My addictive nature took shape young. My first addiction: daydreaming. I would get huge crushes, obsess about possible scenarios, and use my imagination to tap out of the present moment and replace it with a better scene–one within my control.
My limerence has remained but I’ve also diversified over the years, dabbling in other addictions too. My latest–like so many of us now–involves my phone. For me, it’s not an app or social media, but rather broadcasting my every meandering thought, question, and idea to friends.
It started when I was traveling. I spent over a month in a time zone where everyone I knew slept for most of my waking hours.
Then, in the early solitude of the pandemic, I continued sending my real-time thoughts, fears, complaints, and daily malaise to others. Every morning I’d wake up, get dressed, and walk outside with a warm coffee in one hand and a cracked iPhone in the other. My thumb constantly pressed a record button as I fired off about 20-30 minutes of voice texts to 4-5 friends all across the globe.
It was one of the few routines I had to look forward to during early lockdown and soon it became a seminal coping mechanism and cherished routine. It came from a deep desire to connect, to share, and to catch the thoughts and ideas I was still processing like a journal. It became my mobile version of Julia Cameron’s Morning Pages–but instead of speaking into a void I was speaking to people I loved, trusted and missed. These exchanges felt intimate, I’d share what I’d be too bashful to say in person or even live with someone on the other end of the phone. I didn’t have to hear their reaction, at least not in real time, so I felt in control.
I could stop and restart; if I felt like I said something problematic, I could restate it. Embarrassingly, sometimes I’d do this several times before pressing send and they’d never know that the cool, casual 2 minute hello had been recorded in several takes. I could come back to the thread later with an addendum or apology once I’d cooled off from the situation I’d been venting about.
It was cathartic to let out my honest emotions around a situation while they were fresh without having to coordinate a time to speak or hoping to catch someone on the phone. They could listen at their leisure and respond if and when they had space for it.
And I would do the same. The more vulnerability I sent in my messages the more I received back. I loved hearing the tender ups and downs of my friends, what they were going through, and processing it all with them on my morning caffeinated walks. I’d only listen to the responses when I had the energy and brain space to speak back.
I loved being able to be useful and neutral to their situations as they had been in mine. We started to know the names of the characters in each of our separate stories and invested in how things turned out.
Soon though, like anything we hold onto too tightly, I started to see a darker side.
The first sign was that I started to constantly live with a low-level feeling of being behind in my correspondence. Then my friend Hannah posted a screenshot of the messages I’d sent her with the caption, “what it’s like to be Katie Dalebout’s friend”, I thought it was funny to be lovingly made fun of in a way that made me feel seen and known. Eventually, I realized I had four different voice texting apps on my phone, everything from Signal to Voxer. And I had the ability to write a comprehensive, detailed review of each.
All of this was innocent enough, until I I noticed I was feeling a bit self-absorbed and disconnected.
The unlistened-to messages in my pocket were all I had in the height of the pandemic but not now. I was feeling rusty at live conversations because I was used to the self editing I could do when recording my voice for both podcasting and voice texting.
In editing my podcast, I can remove not only my vocal ticks (“likes”, “ums”, “so”, “you knows”, etc.), but also anything untrue or said out of fear, people pleasing, or a desire to be liked or noticed.
We don’t get to do that in real life. The conversation with the person I run into may be messy, clunky, and awkward. It includes the things my ego said to make me sound cool; story I told to relate; the remark I don’t even believe but said to morph into what I thought the person in front of me wants. Anxiety is partly to blame for this obsession with how I am perceived, but also listening back to my voice on the podcast.
When editing my podcast I’ve gotten to hear my ego speak and remove it with the click of a few buttons:
Why did I laugh THAT hard at that joke? → to validate them.
Why did I need to say, “Oh cool he’s from Michigan too!!” → to show a connection
“Oh yeah I know him too” → to feel part of the group
It’s easy to see this in retrospect but nearly impossible in real time.
Live theater or music is alive because there is room for error. We love it because it’s unpredictable. It’s not perfect, but unlike limerence it is real and true which often means messy.
When it comes to voice texting, it is honest, yet devoid of the organic back and forth volley that occurs in a live conversation, where we can bounce off each other to create together what we cannot in a monolog.
Voice texting is a mode of communication, but not necessarily connection. I do love that audio messages allow you to wait to listen at a time and place where you can give your full attention . In live conversations, distractions exist
I'm not trying to quit voice texting completely; harm reduction rather than abstinence. But I am saving updates to share once I’ve sat with them alone for a bit and journaling. Most processing is best done alone.
It won’t shock you at this point that currently I have about 40-50 minutes of unlistened-to messages on my phone. Of all of them, the ones I’m most eager to press play on aren’t reactions to my meanderings but rather updates from the people who I know are going through it and venting to me. Because being the supportive, encouraging, and listening one is actually the part that feels best in a conversation. Nothing will actually help me feel better about my problems, than listening to what others are going through.
Do you use voice texting? What is your favorite way to communicate with friends?
Two new episodes below (and both probably still include some of my ego that didn't get edited out).
Love,
Katie
