The Death of Communication

Communicating with each other has never been easier; what used to take days or weeks can now be accomplished in a split-second, and distance is no longer the constraint it once was.  My daughters both attend college in different time zones from me, and in the short time they’ve been way we’ve already texted, Skyped, emailed, called over the phone and even sent a few notes via US Mail.

So if communication has never easier then why are so many of us doing so little of it?

Much has been written about how young people’s personal communication skills are on the decline since the advent of texting and social networking, and to be sure, even anecdotally my daughters have reported difficulty meeting people – at college, no less – due to the lack of urgency: after all, when a person is alone, she can use her phone as a security blanket and therefore has little incentive to go through the awkward ritual of having to seek someone out, shake hands and make introductions.

But regardless of what’s happening in the huge social experiment of today’s youth, what about older folks?  I’m in my 40s.  Surely my generation communicates well with each other, right? 

My own personal experience – albeit not a statistically significant one – indicates otherwise.  Over the past few years I’ve been troubled by an increasing lack of communication among my generational brethren, and oddly enough, it even occurs at the electronic level where back and forth relays of information are particularly effortless.

I started thinking about this topic a few weeks ago, when during a conversation with my mom she mentioned how much she pines for the days when you could pick up a phone, call someone and expect an answer.  No caller ID.  No voicemail.  No waiting period during which you wonder whether your message has been a) received b) given to the person intended; c) forgotten about entirely or d) simply ignored. 

Initially I argued against my mother (surprise!) and suggested that caller ID and voicemail have been huge benefits.  They’ve shifted the power from the person making the call to the person receiving the call.  No longer am I obligated to answer the phone if it’s someone I don’t want to talk to (telemarketers, unknown numbers) or if the timing is poor (during dinner, heading out the door, going to bed).  No more am I forced to speak with a particular loquacious person who shall remain nameless when I know I’ve got to leave in five minutes to take my son to drum lessons.

But I’ve thought a lot about this topic since my mom and I spoke, and I’ve concluded that she’s onto something.  We generally no longer view voicemail messages as something that need to be addressed immediately, but rather view them as suggestions: something than can be addressed (or not) at some point in the future if it’s convenient.  Lately I’ve found this trend applies to other mediums as well.  During the past year I reached out via email to several friends I hadn’t seen in quite a while, and some of my messages were either never answered or were answered after a few months, and often very quickly.  (“Gotta make this short – really busy.”) 

A note to all people who keep announcing how busy their lives are: We’re all busy.  Get over yourselves. 

The lost art of letter writing – which I still practice – of course fairs poorly, as most of my letters are not only never returned (which I understand and expect) but are also unacknowledged (which I don’t understand even if I’ve come to expect it), and more and more even texts – heretofore a medium that commanded immediate attention – have been addressed in the same manner as phone calls and emails.  They’re placed in the “get to it later when it’s convenient” pile, and often never followed up on.

Now, to be fair, I still send and receive hundreds of emails and texts every month, but these are typically of the “what time is the meeting on Tuesday?” or “Man the Brewers suck” variety: quick communications meant to share quick information.  For these types of correspondences texting and emails work very well. 

But here’s the question: what’s replaced the lengthy phone conversations and in-depth letters or email correspondences that we used to have with family and friends?  I’m afraid that in many cases those types of interactions have gone by the wayside. 

You might say, “Sure, Paul, but you're kind of an asshole, and it’s clear people want nothing to do with you.”

Fair enough, but I think this trend doesn’t stop with me.  Even among my close friends and family I haven’t noticed a lot of reaching out to others.  The following excerpt is from an op-ed piece in the Wall Street Journal last May:

…we spend so much time maintaining superficial connections online that we aren’t dedicating enough time or effort to cultivating deeper real-life relationships. Too much chatter, too little real conversation.

I think there’s something to this.  More and more I witness people proactively avoiding real communication.  Invitations to parties go unanswered or – and this really kills me – are declined without the offer of an alternative.  So, for example, an invitation to get together is answered with “Can’t that evening, sorry,” instead of “can’t that evening, but what about next Friday?”  This appears to be a growing trend, and I find it sad.

Back in the 90s I kept all of the letters I received and took copious notes of daily events and correspondences.  In an effort to organize some of my old crap recently, I plowed through several years’ worth of paper and was amazed at how many letters and phone calls I received on a regular basis, and not just from family and close friends.  Even people very much on the periphery of my life called to say hello or took a half an hour out of their lives to compose a letter to me.  Upon review, I was amazed by the number of correspondences I used to exchange with people.

These days, even the most modest attempts at real human interaction are often met with little more than a shrug of the shoulders.  I know.  I’m starting to sound like that old codger.  And I’m starting to agree with my mother.  Forecast for hell: a deep freeze.

But I think it’s time for each of us to start thinking about what’s important and what signals we’re sending to each other.  After all, is a person who you don’t see, don’t talk to and don’t respond to messages from really a friend?  If yes, in what sense?  If not, I’ve lost a boat-load of friends over the past few years.

Dang, that’s depressing.

I think to make myself feel a little better I’ll call someone up and leave a voicemail.

29 Years Down the Line

Sometimes you can go back, at least for a moment.  Last Saturday I joined my high school colleagues and performed as our old 80s cover band, I ON U, before an audience of family, friends and classmates at Oscar’s Pub and Grill in Milwaukee, playing a ninety minute set that briefly transported us back three decades.  When the band last played together on May 16, 1986, Ronald Reagan was president, Whitney Houston ruled the airwaves, and we five musicians were headed for glory.  Our closing song was INXS’s “Don’t Change,” and ever since then this song has represented for me the end of something and the beginning of something else.  Back in 1986, the “something else” was life.  Fortunately the intervening twenty-nine years of living did nothing to hamper the enjoyment of the group on Saturday.

It began as a lark.  When my daughter and I visited Belmont University last January I called on guitarist Bill and his family to meet for lunch.  That we did, and sometime during the afternoon we put two and two together and realized that it was January 10, twenty-nine years to the day of I ON U’s first concert back in 1986.  Bill’s wife Anne took a photo of the two of us and posted on Facebook:

Part 1 of IonU reunion — at Taziki’s Mediterranean Cafe.  Bill and Paul just realized that today is the 29th anniversary of the first show!

Kevin, a high school classmate who remembers every person he’s ever met and is the consummate event planner, responded:

Is part two going to be Live Sept. 19th 2015 For Team Bryce and Al's Run/Walk for Children's Hospital??? Hmmmmmmmmm!!!!!! 

Kevin was referring to the team that for nine years has participated in the Brigg’s and Stratton Al’s Run and Walk for Milwaukee Children’s Hospital, which this year grew to 370 participants.

That set the wheels in motion, and within a few weeks singer Rob, drummer Jim and keyboardist Aaron were all on board, busily deciding on a set list, dusting off our old equipment and praying that muscle memory would take over.  Two rehearsals in June made it apparent that nothing had changed in twenty-nine years.  We still played well together, but what I really liked was the ease with which we were able to hang out.  For me, it was as if no time had passed at all. 

Playing Saturday on a pitch-perfect day, I was focusing more on playing the correct notes on my non-native bass guitar (and sometimes succeeded!) than what was happening around me, but for a few seconds I glanced up into the cerulean sky and thought, “Well, this is pretty much perfect.”  And while playing the song “Abacab” by Genesis, keyboardist Aaron and I stood side by side and placed our four hands on the same Roland Juno-60 that we played back in the 80s, and I turned to him and said something like, “This is pretty cool, huh?”

It was, indeed. 

It was also great seeing our old classmates looking terrific in their late 40s.  What I really like about these mini reunions is that it no longer matters who knew who back in high school, who was the jock and who was the band nerd, who glided through school and who struggled, who was homecoming king and who was the class clown.  None of that shit matters any more.  All that matters is that we’re alive.  We’re here.  We’re doing the best we can with all that life has dealt us: all the joys and heartaches, the little victories and monumental losses, the struggles and disappointments, the friendships and celebrations.  All we really want for everyone at this point is to keep on keeping on, and it’s a good feeling.

As the band once again closed with INXS’s “Don’t Change,” my fingers slid to the F sharp to begin the song’s descent and I again felt that twinge: it was the end of something, just as it was twenty-nine years ago.  Back then it was the end of high school, the end of the band, the end of friendships.  On Saturday, it was the end of something else.  I can’t quite put my finger on it and maybe don’t even want to.  I think it might have something to do with ending that period in my life when I had more days ahead than behind me.  Something reminding me to embrace the moment, because none of this is going to last forever.

“Don’t change a thing for me,” says the song.  But change we will.

A Poem: Mea Culpa

MEA CULPA

A windowless room

Withered olive branches

strewn across a barren floor

Pebbles ingested,

heavy, unable to pass,

denying sleep nor food nor rest

Mea Culpa

Summon Shakespeare’s tangled web

Joni Mitchell’s lonely river

Bathe in transgressions,

the meaty remains

of tense and troubled pasts

thick with the insecurities and belittlement of youth

The lashing out from loved ones

Their stern disapproval

Seek the source,

to learn

To finally, finally learn the lessons

Rather than lumbering and stumbling from year to year

from offense to offense

– the careless gesture, the words of venom –

from defeat to defeat to defeat

Until at last peace is proclaimed

or – let’s get real here – some modicum of peace

A morsel, perhaps

The passing of at least a few pebbles

to lessen the unbelievable burden

of being human 

 (Copyright 2015, Paul Heinz)