As happened to so many companies and individuals in May, Walt Disney's computer network was shut down by the Love Bug virus. For 48 hours, I was unable to write email. This freed time to do something else - think about email.
My sudden inability to log on and electronically message the world dramatically brought home the fact that email has, in very little time, become incredibly pervasive. It is now so integral to our existence that the Love Bug, during its brief life, is estimated to have cost the world economy $15 billion.
There is no question that, to a large extent, the pervasiveness of email is a wonderful thing - old friends have been reunited; strangers have become friends; grandparents have watched grandchildren grow through weekly pictures; researchers have shared insights and businesses have improved productivity.
But email is not without problems. Because it has spread so fast, it has raced ahead of our abilities to adapt fully. I can imagine what you are thinking: "What is the big deal? People have been writing things down since before the Rosetta Stone."
It is true that people have communicated through letters for centuries. This gave the world priceless historical records, such as the correspondence of Queen Victoria, of John Keats to Fanny Brawne, of Thomas Jefferson to Meriwether Lewis and of American civil war soldiers to loved ones they would never see again. Whenever I read letters such as these, I am struck by their thoughtfulness, eloquence and sheer command of the English language.
Then came the communication technologies of the 20th century. The telephone, the radio and the television were marvellous inventions, but they all conspired against letter-writing. The postal service became less and less a transmitter of meaningful communication and more and more a conduit for junk mail. Increasingly, letters went straight into garbage cans rather than history books.
As a result, we got out of the writing habit. Then suddenly came email, and everyone began writing to each other again. But unlike the old days, when a letter was carefully written, considered, read and reread before sealing and mailing, now we are writing, clicking and sending notes as fast as our fingers can race across the keyboard.
I have noticed of late that the intensity of emotions inside our competitive company is higher than usual. I am convinced this is because of email. Every fight that goes on seems to start with a misunderstanding over an email. I learned early in the hard-paper world of the 1970s that when I was annoyed with someone, I should write the problem down in a memo and leave it in my desk drawer until the next day. Ninety-nine per cent of the time, in the morning, either my anger had passed or I realised that my writing was of insufficient precision to save me from being fired. I generally then picked up the phone to talk things through with the other person.
With email, our impulse is not to file and save, but to click and send. Our errors are often compounded by adding other recipients to the "cc" list. I have come to believe that, if anything will bring about the downfall of a company or maybe a country, it is blind copies of emails that should never have been sent.
Such thoughtless emails represent a virus no less destructive than the Love Bug. They can pervert healthy ambition into blind ambition. They can turn an appropriate quest for opportunity into opportunism. They can turn the sensible exercise of power into abusive power. They foment mistrust and secrecy - an ironic side-effect of email, which should be the ultimate tool of communication and openness.
Email is not just about speed, efficiency and information. It is also about unscreened emotions; opinions untempered by body language; thoughts unrefined by reflection; hostility and provocation; and, as we saw with the Love Bug, about "I love you" without the love. At its worst, it is like talking in the shower with someone listening through the wall. In the dark of one's room, in the late of night, in the frustration of being alone or lonely, the send button can prove an irresistible temptation to propel thoughtless thoughts on their way to impress or titillate, or to even inflict pain.
As any drama coach can tell you, identical words can come across completely different when accompanied by varied intonation and facial expressions. If a person says "you dope" with a smile over the dinner table, it can be endearing. But, in the cold cathode-ray light of email, the same two words stand there starkly and accusingly. The spell check does not check for anger, emotion, inflection or subtext. Only we can do that.
Of course, people have always been careless in words and deed. But the slowness of communication technology used to help protect us from ourselves. This is no longer the case. So in order to advance into the 21st century, we might look to the 19th century.
Like Queen Victoria, we can use the written word to express ourselves articulately and with authority. Like Keats and Brawne, we can use it to reveal genuine emotion. Like Jefferson and Lewis, we can use it to share deep friendship. Like those civil war soldiers, we can use it to help us weather the hardships ahead.
But we should not just emulate the great letter writers of yore. We have options they lacked - we can pick up a phone, or get in a car. As important as it is for us to use email well, it is equally important to know when not to use it. We have written, spoken and body language - we must take advantage of them all.
The Love Bug was a technological problem but I do not believe the fundamental problem with email is in the technology. By bringing some patience and wisdom to this remarkable new communication tool, we will truly get all the bugs out, and realise its potential to bring people together - thoughtfully.
This piece is adapted from Michael Eisner's commencement address to students at the University of Southern California