Up until high school and beyond, I suffered from a debilitating case of social anxiety. That may come as a surprise to those of you who know me now, given the absolute social butterfly that I am now (so social, in fact, that I am positively thrilled about being sick today so that I have an excuse to stay inside, away from all the scary friendly people). I was basically mute from kindergarten through fifth grade, due to some now unmemorable traumatic incident at school. For some reason, at the age of five, I had gotten the idea that my voice was not feminine enough. The proper solution to this dilemma was to permanently seal shut my pie-hole, until I changed schools. Some time during high school I decided that being lonely sucked a fat one, so I worked to get over it. I started answering questions in class, became competitive in debate and forensics (two-time nationals qualifier for oration, holla), and even got some friends.

Thankfully, I’m mostly over the whole social anxiety thing now, and am not afraid to look terribly foolish in front of strangers and friends (and do so on many occasions). The one little thing I can’t quite seem to get over, however, is that peculiar modern invention known as the telephone.

One of the many beautiful doodles over at a beautiful revolution, that I find immensely relatable.

It’s certainly not for lack of practice. I’ve done reception work for over four years now, and that work involves taking phone calls. Also, having an immigrant mother whose English is halting, it had often fallen to me while growing up (and after my sister left for college) to make phone calls to places like utilities on behalf of my mom. I can talk on the telephone, and competently at that, if I must. But why is it so that, after so many years, I still instinctively dread the sound of that terrible tintinnabulation*?

Reflecting on it some more, I realize I must still have hang-ups about my voice. In person, I can make up for whatever failings of my voice by batting my eyes and (attempting) looking pretty; via email, it’s a non-issue (also, I haven’t quite gotten the hang of this new-fangled text-messaging that all the cool kids are doing these days). I can sound competent on occasion, but I’m aware that I also can sound like a stuttering, stammering nincompoop. Not to mention leaving messages; the thought of my awkward and ungainly voice preserved on some chip or tape for posterity’s sake is unsettling.

There are other things I don’t like about phones, particularly cell phones. Of course there’s the higher likelihood of traffic accidents when driving and using cell phones at the same time. There are the profoundly irritating people who have their phones grafted permanently to the surface of their ears, not stopping to even engage in cursory conversation with the customer service peon expected to assist them. Besides all that, cell phones can kind of act as a short leash. The convenience of easy and speedy contact has become a necessity these days. Sometimes, though, it’s kind of nice to disappear.

My inspired pale imitation of the lovely andre’s talent. I suck at drawing convincing human figures in photoshop, so instead I have drawn a scaredy-cat.

So if I don’t answer the phone right away when you call, chances are that I’m not ignoring you, per se. Just send me an email or post a comment, and that might suffice to lure me out of my self-imposed gloom. Unless I’ve disappeared, of course.

* - Pseudo-classical Samsung ringtone.