The Number You Dialled Has Been Disconnected Part 1
read along as I attempt to untangle the wired earphones that are my brain to return to a sense of reality
*Post-writing edit: I had a triple shot iced americano whilst writing this and I recommend you do the same whilst reading because this train of thought has infinite carriages. She’s très wordy. At least take a seat.*
I’m missing things of a tangible nature. I should probably preface this by saying I’m a very nostalgic person. And, for the most part, I’m completely ok with that. It brings a sense of romance into my life without having to rely on others to provide that for me. I tend to romanticise a time in which I didn’t actually exist. But how can I not when I’ve heard such good things! It’s not ignorance that avoids the not-so-romantic times past, but more so that if I wanted to be miserable-by-thought I would simply look to present day news rather than drag the past out of its dormant state where it rests, deservedly, in history.
I’ve grown up in an interesting time. At the intersection of a little bit high-tech and invasively high-tech. I didn’t have a phone until I had to walk home from school by myself, and even then it was a slide-up Samsung whose best feature was the bluetooth transfer of songs. (I miss the ability to share and download songs that way.) Phones made mostly of glass didn’t enter my life until my mid teens. And I’m pretty sure I could live without one even now if it weren’t for things like my job and that I actually enjoy creating online content1.
Although the internet and my glass phone has given me the ability to write this and generally be online, I should disclaim that I am about to slag it off2 completely. The grass is always greener and without the digital world I wouldn’t have such easy access to any of the following references that I’m going to share. I’m very aware of the irony in this send. And the privilege I have to be sitting here with so much access to everything and anything at my fingertips, and yet wishing for a simpler time without it. If I didn’t have said access this would have taken even longer to write and it’s already been in the works in my mind - and notes app - for a hot minute. I’m still not completely sure I’ll be able to unravel the web of this concept to a point of finality. Every time I try it ends up connected to something else, like unravelling wired earphones or a box full of old necklaces.
When I was a kid I would watch my mum, the way that children do in order to learn. I definitely didn’t know at the time how much of a symbol of woman she would become for me later in life. She is an absolute powerhouse. As mothers and women often are. I could write a series of books about my mum and her sheer (and unknown-to-her) brilliance. In this case though, she would take phone calls on the landline which later became a sturdy mobile phone, and hold the phone up to her ear to chat, eventually using her shoulder to keep it in place so she could continue to go about her tasks in the house. The phone would swap sides every now and then to relieve the opposite shoulder for a few minutes until it was time to swap back. There would be pauses wherein the hand would return to a full hold of the phone as though the subject matter required more attention and an entire grasp3. If a task was paused and a seat was taken; sinking into a sofa or chair to really dedicate time to the person on the other end and their conversation, it was a big deal. These behaviours could all be read. And it’s unlikely I was reading them in such depth back then, but the image of my mum lives this way clear as day in my mind.
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Mum had short hair for a long period of my childhood. I can vividly remember the day she cut it for the first time in my life. I turned the corner of my primary school playground and saw her walking towards me. She looked like herself but something was different. My familiarity with her appearance hesitated and just as quickly shifted and there she was, recognisable to my eyes again. I ran towards her happy to be leaving school with my mum who was, and still is, the coolest person I’ll ever know. Her hair has grown long and been cut many times since then. Recently, she transported me back to a blip in my adolescence with a revisited hairstyle from the longer hair days. She took a chopstick, or maybe it was a pencil, wet it slightly and in one swift movement entwined it into her hair and slot it vertically onto the back of her head. I’m hoping that you can imagine the style because I cannot for the life of me figure out how else to write it. Both of these behaviours feel so human to me. She would put her hair up as though it were second nature preparation before doing something else so her hair wouldn’t get in the way. Just as she would balance the phone in a way that meant she could carry on with whatever she was doing. There is an intimacy in both acts that keep her connected to her human-ness; to the time she has in a day to get things done. And when a person requires a little more connection and focus, tasks be damned because it’s her time.
Contrarily, I feel like my time is not my own. I can’t really hold my phone in the crook of my neck as she does4. My cheek presses random buttons on the screen or it slides away and thuds onto the floor, bringing the romance of a phone call to a screeching halt. I know that my phone is something I can hold; something tangible. But everything on it is not. None of it is real. But it consumes my real time. Time that I don’t even remember using. This realisation about my own way of living is invoking an increased acknowledgement of those around me who are living outside of the digital and in a more human version of reality. The way reality was and the way I wish it was. That being said, it then saddens me that I can so easily ignore people glued to their screens in public. So many real connections replaced by the search for a wifi connection.
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A more current version of this yearn for connection lives in the return to wired earphones. They’re not totally disconnected from my time stolen by the Digital but they place restrictions on the ease of being5. If I want to move, my phone has to come with me and thus live in my back pocket to keep my hands free. If I want to listen to music the sound has to travel through something to reach me. As opposed to across my literal brain. I’ve become so prone to activating the noise cancellation feature to block out my surroundings. Although this felt impressive at first, I fear it’s eradicated any ability to connect in my real life as I’m not hearing conversations that I could partake in off-the-cuff. I’m not eavesdropping in search of inspiration or hearing cars come towards me as I stand at the crossing debating whether or not to just risk it to shave a few seconds off of my commute. It’s getting serious! We’ve reached safety hazard level. An added bonus is that I think wired headphones are pretty chic. They make it look like you care about more important things. And that is exactly how I want to be perceived if I must be perceived at all.
Watches fall into this category of connection too. I’ve been fixating on watches a lot recently. Mostly because I’ve been watching my usual roster of 90s/00s films again, but also because I discovered girlsoclock on Instagram (yeeees on my phone I know, I’m rolling my eyes just as much as you are right now.) I’m currently on the hunt for my perfect vintage watch. I’m thinking somewhat budget friendly and silver. Watches bridge utility and fashion so well. They’re to accessories what Prada is to fashion6. They serve purpose but they only exist in your world depending on personal preference. I’m still learning a lot about them and I have a ways to go so I’m not going to impart a watch education in this send that you couldn’t find better from a reputable source elsewhere.
So far I’ve learned that I love a vintage sports watch. And the act of wearing a watch is half the appeal in my search for re-connection. They require thought; for you to tilt your arm and wrist, create a right angle with your arm in front of your body just to check that what you guessed may be the time, is or isn’t in fact the actual time. I think they add a little more control to one’s time. There is intention in wearing one; in taking it from your bedside table and putting it on every morning; in adjusting the watch when an hour is lost or gained. When the time is on my phone, it’s there without my permission. It’s there without my intention. It comes with the territory whether I like it or not. Purchasing a watch after much research and wearing it on my wrist to tell the time is the more important thing I have to do that means I own wired earphones. Let me know if a watch breakdown would be of interest once I’m more clued in.
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I’ve been collecting references for this write up for a while. I think by the time I write part 2 there will be even more. Maybe a part 3 will live in the drafts as I keep collecting. Or I just turn it into a series. In writing this I’ve realised that in my want for real connection I’ve managed to create cultural connections between my references. Funny how things work like that.
A song that I could never hate is Erykah Badu’s “I’ll Call U Back”. It’s quite short but I could sit with it on repeat, noticing new parts of it on every listen. It flooded my ears as I was adding to my notes for this send and serendipitously found its own place in the list of references. It encapsulates so many sentiments of connectedness that I’m thinking about and attempting to explain coherently here. The track has a drone-beep sound that rings through it, no pun intended. It sounds like a hang-up tone or something. Like when a call disconnects on one end. The harmonic noise drowns out any remnants of a conversation just passed and leaves you hanging on to the connection that just was. And your only option is the action of putting your phone down. It feels like an obvious but smart choice to feature in this song. It’s melodic and contextually relevant as well as connected to an understanding of reality, realism and human mundanity. We take calls, we prop the phone in the crook of our neck with our shoulder, we hang up. Our time continues to pass and our watches tell us so.
I particularly love the lyrics. Shock, I like words! Badu paints a picture. She tells us a story but not in an obvious structure. It more so reads (or tells?) like a stream of consciousness, or a voicemail of justification for why she missed your call. She’s cooking, she’s in the kitchen, she’s in the city, she’s running around, she’s tending to business but she’ll get back to you. Your feelings will have to wait for a gap in her real life; in her own time. Her feet are hitting the pavement as she navigates the city doing whatever it is she needs to be doing that’s more important than answering a call from you. Her reality and her real life take precedence. That whole concept is so rare and incredible to me because if you text me or call me while I’m out and about I’ll pick up without even a second thought as to if I should or if I realistically have the time. I simply assume that I always have the time. I’m someone who makes time even when I shouldn’t. In my search for connection with reality, I want to be running around my city with no time for anything but my business. And I’ll get round to responding. It’s more of that delayed gratification we keep hearing about. All of the above encompasses how much better life would feel if we gave things time and intention. Thinking before doing more than we’re doing before thinking.
Maybe this longing is why I love making music and writing in notebooks. They’re processes that require touch and a level of physicality. Nothing is happening behind the scenes that I don’t control. No algorithms, no comments, nothing but my hands and my brain and some sense of creative vision. These things that existed as mine before my world (and its future) existed behind a pane of glass.
I have more points of reference related to this topic so I’ve decided to split it into parts for the sake of your attention span and eyesight. I’ve never cared more for a Substack send or a written piece, so I hope you made it this far. If you did I really appreciate it. Make sure to subscribe if you’d like to see the next parts. They’ll be out soon when I’ve stopped crying at the section I wrote about my mum (who is fortunately still alive. I’m just emotional and a water sign.)
Until next time x
Let the record show I hate hate hate that word.
British for rip into it; write it off; ruin its reputation with some strongly worded complaints that are borderline hypocritical because I may change my mind at a later date.
For more discussion like this please listen to
‘s chat with Mellany Sanchez on the podcast. It is incredibly insightful and a major inspiration for this send.I should note my mum now has an iPhone but she can still hold it this way which I’m certain is down to much practice with previous phone models.
This is a good thing. Challenge is a necessary part of the human experience and things are getting a little too easy for my liking.
Google Prada technosport 1999