Squawk 7700: Loving Kindness and the Friendship Radar

As soon as you stop thinking about them, they’ll send you a text message or call you. Because they know you stopped thinking about them. It’s like a radar.

— Lauren Conrad

This blog post was inspired by a recent conversation with Fran. We were discussing our plans for the day and I mentioned I wanted to catch up with a few friends I’d not been in touch with for a while. In this context, “a while” means anything from a day or so to several weeks. I found myself mentally scanning my circle of friends as an air traffic controller might scan their radar screen. The analogy might seem an odd one, but I have a keen interest in aviation.

The air traffic controller’s screen shows where each aircraft is in relation to the airport, terrain, and other aircraft. As well as distance and bearing, it displays the aircraft’s altitude, speed, call sign, and squawk code. More on squawk codes later. Everything is updated in real time with each sweep of the radar. The controller is able to talk to each aircraft in their sector, directing their flight and responding to situations as they unfold. I can only begin to imagine the skills and training it takes to work as an air traffic controller, but it serves as a useful analogy for how I think of my friends.

My model of friendship is a dynamic collection of friends, not a static list ranging from most to least important. At any point in time some people will be closer in to me, some further out. Some will be moving towards me, others heading away. Some might leave the screen altogether, for a time or for always. But if you’re my friend you’re in there somewhere. I described how I came by this dynamic model of friendship in Dissolving the Circle, and discussed different kinds of supportive networks in What Kind of Support Network Do You Have? An excerpt from the latter is relevant here:

If I drew my network out on paper there’d be a dot in the middle representing me, with lines radiating out to each of my supportive friends, like the spokes of a wheel. [...] This kind of network is more likely if your friends live far apart, as mine do, although that’s not necessarily the case. A few of my “spokesfriends” have met, in person or online, but none of them know each other well or socialise.

These models don’t cover all aspects of friendship but I find them helpful. The radar analogy is a useful addition. Like an air traffic controller, I scan my collection of friends to see how everyone is doing, and to make sure no one gets left out or forgotten about. Just as the pilot is ultimately responsible for the safety of their aircraft, my friends get to do what they want and go where they wish. It’s not my job to police their lives. On the other hand, it is part of my role as a caring friend to be aware of what’s happening, to flag potential dangers or concerns, and to support my friends as best I can. That’s true whether they’re coming in to land, departing for distant destinations and adventures, or merely passing through my airspace. As Fran and I like to say in relation to mental health, vigilance is a team sport.

I have friends I’m in touch with every day. Others I might expect to hear from every few days days. One longstanding friend and I connect once a week. That’s part of what I’m thinking about when I scan the screen. Who have I not replied to? Who might appreciate a message or call from me? Who hasn’t been in touch for a while? In aviation, an extended or unplanned break in communication with air traffic control is knows as a PLOC (prolonged loss of communications) or NORDO, short for “no radio.” If an aircraft is out of touch or doesn’t respond when called, emergency procedures may be invoked. In the worst case, an aircraft might disappear from radar altogether.

It’s important to remember that my friends have every right to “go silent” or “off radar” at any point and for any reason. I described one strategy for navigating such times in Supportive Disengagement: How to Be There for Your Friend When They Need Space.

What do I mean by [Supportive Disengagement]? Essentially, it means stepping back from the usual give-and-take dynamic you share with your friend, but being there if and when you’re invited in. It means providing encouragement and support when asked but otherwise getting out of your friend’s way so they can navigate whatever’s happening in their lives the best way they can.

They don’t owe me an explanation, although it helps if you can talk things through in advance. One friend told me there might be times when she’d need space, and we discussed how we’d handle things if and when that happened.

Using my air traffic control analogy, supportive disengagement implies they’re leaving my airspace. Maybe they’ve been handed off to another controller who can provide the help and guidance I’m unable to provide at this point in their journey. Or maybe they’re heading out over the ocean and will be out of radar and radio coverage for a time. Fran and I experienced this for real in 2013. We were out of touch for a week as she crossed the Atlantic by cruise ship, en route for Europe.

So far I’ve talked about me as the air traffic controller in this scenario, keeping an eye on things. What about the pilots of the aircraft? I’ve always told my friends I’m happy to receive a call or message at any time. I might not always be able to respond immediately but I’ll get back to them as soon as I can. I’ve never arranged special code words with friends, but they’re a good idea. For example, begin your message with “URGENT” or “HELP” if you need me to respond immediately. I’d see that in the notification on my phone, even without opening the full message.

In the aviation world, the equivalent are squawk codes. These are unique four-digit numbers in the range 0000 to 7777. They’re used by air traffic control to identify aircraft when they’re flying. Some codes are randomly generated, while others are used to alert controllers to specific situations. These include the emergency codes 7500, 7600, and 7700.

The first of these is the code 7500, which signals “unlawful interference,” more commonly referred to as hijacking. This is a situation where squawking is particularly useful, as it allows the pilots to contact ATC discreetly.

The second emergency squawk code is 7600, showing ATC that the aircraft has lost verbal communication. This could mean that it can still hear ATC and yet not respond, in which case the ATC will direct the pilot to speak with them through the Ident button. This is a small button on the transponder which causes the aircraft to flash on the controller’s screen and therefore can be used as a means of talking through non-verbal communication.

The last emergency code that can be squawked is 7700, which can be used for general emergency. An aircraft may even be directly asked to squawk 7700 after speaking to ATC verbally so that they can recognise them and give them priority over others.

Note that “squawking 7700 gives the pilot the responsibility to do essentially anything to ensure the safety of those onboard, regardless of the rules.” This is very relevant to friendship. If you tell me this is an emergency or you’re in crisis, I’m not going to argue with you or ask lots of questions. Whether we’re on the best of terms or have been having issues, I’m going to do anything and everything I can to help you through whatever’s going on. We can sort other things out later if we need to. If that sounds unrealistic, I can only say that I’ve been in that situation with friends before, and that’s exactly how we handled things. It doesn’t matter if we were chatting yesterday, if we’ve been arguing for the past week or haven’t been in touch for six months. If you need me, I’m here.

If you’re still struggling with my air traffic control analogy, Fran likened my scanning of the radar screen to the loving kindness meditation. There are different versions out there, but Fran and I favour this one by Kathleen Grace-Bishop. The meditation begins by inviting us to send the following message to ourself.

May I be well.
May I be happy.
May I be peaceful.
May I be loved.

Then to someone we know and care about.

May you be well.
May you be happy.
May you be peaceful.
May you be loved.

Then to someone in our life we don’t know well or have no particular feelings for. A shop assistant or someone we pass regularly in the street but don’t know personally. Then to someone in our life we’re having difficulties with. The meditation closes by bringing our thoughts and blessings to everyone, ourself included. Some versions explicitly invite us to send our blessings out in increasing circles from ourself in the middle, to our family, friends, people in our locale, our country, and finally out to include everyone in the world. The challenge is to bless each and every person, at whatever level, in the same way. The person we love, the person we don’t know, the person we are struggling with, the stranger.

The relevance to my radar analogy is clear. Although I’ve focused on scanning the screen for my friends, the air traffic controller is attentive to any and all aircraft on their screen, no matter their airline, nationality, point of departure, or destination. It reminds me not to limit my vigilance to those I’ve chosen to label as friends. If you’re on my radar, I care.

Squawk 7700, and I’m there.

 

Image by OpenClipart-Vectors at Pixaby