Once upon a time, or what seems like another lifeline than the one we currently inhabit, there existed an age where you could sit down at a diner, have your cup of Joe, engage in enlightening discussions with the bloke next to you wearing a three-piece suit or a farmer on his midday break. Those were the splendid times when conversation was not just idle chatter; it was a significant part of our social life. Familiarity didn’t breed contempt; instead, it created a sense of community and belonging. You don’t just stumble upon that anymore.
Having been anchored in the mighty city of Schenectady, NY all my life, I have seen this paradigm shift happen right before my weary eyes. Now, the cafes are no longer buzzing with discussions about the little charms of life or the grand ideologies of the world. Instead, it’s overpowered by the incessant tapping of fingers on screens and the occasional chuckle that comes from sharing a meme or, worse, a TikTok video.
But let me back up before I get ahead of myself here. As a professional writer who loved dissecting the society he lived in, gleaning wisdom from ordinary and extraordinary happenstances, let’s say I’m hardly a stranger to the art of putting thoughts into words. I have spent more years behind a typewriter than I care to count, witnessing and chronicling the seasons of life rolling by.
It was in one of those days of yore, possibly in the early 90s, I remember being at Perreca’s, enlivened by the rich aroma of freshly baked bread. Taking my customary seat by the window, I was scribbling some thoughts for a local newspaper on my notebook. Old Sal, a portly figure known to everyone in the neighborhood, walked in and nodded at me, saying, “Hey, you, wordsmith. What’s the story today?” His jovial nature, always bringing a smile to my face, was an antidote for the biting winters, and conversations with him were like a warm fireplace. But today, Old Sal is gone, and so is his spirit that breathed life into our community – slowly replaced by the cold, impersonal glow of smartphones, emanating from the hands of patrons, lost in their own insular worlds.
When did we morph from being social creatures to screen-devout zombies? The advent of the smartphone, as I reckon, has singularly wreaked havoc on real interactions. Look at teenagers today; their eyes are constantly glued to that little rectangle, thumbs doing the furthest thing from twiddling. Don’t get me wrong; I’m neither a technophobe nor an old fool trying to relive his glory days by belittling present times (although my daughter might disagree, seeing that she still can’t convince me to upgrade my good old Nokia for that sleek iPhone she flaunts).
But ponder upon it candidly – when was the last time you struck up a conversation with a stranger or called an old friend just to catch up, and not for ticking off your to-do list? We seem to have replaced real connections with social media followers, intimate discussions with viral tweets, and meaningful dialogues with WhatsApp forwards. The digital age might have made communication ‘easier’, but are we truly ‘communicating’?
An annual report on American conversation behaviors by wireless provider Qualcomm found that 54% of respondents admitted to feeling phone anxiety: namely, having fears around the thought of conducting a phone conversation. I wonder if Alexander Graham Bell could have envisioned this when inventing the telephone.
Before I’m accused of waxing lyrical about the golden days, let me set the record straight. I understand and appreciate the conveniences that this digital era provides. A couple of Christmases ago, my niece couldn’t make it back to Schenectady all the way from her Berkeley dormitory. A pang of sadness hit, but then, there we were, singing carols around the Christmas tree with her on a live video call. It didn’t replace having her warm presence, but it was good.
Technological advancement is akin to a freight train, unstoppable in its trajectory. Yet, amid life’s fast-paced acceleration, the one crucial aspect standing at the cusp of extinction is genuine conversation. Those effortless interactions that foster empathy, understanding, and form the backbone of our society are increasingly becoming a figment of the past.
While I might not live enough to see a revolution, I hold on to the hope that we’ll learn to anchor our ships before we’re entirely swept away by the tsunami of digital dominance. The truth remains that conversation is at the heart of human connection. It’s the pulse that sustains our societal fabric; and like the forgotten art of letter writing, let’s not inscribe a tombstone for it just yet. I remain, as I always have, an obstinate optimist. So here’s urging you to put down that smart menace occasionally and strike up a real conversation. Who knows, it might just engender a lifelong friendship – maybe even with a grumpy ol’ writer from Schenectady.
