Art of Miscommunication

I never really thought about how hopelessly lost in the woods we all are when it comes to communicating until this summer provided me with three eye-opening lessons. We're going through the motions of what the online world demands from us, without even realizing we've entirely lost the essence of a genuine conversation.

Everyone’s doing it. We are all guilty.

Times are undeniably challenging – financially, mentally, and emotionally. In an era dominated by social media, texting, DM-ing, and scheming; now, more than ever - it’s imperative to hear people out, to comprehend their perspective rather than imposing our own.

Despite the instant gratification brought by device notifications, they've inadvertently created deep loneliness within us.

--

Two years ago, right smack in the middle of the pandemic - I met someone, you know that type of connection where they just enter your eye-sight and you just know? You go about your day getting to know them in the group of other people around you, calm and content because you know it’s not a matter of if, but when.

And when - it did. Unfortunately, we lived on different continents, and summer, according to its reputation, ended quickly. We stayed in touch for two whole years. We spoke constantly. Waited, planned, texted, and Instagramed to see each other again. The pandemic and lockdowns made it impossible. Jobs made it impossible. Vaccine regulations made it impossible.

I got used to his everyday messages, words, comments, and responses. Texts. He tried to call me or FaceTime me many times or asked to call me, but I always said: “Text me, I’m out”, even when I wasn’t. I’m a writer, therefore a sucker for the written word. Somehow, someone saying something great to me is never as good as seeing those words written down.

When I was bored I would post a picture he would react on. When I was tired or frustrated and needed a pick me up, I would say something I knew he would react to. It was so nonsensical, that I’m tempted to stop now and leave this article unwritten, how nauseated I am from telling this tale.

I arrived home this summer, knowing he’d also be there. I didn’t tell him when I was coming, I didn’t call him to tell him my dates, and I didn’t text him to let him know what day I was arriving. My level of communication was walking down to the supermarket to post a picture, tagging the city, knowing I would get a reaction from him, excited to realize I also arrived.

We created games out of a simple act of communicating.

Why was all this needed?

Seven seconds later, his response came in. Right on schedule. Excitement and disbelief I’m actually, finally at the same spot he is.

What followed was a Tolstoy volume of lunacy.

What should have been a 5-minute phone call with the following content: “Hey, I’m here, let’s meet there & there at that hour”, was Instagram DM’s worth about three hours of excitement, misunderstandings, emotions running high, not reading each other right, not reading the intent, a plan, a group dynamic he was with, and so on.

Sprinkle that with jet lag, tiredness, and irritability; naturally - we got in a fight. Never saw each other that night. Lesson not learned, we spoke again a few days later, again Instagram, again DM’s, again misunderstanding, not reading what the other said the way it was intended. We got in the fight  -  again, did not meet up  -  again; in fact, we never saw each other or spoke, ever again.

--

Later in the summer, I reunited with a childhood friend I hadn’t seen much in the past decade. Life scattered us apart; I moved to a different continent, and he got married (read: also moved to a different continent). His wife wasn’t keen on him having female friends, so we skipped lots of moments together. He also skipped on social media and all this digital nonsense the rest of us got drowned in.

Reuniting with someone who had never engaged in social media made it appear as if he was frozen in time. I was mistaken - I was the one who felt trapped, not him. I was frozen. He had a profound understanding of genuine human connection, while those of us around him seemed to be more connected in appearance only.

He blew a completely different type of air into my lungs.

I told him a story about the guy and messaging and falling out, thinking he would give me some supreme guy insight. But what he said was: “Miranda, I don’t understand you, after trying to see each other for 2 whole years, you are in your house, and he is in the city, about 300 meters from you, and you are messaging and misunderstanding each other in DM’s; why didn’t you just walk down the road and talked in person? And when he left, why are you again DM’ing for hours and again misinterpreting each other, why didn’t you pick up the phone and CALL HIM?”

I’m usually considered a fairly sensible person. And this option didn’t even cross my mind. This is how deep in the woods we are. That it never actually occurred to me to pick up the phone, even three hours deep into texting, when it was clear we were too high-strung and just not getting each other.

Mind you, I’m not even a Millennial. I’m a Gen X, I know how to talk on the phone.

How can we fail at this? How can I fail at this?

Times are dire, complicated, and mentally hard; we are all going through a pandemic hangover, and no one is doing well. How can I not comprehend the vital importance of communicating with precision, hearing each other’s actual voice, and understanding the intent?

--

In the second part of my summer, I got a present. A gift. I definitely didn’t deserve it or earn it. I got it nonetheless.

I met someone else. I wasn’t even that nice to him. But he kept checking in on me every day, casually. He didn’t have social media. He didn’t even text as much as other people do. There weren’t many words, compliments, attention seeking, or giving; he was just texting to make plans. He would mostly send me pictures of where he currently is or what he’s doing, text me to call him, or ask me if he can call me.

I was weird about it in the beginning. I would sometimes tell him I would call and then get distracted by people, and things around me. Where could I go to have a conversation in peace? It took a minute for me to get used to it and create this space for him, for calls and actual conversations.

It shocked me how not used to talking to a guy on the phone I actually was.

We live in times of so much texting, messaging and so little doing. So much attention-seeking and giving online, but so little play in real life.

This guy was the opposite.

Little talk, but so much planning. Meeting up. Doing stuff. Experiencing stuff. Each other. And when I started to actually like him a little bit, I missed heavy texting. I missed those messages where you send or receive these little things you want to hear, I would miss him not seeing a picture I posted on social media that references him or is something only he and I know about. It almost felt empty. Like I was doing this alone. Doing us alone. While I actually had him in real life.

The more I walked this path with him, I started to see how utterly useless all this online chatter is. Texts, DM’s, comments, or likes on your Stories  - con you into thinking you have a connection with someone. It makes you dependent on other people’s reactions as if they actually validate your existence. As the mileage of messages actually validates your connection.

Sometimes I do miss constant text messages or DM’s, but like every proper former addict, after a period of withdrawal, I saw this nothingness as a gift. You don’t need attention. You don’t need comments. You don’t need a digital reaction. In fact, it’s terrible for you.

I needed this empty space. Days without constant notifications. The simplicity of human interaction. Someone that spends less time crafting a perfect sentence to message me, and more time planning to actually see me.

And you do too.