I spent yesterday talking to a friend. The whole day. It was one of those conversations that starts over a meal, walks to the park, outlives the sunset, and finally heads up stairs and into a warm room. We haven't had one of these, so it was new, overdue. We were totally cracking up, we got sad (this month has kicked both of our asses), we started to fill in some of the many gaps. And some other thing was happening, but it took me a few hours to put my finger on it. Both our phones were letting out various chirps and rings throughout the day, texts blinking up on our screens, cases vibrating. That part was normal, we both have kids, lots of people. The part that stood out, the thing that was happening, was that with each ring, he didn't blink. He kept listening or he kept telling me the funny story, or he just sat in the silence with me. He would get to them later.
It strikes me as sad that that is worth writing about, but it is. I love my crazy-capable phone as much as the next person, spend hours a week on the bus, looking for music and messages and, well, love. But eight hours into what started as a breakfast date, I hit a new level of respect for someone who can leave a trembling device in it's place.
