Well hello there -
My days are beginning to flow together, Mondays resembling Thursdays, Tuesdays feeling no more exciting or special than Wednesdays, a symbol of a life becoming routine. Regardless of how temporary this time may be, it is where I am, and in it, I find I am spending more time with myself and less time with those I care deeply about – my friends. Part of this isolation is geographical, having gone to high school in Delaware, college in Connecticut, spent a year in Paris, and now living in Colorado, the people I love are scattered across the world. In turn, technology is the most reliable form of connectivity and medium to stay in touch. The issue, however, is my inability to use my phone for its true purpose, to call.
For reasons I cannot fully articulate, I find connecting with my friends on the phone a near-impossible task. Even if we spend time texting with one another, sharing videos on various social media apps, and commenting on each other’s Instagram posts, the act of picking up my phone and calling them feels hard. I wish that weren’t the case. I miss my friends. I miss their laughter and the way they tell stories. I miss hearing what is new and I wish I knew more about their everyday life. It is in all of these desires one would think I could find the courage to pick up the phone and call them, but I cannot. Instead, I find myself scrolling through my camera roll until I find a picture of the friend I am missing and send them the photo with a simple text underneath: “miss you <3” – I know, appalling.
But when the stars align, and I, for whatever reason am confident and free at the same time as a far away companion, and we do call, the feelings of fullness, admiration, and joy are undeniable. In truth, calling is much easier than I make it out to be. Answering the phone and starting a conversation creates a newness in one’s otherwise routine day. I feel lighter, more energized, and loved. I recently caught up with two of my closest friends on Facetime. What I thought would be quick catch-ups (one friend recently returned from France, and the other has a new love interest in their life) turned into hour-long conversations discussing everything from family, room decor, life after college, and our current reading habits.
A New York Times article published in January titled “The Secret Power of the 8-Minute Phone Call” discusses several reasons why people struggle to connect on the phone. One excuse is the perception that phone calls must carry weight, an expectation that “catch-ups” should be long and in-depth, spanning large amounts of time to truly feel reconnected with the person on the other end of the line. Instead, the article describes the power of a short call, a call wherein one does not need to block off an entire afternoon. The power of a scheduled phone call lies in its capacity to treat each participant as an equal listener and sharer. When the time is up and the ‘end call’ button is hit, you are left feeling connected and heard. I love that idea, the 8-minute phone call. It is less daunting than the one-hour Facetimes I just described, and less stressful than the scenarios I create in my head that stop me from dialing a number in the first place. So I’m going to try it.
To all the text messages I never responded to, the promised phone calls I never made, and the letters I have yet to write back to, know I am working on it. I am learning that phone calls are not scary, and that if I’m missing you, chances are you too are missing me. I am learning that text messages and meme sharing are no longer adequate forms of communication and I crave and deserve more. I am learning that phone calls don’t have to last for hours, and that eight minutes is more than enough time. I am learning to hold myself accountable, knowing my relationships are worth the time and love. So, if you get a text from me asking to schedule an 8-minute phone call, know I am learning, I am trying, and I cannot wait to hear the sound of your voice.
I am currently intrigued by developing expired film, copious amounts of hair oil, and The Smiths’ 1984 self-titled album. Aquaphor on everything, gingerbread loaf for breakfast, pistachio cake for dessert, and new car smell instead of cologne. Going to concerts alone - and enjoying them more, lavender tea before bed, sitting on the floor, long calls with my boyfriend, and denim on denim. Juggling instead of scrolling, cousin laughter, book recommendations from Paul Hameline, and hotdogs, forever and always.
That is all for now.
Until soon,
C
xx
