in the room - and, luckily, the one that's easiest to appease. It's not the right framework for a lengthy reply; the little beep is always welcome as it explains to everyone around that we're really rather popular; and the social contract is such that a simple answer is perfectly acceptable. No further questions, your Honour.

I wonder if Facebook's new fluid treatment of chats / messages will make a difference to how we "chat", knowing that it's no longer just a throwaway line. "Oi, are you there?" isn't quite such a friendly welcome in an inbox, so will we start crafting our introductions? Or possibly not bother with those long-lost friends who deserve a proper first paragraph if we're pretty certain we're not going to catch them there and then?

I'd love to see the stats. I'd love to see if messaging has increased as a result of false-start "chats" being transported into the inbox, or if the fleeting greetings are in fact ignored as being pithy and temporal - and consequently, deletable.

I'm a big fan of email, but believe Facebook chat windows will remain just that: real-time conversation openers that quite simply aren't designed to be conducted with lengthy delays. If I'm going to email someone, it'll be because that's the approach I've chosen beforehand. The method will dictate the medium - not the other way round.

Anyway; it's just gone 9am in the UK. I'm off to see who's on Facebook...

The girl in the turquoise top

She took some photos, then headed back down the 494 steps to the beach. I saw her later buying a coffee as we entered the pretty waterside cafe, and then passed her again retracing her steps by the shore.

Meanwhile, we scampered back down the steps, pausing to catch our breath as we snapped the landscape; laughing as I instigated a futile game of tig. We talked, we pondered, we counted through our friends (old and new), excited about when we could bring them to this beautiful spot.

But what about her? Who shared the glorious scenery with this girl, the one with the small smile, the empty coffee cup, and the cosy cardi now draped over her shoulders? Who helped put it there?

Of course, maybe she enjoyed it more for the solitary stroll. Maybe she got to spend some much-needed "alone time", the rest of her life crowded with people and the furious art of being busy.

I didn't quite believe the excuse I found myself making for her, however. A few yards behind strolled what looked like an elderly mother and her daughter, hand in hand, both positively beaming. And over the course of the walk we'd passed proud grandparents, dog-walking chums, young lovers and valiant walking groups, all of whom seemed simply buoyed at being able to share the beauty with their companions. "Look at that!" they could hardly stop themselves exclaiming - such is the human desire to share the good and the wonderful with one's fellows on this earth.

So my message to myself (and to you, dear reader, if you're looking for one) is to live life in the plural. Yes, a moment of individual contemplation may be good for the soul, but to put yourself in such a situation that this self same soul cannot help but enlighten - and be enlightened by - others, well, that'll be even better.

And as for that girl: if she ever fancies strolling some more shores, I do hope she gets in touch.

I wanna live like common people

For 72% of people, it all worked out rather nicely. After just two weeks, this majority did indeed report longer, fuller lashes.

It's been a month now, and I'm really quite miffed that I can't say the same.

But for 72% it worked! The laws of probability dictate that I should now be delighted with luscious eyelashes, but unfortunately it seems I'm in the unspoken stat: for 28%, the experiment wasn't quite so successful.

Now normally, I love being different:
- "Where's that accent from?" people will ask.
- "AB blood type? That's quite unusual" the blood nurses will say.
- "Oh, left-handed, are you?" remark some perceptive folks when they witness me demonstrating the dying art of handwriting (discuss?).

But sometimes, just sometimes, I really wouldn't mind being "normal". I'll be unique and special when I want to be, thank you very much - but for everything else, I'll happily huddle in with the crowd.

Unfortunately, we don't get to choose. As I continue my walk through life I find I'm proving to be more and more "exceptional" in areas that I didn't really imagine would be the case, and I find this increasingly difficult to deal with. But why should I get the easy ride? Why shouldn't I join the scores of friends I know who have to watch what they eat lest their body plays up disapprovingly? (I'm currently on a strict lactose- and gluten-free diet in an attempt to clear up my terribly dry skin). Why shouldn't I have to jobhunt for longer than the average person in order to land my next career opportunity?

And why shouldn't I make do with the reasonable-length lashes that mother nature saw fit to bestow upon me in the first place?

Catalytic converters

"Some of the people who know me the least are those who've known me the longest."

Someone said this to me last weekend, and I've come to the conclusion that it's either alarmingly accurate or frightfully false - depending on which friends you're thinking about as you read this.

Dear reader, you and I are no longer the same people we once were. Of course, there are people I haven't spoken to for over a decade whom I'm sure would be quite surprised to learn about the person I am now, but in a contrary flow of logic (stay with me) I'd argue that some of the people who know me BEST are precisely those whom I HAVE known longest, and the reason is simple: they expected me to change. And this is mostly because they're the kind of people who change too.

Sure, there's a lot to be said for growing up across the road from one another, or being next to each other in the alphabet when the school register's put together, or chancing to be in the same uni tutorial group, but I believe there's more going on than we realise: I believe we naturally identify kindred spirits. So no matter how much time has passed, whenever I tell my dear long-standing friends that I've made a life-changing decision, they're the least surprised of anyone, because they'd do (and typically have already done) exactly the same thing.

But to come back to my earlier assertion that we're not the same people we once were: time, places and experiences all bend and shape our thoughts and lives, but importantly, so too do people. Having recently moved to the other side of the world (see note above about being prone to making life-changing decisions) I suddenly find myself creating new social connections and establishing new friendships, and it's all a terribly interesting experience.

What's that you ask, dear reader? In an age of Skype, instant messaging and Facebook one-liners that help keep me firmly in the midst of the conversations back home, do I need new friends? What a silly question: of course I do. As humans we're social creatures (I more than most: a perceptive colleague once advised that I should never work in a solitary office as I'd end up talking to the plants all day), but more than that, people help us change - and that's (mostly) a wonderful thing.

And so it's here that I finally rest upon my point. This change can be small and uplifting: a fun new friend to go for a pedicure with, or a great new neighbour to recommend the best place to get brekkie at the weekend. Or it can be more significant: a generous new acquaintance to lend you an air bed before your stuff arrives, or a willing contact who'll act as a reference when you realise you can't register the car you've just bought as you have no utility bills in your name (thank you, all of you).

But what it should always be is a positive force in your life. I'm not saying that one's companions need always be cheery and full of sunshine: spending time with people who are going through tough spots often brings out the very best in us, and can be immensely good for the soul. No; the only thing we should guard against is inviting ourselves to be changed for the worse - perhaps becoming angrier, or more judgemental, or even just downright mean (and we've all been around people who make this slippery slope all too easy to find). The key instead is to look for - and welcome - ways to become better.

And friends, old or new, are some of the best catalysts. My wonderful old friends give me the love and encouragement to keep learning and evolving (along with the immeasurable value of a lifelong safety net). My husband brings out in me the person I most enjoy being - that's how I knew he was the guy I wanted to marry. But to be the best version of myself at all times? Well, for that I think I'm going to need some new friends...

The eye of the beholder

Maybe it's being in one's thirties that does it. A friend of mine says she felt more confident when she turned 30 (though for me the overriding emotion was a slight panic that I didn't yet own any anti-wrinkle cream. Aren't women supposed to start using this in their early twenties, I pondered with the stomach-churning realisation of one whose ship has sailed? What sight would greet me on the fated birthday, mocking my blatant disregard for this youth-saving regime? Luckily there was no spell cast overnight: I still look about 17 in certain lights. Beauty marketing - nil; Fiona - 1 ).

But what does change (I think) is that as we get older, we worry less about how others see us, and the concern shifts towards how we see ourselves - or more importantly, how we feel being ourselves.

I realised this today as I pondered two potential new employers, and found myself wondering how each would look on my CV. From adolescence on we're told that doing x will "look good", but at this age, what's more important: carefully plotting out my career so I can land my dream job at the age of 65, or pursuing what is for me, in the words of Fat Boy Slim (even if I have bent the meaning slightly), right here, right now?

Does my husband care if I come home pleased that I've chalked up another day's experience that will stand me in good stead in decades to come? Or does he care that I come home happy, fulfilled and energised from a great day's work in a nice place with inspiring people? I walked past a mammogram bus today and nodded at my future, knowing one day I'll be stopping in for a check-up. And almost every day I recall the habit of one of my favourite role models (a true tale from a radio phone-in about rituals): my guy peeks open his eyes each morning, steals a mischievous glimpse at the world, and triumphantly exclaims: "Yes! I've lived to see another day." What an attitude.

Now of course, carpe diem only takes one so far. Yes, we shouldn't be so short-sighted that we jeopardise the future. But neither should we be so focused on the future that we jeopardise the present.

So next time you make a job move, forget your CV. So long as you've got your anti-wrinkle cream safely in the cabinet.
 

Back foot forward

I got told off the other day by a colleague. And you know what: I'm grateful.

After the initial feelings of indignation passed, I quickly bumbled an apology, made the (extraordinarily nice) chap a cup of tea, and proceeded to quietly chide myself. And herein lies the key. It's not so much that, in that chiding, I've ensured one fewer future mistake. Sure, I've learned a valuable lesson: the situation on this occasion was tiny (and relatively reversible), but another time, the consequences could have been much more significant. Nope - silver linings aside, the real value lies in remembering that one is capable of making mistakes.

I have a wonderful team. I asked them for 3 blunt criticisms, assuring no offence would be taken, and even openly inviting anonymous print-outs to be left on my desk instead of personally identifiable emails. So what happened? They each emailed me positively effusive with praise, telling me all the things they like about me (and they don't need to: I'm leaving in a week). Yes, they then reluctantly went on to include some negative points (all of which I knew before because they've come up in our 1-to-1s), but still, the negatives were couched with such warmth that even my subconscious shackles didn't rise to the occasion. I've therefore pushed these known issues to the top of my list, given that these were the ones that warranted repetition, but as promised, absolutely no offence has been taken.

The example above serves merely to illustrate the value of my first colleague's scolding: the more senior we become, the less likely we are to learn of a fault we didn't already know about. But we should be taken aback (and therefore take initial offence in that time before rational thought overtakes emotion - the important thing is to understand what's happening and take ourselves away until this passes). We miss a deadline: obvious problem. We run over budget: definite problem. But what if we land a colleague in a difficult situation? Or fail to give a co-worker everything they need to do their job well? If it doesn't show up on a balance sheet somewhere, would we even know about it?

Ay, there's the rub. I see senior people making mistakes all the time. I see high-flying individuals overlook the little things that would make the difference. I hear bosses pick unfortunate phrases that just serve to alienate as opposed to motivate. Some of these people are often quite highly self-aware, completely cognisant of the fact that they don't get it right all of the time. But do they know when they aren't getting it right? Do I?

It's human nature to be nice to other people to their faces, and less nice about them behind their backs. We get that warm glow when we compliment others; it's an excellent trait of our psyche. But maybe we should fight through the discomfort, and tell people directly when they get it wrong. Once they get over the instinctive defensiveness, they'll thank us. Honest.

Well okay, maybe not everyone will be grateful. But I will. I might even make you a cup of tea.

Tell me your secrets

We share a mortgage, a car, three cats and a surname, and yet what was I unwilling to share with my husband today? My EasyJet password.

In the connected world of the web, what is the last safeguard of personal privacy? The humble password. That single combination of letters (and numbers, CAPS and special characters in some very strict circles) that keeps our secrets safe, and our identities sound. My husband and I may have a joint chequebook, but when it comes to online account, I ain't sharing.

"What have you got to hide?" he asked - as indeed might you, dear reader. If you've been spotting the pattern so far, you'll know the answer to all the questions in this post is the same: my password. But you'll notice this time it's lost any adjective - and that's because I'm not talking about just my EasyJet password. Oh no. For my husband to "discover" that I've a preference for window seats is hardly going to provide a groundbreaking revelation. But were he to soon realise that this particular password forms the basis of the vast majority of my internet account passwords - well then, things might just take off (no flying pun intended).

Yes yes, fool that I am. Every password should be unique, extraordinarily hard to guess (and remember), and thus any damage minimized were that password to be compromised. And it wouldn't matter if it were just my Nectar points balance, favourite Body Shop basket and even (wait for it) the £5 balance I've got left on my Moonpig account that was up for grabs. Nope. It's almost everything.

(I say "almost" with a sigh of relief, knowing there is one thing that has its own, extremely unusual password: my email account. The email address I've had since I was 18; the email address that contains secrets long since forgotten but precious in their memory; the email address that I can use to verify and monitor every other online account I've had since. If I can suggest one smart thing, it's to have a separate password for this.)

But back to the other accounts: do they really matter? Of course not. Yes he could browse my Amazon history, or check up on what I've been buying on my credit card, but in reality, why would he? Why spoil the surprise of his next birthday present? Or faint when he realises just how expensive it is to fill up the car? And if I trust him with my life savings, and not to strangle me in my sleep, why wouldn't I trust him with these trivial matters?

The answer is: it's the wrong question. Of course it's not about trust, or protectiveness - or even paranoia. It's about being able to be have my own online persona that's representative entirely of me, that's under my complete control, and that's truly mine (even if it's not always me - but that's for another post...).