Email is killing my profession.

I bet it is killing yours, too.

Don’t get me wrong, I love the connectivity. I love the easy access, the quick note, the ability to stay in touch with people most anywhere in the world at anytime, day or night.

Technology is not the root of all evil, friend. And though I will never be mistaken for an “early adopter” of anything (except for the exciting socks craze which, arguably, I think I started), I’ve not lived without email since my age turned double digits.

But I am still convinced it is killing my profession, and I’m willing to bet it is killing yours, too.

Ever check your email early in the morning, like 5am, and see that fresh, new email sitting there from irate so-and-so?

Ever look at the time stamp on it and see that it was composed well past midnight, and so you know so-and-so was not at their best, and maybe not even in their right mind, but there it is?

Two things come to mind for me in the scenario: shame on me (and you) for checking email at that ungodly hour. And, two, the technology that allows for such a rant to be shot off does all of us no favors in that moment.

Or, think about that email you sent where you were a little more frank than you should have been because, well, you were pissed? Had you been face-to-face, the look on the other person’s face would have softened you a bit. I’m willing to bet on it.

But in the faceless world of the inbox, your unfiltered words are immortalized, living well past the trash folder it will eventually be relegated to, if it’s not held on and saved for evidence to be used against you in the court of public opinion.

Or remember that time you emailed that whole group to eviscerate one member? Shame on you. Or if you were part of the email chain, shame on who sent it (and you for not saying anything). A new way of publicly shaming people has been invented as we hide behind cables and screens.

And finally, let’s be honest: we’d rather write an email than pick up the phone, which is creating a culture of imaginary intimacy in caring professions. Death by inbox works both ways, of course. Final blows are struck by both the emails we receive and the ones we send.

Solutions are many, of course. Setting limits on how and when you check email is one way forward. Another is second guessing whether a phone call would work better for your needs. A third is relegating email sending time to the 9-5 day, ensuring your best self (or at least better self) is sending them.

Or: take email off of your phone.

And finally, I’ve just started to delete emails without a reply. In the caring professions you have to do that, I think, to practice self-care. It’s almost a way of saving the person from themselves: they weren’t at their best, so you’ll avert your eyes until they get it together.

But it still remains true that the amount of time spent composing, responding to, and mulling over the constant stream of the inbox is carrying all of our souls ever slowly down the river Styx and into the death of resentment and fatigue.

We should not be tired just sitting at a desk, right?

I’m pretty sure that my generation will have obituaries and death certificates that say, “Death by Inbox” all the same.

That is, of course, until we start taking seriously the emotional and spiritual toll it’s taking on humanity and begin to put in safeguards.

Because I am convinced it’s a spiritual matter.