remember what mom said ... pick up the phone
/A couple of centuries ago when social media was new -- we all started looking for people we hadn’t talked to since high school.
I heard from the first guy I kissed when I was 13, the 15-year-old who tried to fight me because we wore the same white blouse, the guy who tried to unzip my polka dot prom dress.
Suddenly all those people were there for a free-for-all, crawling in and out of the woodwork.
It’s happening again. Our forced hibernation, this all-in-this-together, I-hope-you’re-okay and I-still-think-of-you ruminating environment seems to be turning some people into better communicators.
And not fake ones either. Real communicators, picking up the phone not to text or e-mail or Facebook message -- though there’s plenty of that going around -- but actually picking up the phone and having an old-fashioned one-on-one like Mom used to tell us to do.
Extraordinary times demand extraordinary behavior.
A woman I recently met in a hot tub, an old college friend, distant relatives -- all of them picked up the phone to ask what things are like where I am, wanted to tell me what it’s like by them. Wanted to reconnect, re-up the relationship, wanted to say in times like these, you pop into my heart and you know what, I’m flaunting the idea that phone calls have become rude and intrusive, and I’m letting my mouth do the talking instead of my fingers. Just this once.
This is no time to fidget around the edges of connection.
Of course these calls can interrupt a perfectly busy day. Now though, as we switch gears, I propose they could also be as life-sustaining as a warm blanket, a hot bowl of soup, a dog at your feet and a classic movie.
Quite a bit of research proves the value of hearing someone’s voice. Studies show our sense of hearing may even be stronger than our sense of sight, that when empathy is required -- and I’d say this period qualifies -- it’s the voice alone that radiates the most compassion.
It’s certainly not digital dots on a page.
In fact, it’s been shown when you get a text or e-mail, there’s no emotional bump in the brain. But when Alexander Graham Bell is involved, the emotional centers in the brain apparently think it’s party time.
We’re already physical distancing. Do we need emotional distancing as well?
I decided to do a quick self-experiment when my cousin Pete suddenly called from New York. After a delightful exchange that made us laugh and groan as I imagined him searching for food in small, packed groceries and he imagined me spraying Lysol on delivery boxes -- I felt physically touched. I could access a warming in my chest, a palpable sense of fullness, a deep breath. No, it wasn’t a coronary.
At the same time, when I received texts or e-mails that day from people saying “hey and hope you’re ok” I noticed a switch. My chest went flat, empty. My rational brain kicked in.
When I went to social media, my head spun off, like a bunch of monkeys running around in there. My breath, the key to calmness, became fast, noisy, frenetic.
Old school: Phone calls are a complete waste of time. New coronavirus school: Phone calls go straight to the waiting heart.
As we hang out with our gray hair peeking through, our waists spreading, our work not going well, our days filled with finding toilet paper and eggs, and our money at risk . . . maybe we need that heart-felt kumbaya.
Maybe one unexpected phone call to someone meaningful? It can even be once and done, then go back to your fingers. I bet, in this time of unparalleled crisis, our mothers would be proud.