When there’s so much terrible in the world today, causing me, at least, daily angst reading about Trump, climate change and school shooting, to name three of a multitude of evils, I feel it’s more important that ever to lift up the exceptional. Simply put, I wish life were more like The New Yorker in every way.
It’s hard for me to describe the joy and contentment I get from reading its long-form, slowly developed stories. The journalists do their craft the way journalists everywhere should. The stories are nuanced, personal and well-researched. They make a point and have a point of view. The writing is intelligent and requires that readers think, ponder and deduce, for themselves.
When I read articles in the New Yorker, I feel nourished in both intellect and soul. They force me to learn and reflect. They make me better and smarter and help me appreciate the world around me, even when the stories describe terrible things or horrible people.
I wish more things in life challenged and stimulated me so. Reading the New Yorker makes me a better humanist.
It’s not at all hard for me to describe the joy and contentment I get from reading New Yorker cartoons. I laugh out loud, loudly. I share the best ones with my family or friends. The cleverness and wittiness; oh, I wish I were that funny. I’ve looked at New Yorker cartoons since I was a little kid. Back then, they were the only part of my parents’ New Yorker subscription that I understood. My dad reacted the same way to them, sitting in his comfy chair, letting out a great, loud laugh in the middle of our living room.
Those cartoons make me laugh in the same way that the Car Talk brothers did. It is enjoyment and humor at its best. I wish there were more in life that made me laugh that way.
For the last month I didn’t receive any of my New Yorkers. It made me cranky in numerous ways. So I contacted customer service through their online form. In response, an account specialist responded. Followed up later by a special services representative. All of the emails cc’d at least three other customer service representatives. They moved quickly to make sure I received my magazines and to credit my account.
Why can’t all customer service be this way: fast, personal, and problem-solving oriented? I can’t remember when, or if, I’ve ever experienced a full-court customer service response for a pretty common issue.
I guess it’s not enough that the New Yorker has world-class journalism and world-class humor. They even have world-class customer service.
Why can’t more of life be like the New Yorker? I wouldn’t mind getting used to more exceptional experiences. I promise I wouldn’t take it for granted. Right now, we see far too much mediocrity at best and corrupt evil at worst.
So I say “thank you” to the New Yorker for modeling the way life should be.