The world is more talkative now, in many ways, than it’s ever been.
We’re talking all the time, in person as well as in texts, in e-mails, over the phone, on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter.
Conversations, as they tend to play out in person, are messy—full of pauses and interruptions and topic changes and assorted awkwardness. But the messiness is what allows for true exchange. It gives participants the time—and, just as important, the permission—to think and react and glean insights.
“You can’t always tell, in a conversation, when the interesting bit is going to come,” Sherry Turkle says. “It’s like dancing: slow, slow, quick-quick, slow. You know? It seems boring, but all of a sudden there’s something, and whoa.”
It’s not uncommon these days to be more talkative than ever before, but we’ve lost something in the process. We’re talking all the time, but it’s not the same as true conversation.
The logic of conversation on the internet is different. We’re constantly bombarded by notifications and feeds and never-ending selfies. It’s all showmanship, all about putting on a performance.
The Internet is always on. And it’s always judging you, watching you, goading you.
That’s not conversation.
Turkle wants us to reclaim the permission to be, when we want and need to be, dull.
But isn’t that the very opposite, of what the world demands of us?
Just the other day, I found myself envying an anime protagonist, for she was surrounded by her friends, no phones in sight, conversation flowing easily, and their laughter twinkling in the air around them. I found myself wondering, when was the last time I sat, spoke to someone, giving them the attention they deserved – got the attention I deserved from them?
We hold our phones close to our chests. Hoping not to miss out on a trend, or tweet, or text; but what about the space we’re in, the moment we are occupying? Are we all actually living alone, together?
Often, I’m thankful for being raised in a generation that wasn’t obsessed with social media (yes, I know what this sounds like). Being an 80’s baby, I was living through the revolutionary changes that the Internet was making. Living through it, but it didn’t demand my attention the way it does today.
We were given the luxury, the freedom, of choosing when we wanted to be connected.
Instagram was a place for overly-filtered photos. Facebook allowed us to stay in touch, write long messages on walls, and share (carefully curated) albums of birthdays and holidays. Twitter – well, that was the sound a bird made.
I was part of a generation that went on dates without our phones. It seems odd to put it down in words, but necessary. It was magical. To have someone’s entire attention on you. Notice their quirks, how the light falls on them, how they walk with you near them. How you fit together, or not. All of it was special. To give someone the attention of all of your senses.
When we have a good old-fashioned face-to-face chat with someone, it opens up a whole new world of connection. We can sense their appreciation, compassion, and love, which brings us closer to reality and enhances our intuition and awareness.
But these days, we seem to be forgetting how to feel.
Some of us find it easier to avoid chatting altogether because it requires too much focus. We've become so used to being constantly distracted that we struggle to tune in and really listen to what others have to say.
One of the reasons I find myself immersed in the world of anime, is because of the careful details – from storytelling to world-building, to character arcs and creation. While there could be exceptions to my theory, of the (insert absolutely random number) hours that I have spent watching it, I’m yet to come across one that falters.
Each scene is a thoughtful conversation with the audience.
And I have enough screenshots on my phone, and laptop to prove this.
How does this connect to the real world, to lost conversations, you ask?
Turkle advocates limiting our device usage in “sacred spaces” like the dinner table, the places where phones and their enticements may impede intimacy and interaction. She wants us to look into each other’s eyes as we talk. She wants us to read each other’s movements. She wants us to have conversations that are supremely human.
Our digital devices give us a false sense of power, creating a high-tech ego that wants to put its fingers in everything. The more we depend on screens for communication, the more we're losing touch with something important – our true selves. It's like we're giving away our power to machines that don't really care about us.
So what if we just stopped for a minute and thought about what we're really missing? What if we turned off our phones, closed our laptops, and had a good old-fashioned chat with someone we care about? What if we opened ourselves up, really listened, and made a real connection with another human being? It might just change everything.
When an individual's mind is filled with opinions, self-centeredness, and constant distractions, it becomes challenging to prioritize the needs and opinions of others.
As a result, the norms of civility that were once established and upheld, such as respect for differing views, appreciation of truth, and feelings of embarrassment for shameful behaviour, are rapidly deteriorating.
In today's society, it is easy to see examples of this decline in civility. People are quick to judge and dismiss the opinions of others without considering their point of view. It seems that the more opinions we hold, the more difficult it becomes to imagine putting someone else's needs first.
This self-centeredness leads to a lack of empathy and compassion for others, resulting in a society that is more divided than ever before.
It is essential to recognise that this trend is harmful to both individuals and society as a whole.
When we fail to respect and tolerate differing viewpoints, we limit our ability to learn and grow. We become closed-minded, unwilling to consider alternative perspectives and unwilling to engage in meaningful dialogue.
This not only damages our personal relationships but also creates a larger cultural divide, making it increasingly difficult to find common ground and work together to solve societal problems.
This disconnection from reality and social norms can lead to inner turmoil and conflicts with those around us, ultimately creating a world that is fraught with anxiety, and lacking in emotional security.
This fast-paced world often forces us to make shallow connections; intimacy vanishes.
By intimacy, I don't mean just romantic love, but the kindness of being open, honest, and vulnerable with another person and feeling heard. The art of conversation is an exercise in mindfulness, which involves being fully present and aware.
It is not engaging in like or dislike; it is paying attention to being alive.
In the meme world, there are thousands of images, illustrations, photos, showing why talking, not texting, is rude, almost criminal.
Calling is not time-efficient. It doesn’t allow our eyes to be on several screens at once, as the new ways of this world have trained us to be.
I can chat with my friend in San Fransisco, helping her find the perfect outfit for her brunch date, while watching Succession with my husband, while forwarding recipes to my aunt who lives in Mumbai, while helping a colleague create the perfect campaign for a new product launch. My mom marvels at me being able to text with two thumbs. I watch in awe as my nephew, not even a few years old, flips through the apps on my phone, finds YouTube, and switches on his favourite meal-time cartoons.
Once I could screen calls, I ran with it. I can ignore the relative who often calls me to gossip about people whose names I don’t know. I can screen through the work call that I know should be an email.
But all of this flips, when I try to call my best friend, or my elder sister, only to have the call go unanswered, or cut with a quick auto message popping up on my screen: Can’t talk now. Text?
When writer Elizabeth Wurtzel died in January, a piece she wrote in 2013, about her “one-night stand of a life”. It began to circulate again, and it contained one paragraph that hit me particularly hard.
“Look at how we live,” she wrote. “We communicate in text messages and emails; even those of us old enough to have lived in a world where landline was not a word because it’s all there was have fallen into this lazy substitute for human contact. I have.”
Who hasn’t? New tools, and platforms pop-up almost every other quarter. There are limitless outlets for putting one’s thoughts out there. Endless way to start a conversation. My younger sister loves voice memos, and as much as I love to receive them – it is still one-sided. And makes me miss our conversations more.
We talk with one eye on efficiency.
From using tools to draw, to developing language with words, and hand movements, to using different mediums, like art, song, and dance, to writing letters, to typing, to sending emojis, we’ve come a long way. A long, possibly, lonely way – as we try to efficiently (and quickly) convey what we wish to. Oh, and now we’re using AI to write love messages.
Does this mean, we’re losing out on the joy of being heard?
WhatsApp groups are becoming noticeboards – families use them to share updates or send festive greetings. Friends and colleagues use it to make plans, some of which are confined to the chat window. I remember telling a friend, years ago, that I had switched off all notifications on my phone; which is always on vibrate mode.
Verbal conversations are unpredictable and unwieldy in a way that those written down are not, because when we type or tap, we are in control, of our side, at least.
Don’t get me started on Digital Break-Ups. That’s a topic for a whole other newsletter.
Our need to be ruthlessly efficient when we have to communicate over the phone has sent long-winding storytelling out the chat window. But… that’s what I loved the most about catch-up calls. To hear the excitement in my friend’s voice as she described every second of the first team meeting she conducted at her new workplace. To hear the longing in my lover’s voice, as he spoke about how much he missed me. To hear my mom jump from story, to story, when I was studying far away in another country.
Many times I’ve dreamed of deleting WhatsApp. We have a group filled with cousins who don’t speak to each other at family functions but wish each other diligently, as soon as the first ‘Happy Birthday’ pops up. I want to delete all the messages; force my friends to connect with me by calling me. I’ve made the little icon dance too often – but I would always stop.
You and I both know why.
Phew. This was a long one. Here’s a dancing potato, to thank you for your time!
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