I am twenty-six years old, an age that theoretically places me at the vanguard of the digital revolution, yet I find myself viewing our modern communication habits with the weary skepticism of a tenured professor watching students play with a shiny, dangerous new toy. I’ve spent far too much time observing the frantic tapping of thumbs that passes for connection these days. I have a deeply unpopular opinion to share: the phone call is vastly superior to the text message.
I value my eyesight far too much to sacrifice it at the altar of the tiny chat box, and while a well-curated playlist might make me smile, only a real-time conversation has the power to actually make me laugh. Call it a nostalgia wave if you must, but I prefer the vintage magic of a human voice over the digital equivalent of a lobotomy.
We live in an era where we are perpetually poked by the digital world, a relentless stream of notifications that demand our immediate, squinting attention. For someone like me—one who relies on focus and prefers the quiet life of a shut-in—the constant pinging of text messages is a primary source of eye strain and mental decay.
There is a distinct, exhausting drain that comes from messing around for forty-five minutes with ambiguous texts when a three-minute call could have settled the matter. My greatest pet peeve is the constant vibration of a phone during a movie; it is an intrusion into my peace that texting only prolongs.
The modern chat interface is essentially a soulless medium. While texting serves its purpose for the mundane transmission of data or when you need an extra decade to formulate a response, it lacks the essential human touch.
Without voice inflection, communication becomes flat, grey, and dangerously open to interpretation. You cannot hear real-time laughter through an emoji, nor can you sense the subtle shifts in tone that help shape thoughts and change perspectives in a way that mindless scrolling through reels never will.
Pro-Tip for the Digitally Anxious: If the prospect of a phone call feels like an impending interrogation, remember that you have all the time in the world. Calm your mind and focus before you hit the call button. If you start to stutter, take a deep breath and collect your thoughts. Your opinions and feelings are just as valid as the person on the other end.
In the professional sphere, the efficiency of a call is unrivalled by the cumbersome nature of the written word. I’ve watched colleagues spend an entire afternoon firing bullets at one another in a heated email war, backtracking from their statements and creating a convoluted mess of he said, she said.
This is where the phone call becomes a necessary surgical strike. Whether I’m dealing with management in another city or hammering out details with a customer, a short call prevents the ambiguity that allows people to retreat from their own words.
Because many of my closest connections—relics from my college days and previous offices—are scattered across the globe, the phone call has become my primary lifeline. When you don't have a local social circle to lean on, the ability to talk to someone anywhere on earth in real time is nothing short of miraculous.
Group chats are often slow, noisy, and rife with information that gets lost in the shuffle. A call, however, is immediate. We may be entering a period where picking up the phone feels like a vintage hobby, but there is nothing old-fashioned about the clarity and soul found in a real conversation.
Texting is perfectly adequate for the utilitarian exchange of facts or for sending a photo of your pet to someone who probably didn't ask for it. But for anything requiring a real connection, the phone call remains the superior medium.
It is a tool for those who value their time, their focus, and the weight of a human voice. So, for the sake of your sanity and my belief in the species, do me a favor: be brave, take a breath, and actually hit the call button for once. It won’t kill you, and it might even remind you what it’s like to be human.
