Freedom has its drawbacks.

In Sunday's New York Times, there was a story about a man who spent 16 years in jail for a crime he didn't commit. But that's not the awful part. The real tragedy is what happens after he's freed. He has no technical or social skills, no friends, no understanding of how to live on his own. He was committed at 17, and in many ways he's still that age. And there are no services to help him. Parolees receive job training, but people who are freed from the justice system entirely aren't give the same opportunities.

This part of the story especially broke my heart:

"In his loneliest moments, when he scans the few personal contacts on his cellphone and realizes he has no one with whom to share his angst, Mr. Deskovic misses the predictability of prison life, where decisions were made for him."

I've done that, but not to that level. I've felt lost and alone, like there wasn't anyone who I could call to just hang out. But to be truly alone, to not have anybody you can even call to talk about your day, that breaks my heart. Even in my worst moments, there's always one or two people, or my parents. But what about people who don't have that? Prison isn't the only way people end up in that situation. Friendships grow cold, and if I didn't live with my parents I don't know how often I'd talk to them. Once a week, for an hour? Would that eventually taper off, too?

I guess this story just made me realize it's important to reach out to people. If there's someone who doesn't seem to have many friends, maybe I'll invite her to lunch. If I haven't talked to my mom in a while, I should send her an e-mail. It's important that these people know there's someone in the world who would miss them if they weren't here, who cares about how they're doing.