Responding To Texts

I was describing what life light has been like to a friend. “Texts don’t stress me out as much anymore,” I explained, “it’s almost like the burden of constant communication has been removed.”

Which is funny, because the nature of the exchange has not really changed – I still have responsibility to respond to texts. Getting a light phone isn’t a free pass to be a poor communicator.

So why do I feel significantly less stressed in responding to texts? Why has what used to be a nagging box in my never-ending checklist faded unto a gentle presence that is there when I have time, and leaves me alone when I don’t?  

My friend then asked if I had email on my phone. When I responded in the negative, she pointed out a seemingly obvious thing I hadn’t noticed before: work is separate. I cannot work on my phone. I’m not in a stage of life where my work includes texting people, and I don’t have email or chrome or apps where I could do other work. It is purely communication for communication’s sake.

That’s probably why it feels less stressful, she notes.

And I realized, there is something daunting about the blue bubble, about the red circle, that pushes and prods and wears down and I never understood why or how. In having one powerful device that communicates to coworkers, to friends, to family, for all kinds of purposes, the work aspect has slowly leaked into it all. Imagine using a school or work notebook to also journal and write down prayers. I would never pray! It would feel like work!

Because all communication was on my iPhone, responding to a friend asking to hang out began to feel like work, something to put off, a chore. Communicating with friends felt like a chore.

Woah.

What could the repercussions of this be, on a larger scale?

We confuse all communication with work. We isolate, delving further into ourselves, because we are too tired to connect, which would make us more tired. And the vicious cycle would feed itself, burnout and isolation until we’re left overworked and deeply lonely.

It’s already happening.

Isolation is a rest poser, masquerading. Solitude is the real thing, vital to emotional and spiritual health. Solitude breathes revelation and light; isolation numbs and festers in darkness.

In a new season of post-grad, I have found myself coming off an eight-hour shift, exhausted. My friends all say they are playing pickleball and honestly in that moment all I want to do is go home and lay in my bed but then I remember… and I go anyways and yes I am still tired and I don’t even play ball really but I am with my people and life breathes afresh.

It takes discipline to rest, and wisdom. It comes in mysterious and shifting forms. Sometimes in the form of going to a pickleball game after I have worked an eight-hour shift on my feet all day. Discerning if I crave solitude or am isolating myself takes a wisdom that is not my own.

As I practice sabbath in this season, I am finding I don’t need to turn off my phone. I used to have this desperate itch to power it off because that’s the only way I felt I could really rest, but was left feeling isolated in cutting myself off from all ability to communicate with a friend. It was something I sacrificed then, but not anymore.

My light phone leaves room for solitude. I don’t have to power it off to rest.

Because responding to texts doesn’t feel like work anymore. Sure, I’ll still put it off. But it doesn’t nag. It’s not heavy. It’s not burdensome. It just… is.

Coordinating a last-minute coffee date with a friend. Calling my mom to tell her about my weekend. Texting a neighbor I’m on my way over. Asking my roommate what’s in the fridge back home. I am reaping the benefits of modern technology in being able to do these things, and have a newfound gratitude for it. I communicate to commune, and it breathes life.