Let's Row Together

The lost art of conversation. Trending towards "maybe." My "friends" tour pretending to be a book tour, and the meaningful conversations I'll have along the way.

Conversation is a lost art with its muscles atrophying from lack of use.

Letter writing fell away a while back ceding its ground to emojis conveying emotion. Progressively our ability - and, for many, even the desire - to talk things through has been slipping away especially when what needs to be said is going to be tough to say, and then still tougher to stay present for the reply.

Young people, I’m told, end relationships by text, avoiding any additional emotional angst. Not sharing such news in the company of the other person undoubtably is easier, at least momentarily for the one delivering the message. But the society-wide, cumulative effect of such customary avoidance leads us to slippage in our ability to read and respond to the emotional cues that make us human.

Text, people demand, don’t call me, as if “conversing” with our thumbs approximates a conversation. But it’s our habit – our default – by now, so much so that if we use our device (i.e. our phone) as a phone we’re viewed by many as discourteous.

Especially without texting first to set up an appointment to talk!

Whoops, I was just pinged by a text: “Want to chat now?” it reads.

“Yes,” I text back. “You can always just call me.”

When I can’t answer, I’ll call back.

My device makes that easy.

Playtime, 2024?

Writing this reminds me of the distinction between our social media “friends” - and “conversations” I have with them – and the conversational flow I settle into with my offline friends and acquaintance, either by phone or in person.

Author and MIT professor Sherry Turkle persistently has tracked what happens when our tech connections masquerade as human conversation: as she observes, we’re adept at “connecting,” but we are forgetting how to verbally interact with each other at work and in our families, in romantic relationships and in our friendships too.

Let me just say I’m glad that in my dating years I wasn’t swiping right, then thumbing on a keypad the words I want this stranger to hear.

Yes, I’m controlling the narrative, an aspect of texting young people say they prefer, but I not able to judge by visual or tonal cues how my messages are being received.

Those who grew up with devices at the ready are experiencing profound loneliness. Some sign up for the opportunity to share a meal with strangers so they can actually talk with people, perhaps leave the meal having found a friend. [“The ‘Loneliest Generation’ Is Transforming the Dinner Party, Bon Appétit]

Because a majority of my life predates the allure of our devices, I carry in me sweet memories of my younger years when I relished the company and conversations I had with friends and fellow workers. Time we spent together then has resulted in a lot of cherished lifelong friendships. When our paths cross, we reopen rapidly the doors of easy conversation.

Youngsters who’ve grown up with these handheld devices don’t know what they’re missing (or is this just an old curmudgeon speaking?), and sadly when find themselves in a state of loneliness for which they don’t have the toolbox they need to engage in conversation, which remains the root of genuine friendship.

When we permit devices to distance us from each other, our capacity for empathy recedes, according to Turkle. Without eyes to scan the other’s face, without ears tuned for tone and alert to nuance, human dimensions of our interactions are diminished.

Yes, of course, there are plenty of times when sending a text fits the purpose of our communication, but to rely, as we do, on the omnipresent blizzard of typed messages - some typed faster than our mind has the ability to reflect on what someone just typed to her – takes us to places that I, at least, am not eager to go.

How will we ever bridge our gaping political fractures when we don’t even know how to begin a conversation with those we have as friends? Not to mention hope to have a conversation with those who enter it weighted down with alternative facts.

Many try; most fail.

While we’re at it, let me spend a few moments more on another pet peeve of mine.

Again, a while back, RSVP was a fancy French way of asking people to let you know if they’d be in your company at a set time and place. They checked their calendar and got back with a yes or no, thus making a commitment that would be changed only if an emergency arose. In other words, you could count on them being there, if you were the host.

Then “maybe” arrived, sneaking in between “yes” or “no” on digital invitations.

Is it any wonder “maybe” wins?

Maybe I’ll join you. Then again, maybe I won’t.

Depends how I feel – then. For now, I’m leaving my options open. Maybe someone will text me a fun invitation. Maybe I’ll do that instead.

“Maybe” lurks ubiquitously in digital spaces, and clicking it avoids a decision. Even I, accustomed as I am to answering “yes” or “no,” find myself drawn to “maybe.” It’s an option, so why not choose it? Postpone deciding to another day.

When I was young, friends mailed me dinner and party invitations or telephoned to see if I’d like to see a film or meet up at a bar. I replied with a “yes” or “no.” That murky “maybe” entered the picture only if I had to check on a possible conflict, but I let the person know I’d call back with an answer. “Yes” confirmed my presence. “No” affirmed that my friend should not to cook a meal or set a place for me at her table or wait for me outside the theater.

I’d made a decision. I didn’t equivocate. I played fair with friends, hoping they’d play fair with me.

These days neither certainty nor commitment seem highly valued. The ghosting I hear about on digital dating sites now inhabits workplaces. A worker is hired, says “yes,” is given a start date, and then this new employee vanishes. No explanation or apology. Now, no reply. Presumably eager to work one day, then gone the next.

Maybe a better job came along.

The contemporary ethic, if we can call it that, seems to be “no harm, no foul.” Just chalk it up to another “maybe” no-show. Come on, you know you do it too. Happens so frequently that I’m told that ‘maybe’ is interpreted as a 75% no. But, with maybe, you never know, do you?

At my gym, maybe proliferates. Using the app, it’s easy to click “Book” and reserve a spot in a class with limited space. To “book” reserves a bike to spin or a mat at the barre. With a click, she has her spot, but the class doesn’t have her commitment to filling it. Only later will she decide if she will be there. For now, she’s all set. But what happens when many others do the same thing? The sign up, take a space, but are not committed to being there. Well, it shuts out those who are willing to commit but who didn’t jump on the app the instant the “book” option turned on.

Should I simply show up by applying the 75% = no rule, figuring a good percentage of what are quick-thumbed maybes won’t show up?

How do I know those booking these classes are really maybes? Because the gym charges $20 if you don’t show up (instituted after members who couldn’t get into a class complained), so late into the night before or early on the morning of the class, if I signed up for the waitlist, I am bombarded by alerts telling me that a spot opened up. That’s when the maybes drop out.

The ease of clicking “maybe” (or, in this case, the “book” button) shouldn’t rip us apart from what once passed as consideration of the other, better known as manners.

My “Friends” Tour, aka My Book Tour

You can’t be it until you see it.

This adage applies not just to career aspirations and what it means to see a woman or person of color doing a job you didn’t think you’d be able to do. It’s also about finally believing that soon I will actually be talking about this book that’s I’ve been working on for a dozen years.

A few posters of my book events are trickling in — each one in a place where dear friends will be, as is the case for my entire travels. If I’ve paying for everything, at least I’m going to see my friends!!! Seeing these posters renews my faith in the many months I’ve devoted to planning events throughout the country. At each stop, I have invited a moderator to lead us in conversation about topics relating to my book. I’ve feel confident that I’ve created meaningful occasions for those who attend - and not marketing opportunities for me.

These events will be dialogues, not monologues. Conversations, not drive-bys.

Sure, it will feel good to sell books, but for me it’s always been about conversations. It’s why I wrote my book. It’s why it thrills me when I find that my old experiences as a pioneering woman in baseball lead to engaged conversation with young people. I’ve discovered this dynamic in the numerous (free) guest talks I’ve given through the years in classrooms, law seminars, and at conferences – on Zoom and in person.

For my still-in-the-making listing of my book events click on my website events page. There, you can find out where and when an event might be happening near you. But remember, this list is under construction, and new events are being added each week.

If you’d like me to do an event near you – including a Zoom with your book club or a visit to a local group – I am eager to hear from you in the comments section. Happy to entertain ideas!

Speaking of events and moderators, I’ll be doing two Seattle, Washington events, the first at The Folio on October 29 with Seattle Times’ assistant managing editor Stefanie Loh, who is also a fellow rower, and then on October 30 on Bainbridge Island where I will be in conversation with Maggie Mertens, the author of “Better, Faster, Farther.

Here’s how I know we’ll have a meaningful conversation; I read what she said in a recent interview with the Seattle Times about women and sports:

“The first piece I wrote about the U.S. women’s national soccer team was in 2015, just before the Women’s World Cup. Looking back at that is like night and day. The amount that people paid attention — the names that people knew. I wrote a piece for the Atlantic right before that tournament started about how these women had a lawsuit then about playing on turf instead of grass. I pointed out some of these inequities because I’d been to the men’s World Cup the year before in Brazil, and seeing this global phenomenon of soccer, and then to see how people talked about the Women’s World Cup, even at that point, it was just so diminished in comparison.

After writing that story, I got so much pushback … The men on the internet just really didn’t like the idea that anyone would consider treating women in soccer similar to the way we treat men in soccer. And then by the next World Cup, these women are household names, they’re suing FIFA, they’re getting in fights with the president. They’re actually making the case for equal pay and things like that. Seeing that progress happen so quickly, I think did help me realize why these things matter so much: yes to the growth of women’s sports, but also to gender inequality in general.

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