Beacon

I have been searching for someone. This weekend was a particularly focused effort, though it’s someone I’ve been missing for some time now.

Yesterday I printed out two pages of possible matches from Google’s phone book, and over the course of two afternoons, went down the list. I kept detailed notes on the list, making up acronyms as I went: DC for ‘disconnected number,’ NB for ‘no Brian here, sorry,’ NA for ‘no answer (try back later).’

And an X next to each Brian I spoke to who wasn’t my Brian. As soon as they said the first word I knew—I will recognize his voice when I hear it—but I never just hung up. (Calling strangers to seek out a long-lost friend requires a certain modicum of faith in humanity, which extends to being polite and not hanging up on them.) “Hi… I know this is a long shot,” I said, the same practiced line every time, no variation or else I probably would have started sniffling, “but I’m going down the phone book looking for a Brian Thompson I knew a couple years ago. Does the name Briboru mean anything to you?”

What?

Briboru.

Huh?

Briboru.

Nope, sorry.

Okay, thanks.

And then I could hang up. To describe the experience as tiring would be a phenomenal understatement. When I got to the bottom of the list it was all Xs and DCs and NBs and NAs, not a single encouraging mark. What more could be done?

Someone suggested a backwards sort of search: set up a Brian Thompson page, link to it prominently, and wait for him or someone close to him to search for that name and find me. Instead of shining my searchlight around the Internet looking for people, point it straight up in the air like a beacon, and wait. And wait. (Tcaleb writes: “No one can indefintely resist the urge to google themselves.”)

It sounds nuts, which is accurate. It is nuts.

But here is the thing: when the odds are stacked this heavily against you, you cannot judge search methods on their chance of success. (Ten times likelier than an infintessimal is still an infintessimal, as people who buy multiple lottery tickets will not tell you.) No: search methods must be judged based on the extent to which they allow hope after they have failed.

Going down the phone book listing was a methodical extermination of hope: each time I write one of my codes is another definite “No” on a finite list, one step closer to the end. Once I get to the bottom of the list, no more Brians to try, no more hope.

The beacon approach, on the other hand, is encouraging. As long as I keep the Brian Thompson page up—and believe me, it’s not going anywhere—there is a glimmer of hope. A chance, each and every day, that he’ll stumble across it and write to me.

Michael wrote: “If we spend half our time wondering whether we are happy, we are bound to decide we are not. Thus it is best to avoid the question.” My version is to avoid the question of whether or not I can find Brian — if forced, the answer cannot be other than no. But while the search continues, there is uncertainty, and in our uncertainty, hope remains.

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