Can we talk (without the smartphones)?

Get the Point!

“…Loneliness, is such a sad affair, and I can hardly wait, to be with you again…”

Whether you heard the above line in the angelic voice of Karen Carpenter, or the soulful tenor of Luther Vandross in their classic hit “Superstar” matters far less than the essence of a lyric that cuts to the core of human existence—which are the moments of feeling profoundly alone and, in those moments, whether joy or pain from that state depends upon the presence (or lack) of others.

Well, yesterday, I had a chance to read “The Loneliness Curve,” an article by Christine Caron in the NY Times that chronicles the impact that smart phones and social media are having on our collective mental health.

In full disclosure, for the majority of my life I have been what’s now popularly called an “ambivert,” which is defined as a person who has both “extroverted” and “introverted” tendencies. In practical terms, that means that I have no problem with walking into a room full of strangers, introducing myself, and then engaging in deep (or shallow) conversations for hours at a time—but it also means that I truly enjoy my own company, fiercely guard my own time, and can go through long stretches of not wanting to talk to anyone about anything substantial not because something is particularly wrong with me—but because I am enjoying my own company.

Throughout my life, I have also enjoyed people watching—especially in public—as I observe how people interact with their acquaintances, colleagues, family, friends, and yes, strangers. Over the past 15 years or so, as flip phones largely gave way to smartphones, I (and everyone else with a pair of eyes) can’t help but to notice how people are fixated on their phones and other smart devices as they sit in restaurants, ride public transit, or wait for their flights to the next city.

Now trust, this is a no-judgment zone; long before the emergence of smartphones and devices, I grew up in a family that always read the newspaper and magazines at the dinner table. Yes, we would converse at times—but those conversations often centered around the latest news headlines. Which is why at some point over the past decade and a half, I stopped taking delivery of the local news daily (Tallahassee Democrat) and the Sunday NY Times because I could access the same articles in my right hand—while feeding myself with the left.

And yet, perhaps instinctively these days, I understand the crux of Ms. Caron’s piece about loneliness because the part of me that is extroverted and prone to chat has often found that acquaintances, colleagues, friends, and some family members are not always equal to the talking task.

Which is ok, mind you, because one of the true hallmarks of being selfless—and not self-absorbed—is allowing people the space and peace to remain silent if they are not in the mood for a whole bunch of chatter. I actually learned this lesson the hard way, way back in 9^th grade, when I rushed to the door to greet my father one evening to tell him that I had gotten some significant playing time earlier that afternoon at first base after riding the bench at second base during my first varsity season. Not knowing that he had a difficult day, Dad snapped “boy, I can’t hardly get in the house without you rushing up to run your mouth. At least let me get in the house and get situated first…”

A 9th grade Hobbs (front row first on left), got my first varsity action not at what had been my little league position of second base, but at first base in 1987…

In hindsight, I can laugh at that exchange, but back then it hurt my feelings to the core—and forced me to understand the need to extend grace and not assume that everyone is always open to conversing just because I feel like talking it up.

Circling back to the issue of loneliness, when I read some of my old Facebook posts from March to May of 2020—during the early days of the pandemic—when I read those posts (thanks to Facebook Memory), I realize how very alone I was during this period as time and distance separated me from most of my family and friends back when most of the world was literally fighting to survive.

Indeed, I can tell that I was lonely because I was writing—a lot—a helpful device that I've used through the years to fill the void of human interaction. Now, by 2020, I was far more tilted toward the introverted side of the ambivert spectrum and to use a Spades analogy, but for deep conversations with “two and a possible” persons, I came out of that nightmare more aware and more intentional to have truly meaningful interactions—when time permits—with those within my familial and social circle.

That last point, meaningful conversations, doesn’t necessarily mean quantity, but a quality in my chats with kin and close friends that has increased to the point that I am now aware that even when I do feel alone, I know that I am never really alone—nor are any of us if we open up and allow the folks that matter to help fill any real or perceived voids through words—or mere presence if silence is the order of the day.