Sometime in my late teens, I decided I hated talking on the telephone, and I still do. I’m not really sure why.
It could be because I find it extremely difficult to do anything else while concentrating on the phone. Or that the lack of visual cues has led to some unintentionally tense conversations. Or that the prevalence of cell phones has radically altered the soundscape to where no one introduces themselves or asks if you have time to talk and you’re expected to always be instantly available. Or maybe it’s all that and more.
Don’t get me wrong; I like the telephone. I have no problem using it to set up appointments or to have short (or even long) conversations with friends, family and colleagues. It’s just that I will always prefer the face-to-face mode of communication.
Texting, on the other hand, is just evil.
Again, I’m not sure why. I love e-mail and Facebook and I chat frequently. As my mom likes to say, I write better than I talk.
My dislike of texting could be that it’s like talking on the phone, minus the good aspects. It could be because my phone is more than four years old, and typing is laborious. Or maybe because every human being I cross has a phone that’s constantly chiming, everywhere I go, every minute of the day. Or that when I’m with actual people in person, they tend to be more interested in their chats than with their actual company (not you, you’re OK). Or maybe it’s all that and more.
Don’t get me wrong; I like texting. No I don’t.
But I still do it. Because in this age, it’s necessary. And sometimes, typing those letters is the only way to be heard.