Text Me. Better Yet, Please Call

The sound of a human voice is what I need most during this pandemic

The woman’s husband was dead. She’d found him lying on the sofa, colorless and cold. Instantly, she called 911. Then she texted friends, pleading for help. “It made no sense to call,” she said. “My friends never answer their phones.”

No one answered her text either — at least not as immediately as she’d hoped they would. Some never checked their phones during the workday or kept them on ‘silent.’ Others saw her message and intended — but forgot — to read it later. Either way, on the most horrific day of her life, when the suddenly widowed woman needed comfort, she got ghosted — at least temporarily.

We’ve all been there, waiting for the text or email that doesn’t come, or feeling the futility of placing a call. You may swear by the efficiency and instant gratification of digital communication, but I bemoan the silence. Between overloaded inboxes that lead to missed or ignored messages, and the increasing obsolescence of voice contact, texting, emailing, and other forms of electronic messaging undermine the very connectedness they were supposed to foster. Don’t get me wrong: I like being able to ping someone by touching a screen. During these long months of social distancing, however, life has grown too quiet. The satisfaction I get from rocketing messages near and far pales against the disconnection I feel when no one responds, as well as my longing to hear a human voice.

So, I’m nostalgic for my 1960s childhood, the days of rotary dialing and busy signals, when the b-r-r-r-r-i-n-g of the telephone sent me racing to answer it and discover whose voice I’d hear. There was no caller ID or call waiting, no screening calls, or interrupting someone to answer another line. Conversations were vocal, reciprocal, and happened in real-time. Instant messaging didn’t exist, nor did feeling dissed when replies didn’t come on time or at all.

Digital communication has many plusses. I can control whom I speak with and when, share a quick thought, or send a good wish. Best of all, I can block robocalls warning me about my stolen social security number or expired auto warranty. Yet, instant messaging creates an illusion not only of immediacy but also of being heard. As soon as I hit ‘send,’ I envision friends or colleagues ‘hearing’ my words and responding, just as they would if we were chatting face-to-face. Needless to say, I’m frequently disappointed.

Unreasonable? Perhaps. The ongoing, multiple tragedies of the pandemic have left many people too overwhelmed, depressed, or weary to correspond well. On the other hand, I am obsessive about responding promptly. If I’m too busy to craft a thoughtful reply, then I take a minute to acknowledge a message and estimate when I’ll be able to reply. Is this too much to expect of others? Is it too much to wish that out-of-touch friends who text, “How are you doing?” would instead call to catch up?

Understandably, busy schedules may permit only a brief exchange of words. Still, before digital communication, such exchanges happened over the phone. Today, talking on the phone feels like a major commitment of time and energy that requires careful planning. The unexpected phone call often feels unwelcome, even intrusive. It’s no wonder that we shy away from ringing each other.

This is especially true of my kids’ digital communication generation. For example, when my 26­­-year-old daughter fretted over not hearing from a prospective employer, I suggested that she call him. “MOM!” she gasped as if I’d urged her to send him a stink bomb. “No one DOES that!”

Office-mates don’t talk either. One friend told me that her co-workers, sitting in adjoining cubicles, only message each other. “My office has more than 50 people, but all you hear is their fingers tapping on keyboards or an occasional cough,” she said.

Meanwhile, friends whom I walk with long ago stopped knocking on my door to announce their arrival. Instead, they text, “Here.”

The silence is downright deafening.

The pandemic has turned life into a lonely obstacle course. To combat the isolation of quarantine, many gather on Zoom, which takes scheduling. Ask yourself: when was the last time you spontaneously phoned a friend to say ‘Hi’? How routinely do you ignore or postpone answering texts and emails?

If responding to messages or speaking on the phone takes too much time and energy now — when so many of us have too much time on our hands — then what will happen when we’re (hopefully) busily working again?

Eventually, the suddenly widowed woman heard back from her friends. Remorseful about having taken so long to respond, they asked why she hadn’t called. She gently noted that she hadn’t bothered, knowing that they silenced or rarely checked their phones. “It made them think,” she said, “and they started calling me regularly to see how I was doing. Some of those calls lasted only a few minutes, but they made all the difference.”