It’s Been Nice Not Talking To You

I rearrange the icons on my iPhone pretty regularly, and I usually rejigger them around based on how often I use the app. The phone icon is never in the top five. Never ever.

Am I abnormal? Not really, it turns out. Well. Not in this way, anyway. Shut up. Here’s the New York Times article to prove I’m not alone.

We just don’t talk to each other much anymore, it turns out. At least, not by picking up the phone and dialing a number. We IM, we email, we text, we Tweet, we Facebook – but actual telephone calls are reserved for escalating issues, for off-the-record comments, and for older relatives.

I’m used to this, but really thinking about it does cause a little pang of nostalgia. Talking on the phone was my lifeline through teenagerdom. Getting a little white slimline telephone – in my own room – with my own phone number – was one of the high points of adolescence. It didn’t have Caller ID. It wasn’t cordless. But it was an absolutely massive step toward freedom. I was on that phone All. The. Time. My arm cramped up from holding it. I fell asleep on the phone. I still remember that phone number. I still remember my best friends’ phone numbers. But now? I can’t tell you anybody’s number except my own. And where’s that big step? Kids get their own cell phone in second grade. Is it really that exciting for them?

Maybe we’re reverting back to the old days, when making a phone call was an important thing. “You’ve got a long-distance call!” and all that.

Maybe we’re losing our relationships to the devil of modern technology. I’m sure some would say that.

As for me, I loved staying on the phone all night in high school, but now, I’m pretty happy writing to you, not necessarily talking to you. How do you feel?