Mr. Wild Card sent me a text on December 14th, the day a person decided to gun down 27 people for a reason we may never be able to comprehend:
This is horrific on the news
I saw his name before I read the text. I smiled. Then I saw his words and felt the pain. Deep heart pain. And a little relief that someone here, nearby, was reaching out to me at a time when I needed to hear the voice of another person. My fingers itched to do the talking, but I wanted to listen to words. I needed to hear another human’s feelings about something so inhumane. This was an opportunity to connect. To have a meaningful exchange about an event nearly impossible to comprehend. If there was ever a time to call this was it.
I sucked in a deep breath and pulled up his number.
Then I poured a glass of water. Drank some. Looked at the half empty glass. Drank some more. Went to the bathroom and then leisurely washed my hands. Thought about what I would say when he answered. Thought about texting him to see if he could take a call. (WT?) Just because he texted me doesn’t mean he’s in a position to have an actual conversation. Refilled my glass because I didn’t want to be stuck with an empty glass while conversing. Swept the kitchen floor.
Went outside to check on my dormant fig tree…because dormant fig trees need close supervision.
For a person who spent 12 years of her adult business life on the phone, making major life-altering moves happen with only a voice to guide the way, my reticence to have a phone conversation with someone who is a new-ish friend was unsettling. Which was all the impetus I needed to pick up the phone and dial his number.
For the first time.
To his credit, he’s called me twice. Each call should be honored with a medal, a parade and a key to some cool beach town, because people just don’t call these days. In the last 10 years we have gone from long talks on the phone to 140 characters to you and you and you, all at the same time. Little blasts of information from our lives that, upon arrival, are interpreted without context. No tone, no lift of a brow, no sweet or sly smile. No social cues to read.
My reliance on texting has led to phoneaphobia. The ability to read, then ponder, then deliver a perfectly crafted reply to a text has been polished to a glare. But the skill I once had, the ability to react to spoken words from afar with merely a breath and a lob of masterful linguistics, is as nurtured as my current understanding of algebra.
x = y – z…which equals, What? Really. Why do I need to be able to do this?
Letters aren’t numbers. Which is why I like letters. Algebra I don’t need. But conversations? Yes. I need them. We all need them. And not just drive-bys, but conversations that slowly unfold, allowing the participants an opportunity to bare all bit by bit, like a linguistic version of a striptease. The kind you start in the kitchen and finish on the couch, eyes closed, shoes off, guard down.
We spoke for 20 minutes. What began as a fruitless task to say something other than, It’s unbelievable, ended with rolling laughter about forest lions (mountain lions) and what dogs really sign up for when they become our pets. In the middle we talked about how one event, in this case the murders in Connecticut, affects thousands. The suffering extends out from Newtown to every town, to every heart.
That one phone call connected us in a way that all the texts prior did not.
Many have written about the perils of a life spent texting – bad grammar, underdeveloped verbal communications skills, lack of focus, loss of sleep, car crashes. Thumbs falling off.
My concern is how disconnected we are becoming. We laud texting as a technology that allows us to remain in touch. But texting makes it easy for us to remain alone, separated, and protected from having to spontaneously divulge our thoughts and feelings and respond to the expressions and words of another vocally. Yet we feel as if we are being social, connecting with others.
Texting is often from the mind; clever, concise, pointed. Conversations give the heart a say, too. By minute 15, the heart has pushed the mind to the side of the stage and commandeered the microphone. That’s when magic happens, emotions are shared, ideas pondered and dissected. All while having the advantage of vocal cues and the ability to guide interpretation. The sound of laughter, or a sigh, or a hmmpphh can spin any spoken sentence on its period. All that is lost when only Qwerty is used.
With a text there’s no commitment. We don’t have to respond, we can stop responding at any time, we can pretend we never got the text to begin with, and we keep it short, sweet and acronym heavy. It’s a pretty simple way to stay in touch; there’s no awkward, long goodbye, you hang up first…no, you. Humans, while clearly competent at complicating life, do like things simple. Texting seems simple.
The Genius and I spent much of our time apart while married. As a result we communicated a lot by phone in the first 10 years. I’d be in bed and he in another city or another country, a hotel phone pressed to his ear and our cordless to mine. No dropped calls, no hot ear, just an hour or so of talking with our eyes closed, under the covers, allowing the conversation to meander along, improvised.
Then I broke down and got an iPhone while he clutched his Blackberry, and the texts flew. It was so easy to share a dude story, ask a quick question, ‘watch’ a game together. Time zones were not an issue – if it was late the phone would be on silent, yet the text was sent, so thoughts were communicated. The need to speak was taken care of with a few keystrokes. Messages from the mind. Mission accomplished.
If the mission was to snip each little thread that held our relationship together.
I grew accustomed to not speaking to The Genius for a few days at a time. Phone conversations were more of a hassle now that texting had become so easy; no need to press the 2 key three times to get to the C anymore. Why bother placing a call? I don’t have to wait for the phone to be answered, I can just hit send. We knew each other so well that it wasn’t as if we would misinterpret our texts, or lose the ability to talk to each other when we finally came face-to-face again. Texting kept us in touch while he was traveling. We could pop into each others lives throughout the day.
I’m certain at some point I said, Isn’t this great?
At the time it never occurred to me that texting would facilitate the demise of our marriage.
As texting took over, my need to talk to him diminished. I got by on less. Then I started to not like talking on the phone. The need for an hour-long conversation was replaced by an aversion to anything over 5 minutes. All those lost opportunities for us to create and hear each others laughter, stumble upon a topic that we needed to cover for our relationship to grow, or have ‘dinner’ together, which we used to do from afar before texting made it easier to hold a knife and fork at the same time. Besides, talking was taxing while eating.
It took a few years, but eventually I became a textrovert. And I’m just one of millions.
The reliance on texting as the way we most often communicated was a dangerous move that went unrecognized at the time. While not the primary reason for our divorce, it certainly facilitated his affair and made us less dependent on each other as people. Texting didn’t keep us connected, but it did create a lot of white noise so we didn’t hear the snip, snip of our relationship.
We are all connected. But not because of our smart phones or laptops or iPads. We’re connected because we’re one species, the dominant one, on a planet in space and we need to talk about stuff. Our need to communicate is nearly as important as our need for clean air and water. It’s essential to our survival.
What would Chuck Noland (Tom Hanks) have done without Wilson in Cast Away?
As I gaze into the four curious eyes of the dudes, eyes that I would rather have focused in books than on screens, I sense a dismal future for relationships, romantic or otherwise. I’ve got my work cut out for me to insure that they can have thought-provoking conversations where traits such as empathy, honesty, and respect for another are developed as opinions are shared and debated. Memories are made, genuine friendships formed.
I can recall many lively conversations I’ve had with various people throughout my life. Often it’s their facial expressions that I remember the most. And then the tones of their voices. I’ve never once seen the face of someone while they texted me, and I often think they’re laughing when they’re not.
Texts are not memorable conversations.
It’s not just the dudes I’m concerned about. It’s me, too. I’m spending an awful lot of time basically doing the equivalent of binge-texting, albeit hopefully with better flow and grammar. Will my keyboard become my Wilson?
I sure hope so.
But I’m not giving up on phone calls. First up is one to a kitten. I have to talk to her about an email she sent. One that I need to share with you. The subject line is:
Cheater Cheater Pumpkin Eater
This is sure to be no drive-by chat about infidelity.
Love yourself,
Cleo
Right you are. I blame my husband 100% for his affair, but I also blame his company. This is an indictment of corporate America and the ridiculous pressure that they put on their employees. Like you, I spent the past ten years basically alone, as a single parent, while my husband was off everywhere but home. It creates a giant divide in families and marriages and sets up the perfect storm. EVERY executive at my husbands former place of business cheated with someone at work. (I didn’t know he worked in a brothel!). When I found out about his cheating, I looked into suing his company for alienation of affection and creating a hostile home environment. These companies have rules against harassment between workers, but we families have no recourse when their inhuman schedules rip us apart. My best friend first became a stranger then became an enemy. His choice, I know. But his love affair with work became a love affair AT work and I’m left to deal with my shattered life. This post meant so much to me – corporate greed is killing our families and our children are growing up with fathers (and mothers) who breeze in and out of their lives. I shudder to think what it does to a child’s psyche. Why does my son have to pay for the companies owner’s new Bentley, or his membership to his country club? I am thoroughly disgusted.
S,
Thank you for taking the time to comment and for sharing your thoughts on one of the myriad of ways corporate America has contributed to our society’s moral decay. To be fair, that is a generalized statement. There are many companies, big and small, that have a conscience. We should sniff them out and support them. Each little decision we make – to speak out as you have, to pay a little more for a product made with integrity, to be brave when making choices in life – helps to transform our world.
We have voices. Voices that need to be heard. Some may say that a woman betrayed who speaks out on infidelity needs to move on and let go of bitterness. Bull. It’s not bitterness. It’s disgust, as you’ve said. Disgust that humans can be so morally corrupt. So okay hurting others. Okay hurting their own families.
Someone sent me a picture of The Genius with The Happy Dance Chick taken four weeks after he finally told me the truth about his affair (for the record, I would not be surprised if he was with her for longer than 4 years). They are at a conference. Two other people, men, are in the photo as well. All of them are smiling. TG and the HDC are snuggled up tight.
Not one of these adults cares that a wife and two young boys are left to pick up the pieces of a family that could have remained in tact, even if a divorce was necessary. We could have been friends. Infidelity and deceit shattered that possibility. And there they stand, smiles on all their faces.
They motivate me to make brave choices in life. Thank you for being here, S.
Love yourself,
Cleo
Oh, the smiling people! I don’t know who knew what at the workplace and frankly don’t care. They are all so desensitized to this sort of behavior that when I think of those people, I have the urge to shower. The smiling adult in my saga is my husbands best friend. A man I’ve known and was friends with for close to twenty years. A man who my son called “uncle”. My husband introduced him to his HDC. And that man proceeded to come to my home and hug me, where I entertained him. He came to my son’s sporting events and smiled in our faces. When I discovered that his “best friend” knew, I asked my husband what his friend did to discourage him from ruining his life, my life, our son’s life. Nothing. Not a thing. I told my husband that if he even wanted to discuss staying married, that his best friend of 30 years had to go. It was non-negotiable. My husband didn’t need a “friend” who encouraged him in deceit, betrayal and his narcissistic behavior. That friend is now gone from our lives. Because my husband now realizes that he was no friend at all.
S,
I cannot thank you enough for sharing this with us. This is exactly the kind of boundary many people have a hard time setting. Enablers have to go if the relationship is to be saved. So, one affair destroys his life, your life, his son’s life AND a 30 year friendship that started back when they were just innocent kids. (I assume.)
I have to pause before I say this. I feel like I’m going to EXPLODE!
All those lives altered, scarred forever in some cases, just because he wouldn’t have a conversation with the person he willingly marriedthat goes like this:
Hey. I’m not happy. I’m thinking I might be tempted to cheat on you. Before I go and do that (a morally corrupt and sleazy ting to do)I’m going to either (A) suggest we divorce or (B) seek immediate counseling, as in tomorrow, and find out whether or not we can save this marriage.
That’s all. One person has to raise an uncomfortable subject for discussion. That’s all that needs to happen to avoid ruining the lives of at least four people.
I’m putting that on a t-shirt.
Thank you, S. Happy holidays.
Love yourself,
Cleo
I have to add a PS: Wouldn’t it be wonderful to know that a person cared so much for you that they couldn’t betray you, even if they no longer wanted to be married?
When you get the t-shirt, I want one too! So funny! Keep on keeping on, Cleo. Mt. McKinley doesn’t stand a chance against you!!
S,
Say it with me, S…I am one with the mountain, I am one with the mountain. I could never conquer any part of the planet, only respect her by taking the time to explore her. I’m hopeful she let me see her peak.
Love yourself,
Cleo
I hate texting. My husband never did it until one day he miraculously started writing long, perfect texts. That was the day he started being involved with a woman 25 years younger – I guess her main mode of communication was texting, and he decided to make it HIS. With ME. Anyway, he was always the kind of person who wanted to keep me and everyone at arm’s length – so texting is perfect. Actually, texting is the PERFECT WAY TO HAVE AN AFFAIR. Think about it. You only text if you are in a meeting, in a class, or in any other situation where you want the fact that you are communicating to be “covert”.
I HATE texting.
C,
Thank you for taking the time to comment, C. And for being here.
I don’t hate texting, but I dislike the way it is used. It’s a great tool, and it can also be a massive crutch that strips us of the opportunity to connect deeply with people. Lately, I have had deeper interactions with those I encounter for the first time than with those I know well.
It may seem silly, but I’m going to really evaluate whether or not a text should be returned with a call, regardless of whether or not it’s convenient or comfortable. I’m going to be the chick who calls.
Love yourself,
Cleo
Dear Cleo… If you want to identify a culture teeming with infidelity, look no further than your local law enforcement. It’s not only accepted, but encouraged from within. “Beat” wives, badge bunnies, cop groupies… call them what you will, they make a career out of betrayal. Many of them belong to the law enforcement “family”… working within the department. Dispatchers, records clerks , secretaries… It’s incestuous really. And sick. And easy…they all cover for each other, “long” shifts, a deeply ingrained sense of entitlement, it all adds up. Families destroyed. And the texting… ah yes.
To my husband, it was just a slip… A mistake… A 4 year mistake (yep, parallels). Now he’s sorry he tossed me and the kids aside, sorry he was an ass at home and we had to walk on eggshells for those 4 years…WHEN he was home…sorry he spent hundreds of thousands of dollars supporting his “beat” wife while neglecting things that used to be important to us as a family. I have been a married single parent for a long time… Kinda makes my decision and transition a little more smooth. I’ve already been doing it on my own.
Thank you for your raw posts. I appreciate your words and your emotions. You are doing the best you can, as am I. There are days of joy and days of deep depression. Bitterness comes and goes. I know I will be able to forgive him one day, and for so long I thought that had to mean reconciliation. Watched a show on OWN where Iyanla Vanzant told a betrayed wife “you can forgive from a different address.” Whoa.
S,
Thank you for taking the time to comment and for being here at HGM. You will forgive one day. For you. And you will feel tremendous joy. Until then, the good days are cherished and the challenging days will have us brave and ready to ride it. I feel stronger each and every day. Even if I spent the prior one in tears.
I imagine there are a few careers where infidelity is a given. It’s sad to know that law enforcement is one of them. I wonder if those committed to protecting us don’t suffer even more from having not protected their own families. Regardless of the pedestrian nature of infidelity in the world today, betrayal is betrayal and it’s never without payback. As a police officer or in law enforcement, I would for sure not want a karmic debt on my tab. Way too many made-for-TV-movie options for the debt to be paid.
Married single parent – love that! Your smooth transition will lead to a more settled life, without all those eggshells crunching under foot (know that feeling well), and the peace of mind that comes with being joyfully alone with yourself, the one person you can absolutely trust.
On my most bitter days I just kept reminding myself that it is better to be alone than to be with a liar. I didn’t have to dress it up anymore than that. I don’t do liars. On any level.
You, m’lady, are going strong. I can sense it. Your sparkle. It rocks.
Love yourself,
Cleo
S,
Your pain is evident and graphic, but please do not paint the entire law enforcement community with the brush of infidelity. Perhaps that is the norm where you live, but not where I live. I live in a major city with a large law enforcement population.
My sister has been a cop for 20+ years. I know many, many police officers, and dispatchers, and firefighters. For all these many years, I can think of ONE episode of rampant infidelity. Yes, it was a doozy, and ended two careers. But, that was the exception.
What I know is a law enforcement community of brothers and sisters who have each other’s backs, in a variety of ways, but none that you implied.
I do, however, agree that technology and texting has made it easier for people to stray/cheat. If it’s not texting, then it can be a secret email address to exchange communications. How very sad for us all.
I wish you peace and a feeling of self-worth and security as you travel your new, albeit unwanted, path. Perhaps, as Cleo has, you will find a better life, one that you deserve and that deserves you.
S,
Thank you for taking the time to comment. The timing of your message is sublime. As I was hanging glittery balls on the Christmas tree with the dudes this evening, I was grateful that it was just the three of us. Grateful that there was not a man in the room. That was an odd feeling to have, given how much I enjoy the company of a man. I paused, and wondered if I was morphing into a woman who lumps all men into the same category – beings led by penises. This thought was swift to the surface because I had a conversation a few nights ago with a man who said, “We have this thing, three things actually, that lead the way and the rest of our being follows along. It’s not just about sex, it’s about being unconscious in the very moment when we ought to be conscious. When those three things come alive, we are hypnotized.”
While I’m not a fan of generalizations, I do believe that some occupations lend themselves to infidelity – whether it’s because of the occupation itself or the type of people attracted to that line of work. I’m reminded of a story told to me by a nurse. She discovered her doctor husband was having an affair with another nurse. So, she confronted him at work. He, of course, denied it. Then denied it some more. Then she pulled out concrete evidence and he blamed her. Sound familiar?
But here’s the best part…
She went home. Packed his things and left them in the garage. And then she went to the phone which was attached to an answering machine. She erased the greeting on the answering machine and then recorded: Hi, this is Stacy. Steve doesn’t live here anymore. He cheated on me with Andrea so I threw him out. You can find him at the hospital. Between her legs. Thanks for calling.
Fabulous.
Thank you for sharing your thoughts. I love learning from all of you. Your words help me to be a more compassionate person. Best gift ever.
Love yourself,
Cleo