I was explaining Tinder to Agung, our driver here in Bali.
“It’s this App on your phone,” I told him, “so if you want to meet someone and have a date, you just look here.” I held out my phone to him like it was a genie in a bottle, like presto bingo, love in a box.
Agung smiled and tilted his beautiful brown face at me. I couldn’t tell if he didn’t understand what I’d said or if he just felt sorry for me.
“Do you have Tinder here?” I asked.
Not that I was going to use it. While it’s true that I’m swimming in a sea of estrogen at Mastin Kipp’s 28-day-writing intensive in the town of Ubud, I’m not exactly on the make – though I was curious if I did turn on Tinder what my Balinese prospects would be like. In fact, a number of people, including, my friend Tim – who is a bit of a psychic – told me with certainty that I’d fall in love in Bali. “Without a doubt,” he’d said.
“No, no Tinder,” said Agung shaking his head. “When we meet someone we like to be together” – and he gestured with his hands back and forth between us, “ to feel the other person,” he said.
“Right,” I nodded. And then I basically shut up because what could I say to that? Who doesn’t want to feel another person?
Sometimes I think I’ve turned into one my daughters, who are 17 and 20. I remember once in middle school Ruby was interested in a boy and she told me that they were “talking,” which actually meant they were texting. I thought, what is the world coming to, kids don’t know how to talk to one another anymore. That can’t be good. She and this boy would text and text and when they did get together it was often awkward and silent. They didn’t know what to say to one another. While I do know how to talk to men, I find I’m much more comfortable texting them. Calling feels like a possible intrusion. I might catch someone off guard. It’s too intimate.
I can’t believe I just wrote that, but I think it’s often true. I’ll call a man if I know him well, but not someone new. A few men have called me and I think it’s so brave. Sometimes I pick up and sometimes I don’t. I’ll always call back, but in the moment going voice to voice feels naked and too real. Of course, down deep I want to connect like that with someone, but what I’m noticing is that because of the convenience of texting, I may be losing my intimacy chops, the part of me that knew how to connect more deeply with another person.
And why call when you can get a message to someone in a matter of seconds through text or email, Tinder, Viber or Whatsapp? Right now I’m in Bali, 8000 miles from home, but I just got a video of my youngest daughter sitting in a restaurant in the Berkshires sipping her grandmother’s martini. “Hi mom!” she said, winking at me.
Presto, magic, bingo.
It’s so sexy. I can text three people at once – have three conversations that never cross one another – though you do have to pay attention to who you’re texting. Once I got a text from a man I know who wanted to know what I’d be wearing for dinner that night, even though we didn’t have a date. “Who’s the lucky girl?” I texted back.
“Ooops,” he wrote.
Texting is so NOW, NOW, NOW. Yesterday my mom texted me from an Uber that was weaving in and out of traffic in Manhattan, as I sat on a sunny porch in Bali in my nightie drinking coffee, watching a big fat lizard run up and down a column. That’s magic and I wouldn’t trade that for the world.
And last night as I lay in my dark, mosquito tent of a bed here in Bali, I texted back and forth with a friend, a man I know from home, and it was actually a very deep conversation about love and sex, and I was touched by it. I needed a little support and he was there to offer it. So good things can happen from millions of miles away.
I guess the thing is, and now I’m back to what Agung said about feeling the other person, is that as nice as NOW, NOW, NOW is, I also feel like I’m moving farther away from my ability to be intimate, to be vulnerable, especially with men, and that doesn’t feel good. If a call from a man makes me feel naked and too seen, how can I find my footing when I’m actually with them?
As I get older I want more togetherness, more real contact with people. I think texting is making me a little lazy, less emotionally brave. I want the courage to pick up a phone and call someone I like, someone who might not be expecting me. I want the courage to call and say, “hey, what are you up to? I want to see you.”
I love this and I’m your youngest sis!!!! XOXO
Sad. Sad intimacy. Sad no intimacy. Sadness of connection. Sadness in the happiest of connections. As I read this my heart goes out to all the lonely hearts, including my own. Yearning. And fear. Fear of getting what we most yearn for and then losing our “footing,” as you say, Laurie. Slipping off the deck of that beautiful ship we hoped would sail us across the sea to paradise. Slipping into the soothing isolation of the ocean. As I type this I have that jittery texty feeling of trying to make the keys count. I hit the keys harder than I need to. I can see how the letters are being rubbed away from ferocity. I can feel the stiffness in my right wrist and the crunch in my jaw. Even as I want to open my mouth and sing. I am grateful for the intimacy of being completely silent with the man I love. But at the same time, it scares the bejeezus out of me.
I think your last line says it all, Laurie. Don’t we all want the courage to be vulnerable and still call and say, “Hey, what are you up to. I want to see you.”
I’ve been diving into these ideas, working with an ap developer for a new site called SIREN for TEDx. Good stuff here! I feel the same way about texting and email — rather than calling. And not for dating, for everything. I had a good friend years ago and we’d rant and rave all over email, but when we got together for coffee it was….awkward. We couldn’t seem to make the same connection. So strange.
I can’t help but think that your next love will fall in love with your bravery.
I met Mr P on a dating website and we went from online chatting to in person chatting within a week – I wanted the real deal feel too. And now I can’t imagine ever wanting our conversation to be over xx
I feel you sister.
And then there’s the sad reality that if you called someone they would think you were crazy or overly interested, when you just want to be human.
In Bali. Where everything is feel. Smelling of little flowers, the daily burning of brush. Intoxicating smells. Sounds that come from the sea and feet stepping on sand. Laurie, I hope you dive deep and then share with the rest of us, your attentive audience.
Laurie, I feel you there in Bali, as I sit in my apartment in Paris. Yes, that Paris. Our world shrinks with cloud connectivity yet isolates us when our touch is finger tip on a screen not skin to skin. The voice connection on WhatsApp has been clearer from Paris to Marin than a routine workday call from Sausalito to San Francisco. No doubt the events here and my compulsion to stream updates from all my devices circles around your essay. Out on the streets the Bon Jours still can be heard, must be expressed human to human. People are still kissing. Nothing replaces that. Thanks for your words. They arrived in my box today. Thanks for reminding us that our craving for real physical intimacy is something we all share, but sometimes it can still be felt reading the words from loved ones transmitted half a world away.
Oh no. Can’t believe I missed you in Bali.
I usually go for the festival and am sometimes a moderator. This year we were away in Europe.
Will you be attending again another year? And if you are in this part of the world again and feel like a detour to Kuala Lumpur, would be very happy to entertain you. Hope everything went well.
Hi Laurie. One of your former students here. Writing for me has always been where I express myself best. I think. So, I was born for intimacy at a distance. Intimacy that comes slowly, through the written word.
I actually lost a love because of lack of the technology that we have today. It was an international relationship, so distance was forced on us. The technology would have helped. It helps today as the love and I are six years into round 2 of our relationship. But of course, being together, like your driver said, is best. Most of the time.
Enjoy your time in Bali. I’m sure we will learn more about it. I’m very curious about this adventure. Obviously, I must have been missing your posts. Even technology requires that we be present.
Great post, Laurie.
Oh Laurie. So much room for misunderstanding in emails and text. Only 7 percent of communication done with words, the rest in tone and body language. Vulnerability is real strength. You have it. Yes, convenience is marvelous when traveling but there is nothing like the real deal. In my opinion, anyway. Love you.
What I love so much about you, Laurie, is that you’re always seeking the truth. You’re always looking behind the couch, and in dusty corners, and in the lines between the text.
I love your writing + it is always thought-provoking!
What dropped in for me when I read this is that yes, I also know that place in me that only face-to-face connection can fill. I so appreciate that I am surrounded by friends and family I see a lot real time. AND, I also totally appreciate the different ways that text/email/voxer/Facebook/etc connect me to others. It isn’t the same as face-to-face, but it is definitely part of the kaleidoscope of connection.
I was just at an event last week where I met some folks for the first time whom I’ve known for years online/phone/text. It was amazing to meet face-to-face and it made me even more grateful for all the other modes of communication that enabled us to build our friendships before that was possible.
As always, thanks for being who you are + helping us all get to our own true stories!!!! Love ya — in person + on text + on viber + via voice note!
Texting is such a godsend for phone-phobics like me. I’m fine face-to-face, but the phone has terrified me since I was a little kid. E-mail, great! Text, even better! Voice mail, my husband hasn’t figured it out yet (another problem with phones). Love the pictures too. J.
Thank you, once again, L for articulating what so many of us feel.
A laughing smile, a questioning raised eyebrow, a hesitating inflection of the voice, a warm touch; all missed by the text message. If you could see the person behind these words, you’d see a 60ish woman who has always embraced that one to one contact and not the new technology of today. There must be something to being called, “old-fashioned”! Loved your writing, Laurie, and hope you DO find your special someone.
Every generation has rebelled against their parent’s traditions only to find themselves adopting many of these later on. However, the charming awkwardness of romance has both endured and inspired love, art, music and literature that have been woven into all cultures. Admittedly, the loving relationship I am now in started on line, with pictures and complete thoughts that were carefully and considerately crafted. But do I believe that the likes of Tinder and Facebook have made the world is a better place? On balance, the answer to that would be a resounding no. Finding and sustaining romantic love is an ongoing quest in which you must, yes, ‘feel the other person’. The idea that it can be reduced to a convenience on your phone, seemingly no more relevant than hailing a ride, is a reflection of a generation attempting to not only disregard the past, but erase it. As before, they will eventually come to appreciate how much their parents really knew.
Living the contradictions – this is what I thought of when I read this marvelous post. How there’s a part of technology that works so beautifully, slicing the distance between our loved ones so that – for example – I can see my niece hold a piece of artwork she made even though she lives 3,000 miles away – or, like in this past awful week in Paris, we can connect so immediately and viscerally and compassionately with an entire community’s pain.
And then there’s that other part about technology that makes us uneasy around true intimacy, that keeps us at a cautious distance and so awkward-hearted when we are alone in the room with someone else.
I think what matters most at a time like this is our willingness to stay put a beat or two longer than we feel comfortable with. To resist the temptation to get up from our metaphorical seats and move into another room. To disappear into our devices. I try to look at it as a challenge to myself, especially when I find myself squirming. And that thing you said about being brave comes in here – how can I do the braver thing, which is to be in the exact center of the moment I’m in? How can I be more present, to myself and to others? How can I meet the vulnerability swirling in this room, trying to snake its way out of it? How can I get closer, instead of further away?