Skip to main content

Decoding the Cryptic

In this episode, Decoding the Cryptic . . .

Welcome back to On the Fly! This week, we're tackling something that's been driving me—and probably you—absolutely crazy: cryptic social media posts. You know the type: a jumble of acronyms, vague references, and absolutely no context. It's like trying to decipher ancient hieroglyphs, and honestly, it makes me want to throw my phone across the room.

I'm referring to those posts (and emails) from friends and family that leave you scratching your head. "OMG, just had the worst day. IDK what I'm going to do. BRB." Okay, BRB, but . . . what happened? Did a rogue squirrel steal your lunch? Did your car break down? Are you suddenly moving to Tasmania? I'm genuinely concerned, but I have no clue what's going on!

And this got me thinking: Is this a modern form of writer's block? Are people so afraid of being unable to tell a story clearly that they resort to these vague snippets? Or is it just a sign of our "I don't have time" culture, where everyone is so busy they can't be bothered to express a complete thought?

I get it; we’re all busy. However, clarity doesn't have to be like War and Peace. A few well-chosen sentences can make a significant difference. Honestly, with the tools we have today, there really is no excuse. Think about it: Gemini, ChatGPT, and even the predictive text on your iPhone – they can all help you craft clear, concise messages.

Imagine you're excited to share some news. Instead of saying, "Just got the job! So happy! GTG!" try something like, "I’m thrilled to share that I just accepted a new position as a project manager at Acme Corp! Those Road Runner cartoons paid off, and I can't wait to get started." See? It’s simple! It took just ten extra seconds, and now everyone knows what you’re celebrating!

Or, if you're having a rough day, instead of "Ugh, life is the worst.  SMH," maybe try, "I'm having a tough day dealing with a family issue. I appreciate all the good vibes you can send my way." It's still brief but gives people a clue and invites genuine support, not just a bunch of confused emojis.

The truth is that clear communication fosters connection. Vague posts leave people feeling excluded and confused. They make offering support, celebrating successes, or feeling part of someone's life more difficult.

So, here's this week's challenge: Ditch the acronyms and embrace clarity. Take a few extra seconds to craft a complete thought. You might be surprised at the result. You might actually connect with people on a deeper level. Writing isn't as scary as you thought.

That's it for this week's On the Fly. Go out there, be clear, and connect! Let me know how it goes. We shouldn't spend our lives trying to decode the cryptic.

I’m Patrick Ball. Thanks for listening. Stay curious and ask questions. See you in the next episode.

Comments

Most Popular of All Time

Sunflowers, French Steel, and the Yellow Jersey

Watching Le Tour de France this year, I found myself transported back to August 1983 as the Peloton in Stage 10, Bastille Day, flowed through the French countryside like a brightly colored ribbon. I was in my twenties, visiting family in the Charente-Maritime region of France, completely obsessed with bicycle racing—and convinced I was much stronger than I was. My connection to cycling—and to France—runs deep. I was born in France, and my very first real road bike, at age fifteen, was a Mercier . To me, it wasn’t just a bicycle; it was a work of art made from beautiful French steel. I rode that bike for miles, through high school, into college, and until the day someone decided they needed it more than I did. I hope they at least appreciated the craftsmanship. Its untimely disappearance led me to a Schwinn Voyageur, and later, when I started racing around Illinois, to a Raleigh Competition . But during that summer of ’83, while staying with my Uncle Jean Paul in Lagord, just north of L...

Rediscovering the Magic of Summer . . .

Summer mornings, especially on a holiday weekend, have a special magic. The air is cool, the world quiet, and the day full of possibilities. This July 4th weekend, Lori and I decided to capture a bit of that magic by beating the holiday traffic with an early morning bicycle ride. We went through our usual pre-flight checklist: Stretched out the morning stiffness. Filled the water bottles. Strapped on the helmets. Checked the tires. Three tires passed inspection. The fourth had apparently declared independence. The rear tire on my e-bike was flatter than a Kansas highway. “Well, it looks like we’re not riding today,” Lori said, with the calm acceptance of someone who had already mentally promoted coffee to the day’s main event. “Why not?” I replied. “I’ll ride my old bike.” She gave me that look —the one that safely translates as, "Are you sure about this? " “Absolutely,” I said. “Why not?” I dragged the bike stand out and surveyed my options. One glance at the aggressive gear...

Morning Coffee

In this episode, Morning Coffee . . . Now, I’m not saying everyone needs coffee. Some folks get by just fine on, I don’t know, sunlight and positive thinking. Me? I’m pretty sure I started drinking the stuff sometime around the Reagan administration. Reading John Gierach’s "Ode to Campfire Coffee" in Trout Bum (a book that should be required reading for anyone who sees sleeping on the ground as recreation) got me thinking about how we’ve managed to complicate something as fundamentally simple as boiling water and adding grounds. Taste, you say? Look, black coffee is an acquired taste, like tequila or cilantro. I just don’t get it. Gierach, bless his heart, mostly drinks his java streamside, probably while wearing wool socks and waders and contemplating the mysteries of the universe. As for me? My outdoor coffee experience is a bit different. Picture this: the High Sierra, where campfires are banned (to avoid agitating Smoky Bear), and I’m huddled over a Whisperlite , coax...

A Tucson Typewriter Tale

One of the great joys of wandering without much of a plan is that the universe occasionally rewards your lack of organization. During my recent visit to Tucson, AZ, Robert and I were strolling through the Annex this afternoon, doing what tourists and newly minted retirees like me have elevated to an Olympic sport: meandering. The Annex is one of those places where every few steps there's another handmade candle, artisan coffee, or vintage object someone rescued from a garage sale and convinced the rest of us was always destined to become art. Then I saw something that genuinely stopped me. A young woman standing quietly behind a manual typewriter. Not a laptop designed to look like a typewriter. Not a quirky Bluetooth keyboard. An honest-to-goodness mechanical typewriter—the sort of machine that once announced every sentence to the entire office with a satisfying clack and enough force to wake nearby pigeons. With an iPhone 16 sitting in my pocket in an age when people write novels...