I’ve been rolling this thought around in my head lately, like a marble that refuses to settle, about texting and the strange attitudes people seem to have about it nowadays. Maybe it’s a sign that I’m showing my age, maybe it’s the Canadian politeness ingrained in me—or perhaps it’s just my inner contrarian waving its little flag—but my approach to texting feels almost like an endangered species. You know, like that last dodo trudging around, wondering why its friends stopped calling. Or, in this case, texting.

Here’s the deal—I am not that person who spirals into existential angst when I send a text and don’t get a reply in five minutes. You know the one. The friend who immediately falls into a Shakespearean tragedy: “They despise me, oh woe is my soul, what have I done to deserve this digital abandonment?” Nope, I don’t do that. Mostly because life is messy, chaotic, and occasionally absurd, and I have neither the time nor the emotional bandwidth to interpret every unresponded text as a declaration of war.

But it’s not just about patience for me. It’s functional. I rely on texting—heavily, in fact—because making phone calls is like willingly subjecting myself to auditory torture. Imagine listening to a symphony of screeching cats while trying to decipher Morse code, and you’ll have a general sense of what phone calls feel like for me. An audio processing disorder means they’re not just difficult—they’re painful. Physically painful. So texting? Texting is my lifeline, my sanity, my version of a carrier pigeon that doesn’t poop everywhere. I do have a fun meme below that I like to send to those who tend to call and I know can text. Plus I also tend to not pick up your calls as often because it’s always about some small thing that can be texted so I may miss when you really need me, urgently.

And because this is my reality, I have developed some very specific feelings about how people, collectively, seem to treat their phones. If you’re one of those people who stares at your phone as though it’s the Oracle of Delphi, waiting for it to deliver life-altering wisdom, this might be a little uncomfortable. You see, I’ve turned into someone who calmly tells people, “Your phone is there for your convenience, not mine. Answer when you have a moment or when you can do so safely.” It’s such a simple concept, yet the number of people who seem to get genuinely irked by this is staggering. Like, I’m sorry, was your text response time secretly powering the stock market? Is the fate of the free world resting on your “k” or “lol”? Didn’t think so.

Let’s be clear, though—I’m not saying I’m blameless here. If you ignore me for days on end, I’m going to assume you’ve been abducted by aliens or fallen into a wormhole—not because you don’t care, but because chaos is life. And if you’ve read my message, the least you can do is toss me a bone with a quick “Hey, I’m alive, juggling fire, will respond soon.” It’s not Shakespeare; it’s not poetry; it’s just basic human decency wrapped in a text bubble. Even a thumbs-up emoji gets the job done. It’s not about writing me an essay; it’s about saying, “Hey, I’m not ignoring you.” That’s the principle of it.

And while we’re on the topic of principles, let’s talk about double standards. Nothing grates on my nerves more than someone who holds others to texting standards they themselves refuse to follow. You know the type—they expect you to respond within minutes, but then leave your message on read for days without so much as a “k.” I shouldn’t need to explain myself when I don’t respond immediately, just as you shouldn’t either. Maybe I’m asleep because I work 6 p.m. to 6 a.m. Maybe I’m driving, cooking, or heck, doing my best impersonation of a dolphin in the shower. Whatever the case, I’ll extend the same courtesy to you if you’re busy juggling the glorious chaos of life. But if you’re going to get in my face about not responding on your timeline while ignoring mine? Well, there’s the door. Don’t let it hit you on the way out.

This works both ways, of course. Since I expect people to understand my side of the texting equation, I make it a point to extend that same understanding to others. Emergencies are the exception, naturally. If it’s urgent, call me. You can even call and say, “Hey, something important is going on—check your texts.” That not only gets the job done but also respects my time and acknowledges the fact that phone calls aren’t exactly my idea of a good time. Between an audio processing disorder and PTSD, phone calls are a special kind of nightmare for me, and even before I had a laundry list of acronyms to explain my distaste for them, I simply didn’t like them. Never have.

It’s like this one time—I kid you not—someone actually asked me why I didn’t respond immediately to their text at 3 a.m. I had to gently remind them that, unlike vampires, I occasionally sleep. Well, sort of. And then there’s the driving scenario. Picture this: I’m cruising down the highway, phone buzzing away like an overzealous bee, and someone texts me twice, thrice, and then calls. Why? Because I didn’t respond immediately. Friends, let me introduce you to a groundbreaking concept: texting while driving is not just rude—it’s illegal. So no, I’m not going to risk a fender bender to reply, “Sure, pizza works.”

And don’t even get me started on the idea that text messaging somehow equates to an omniscient view into someone’s life. Unless you’re physically there, your perspective is restricted. Text isn’t a phone call, and it certainly isn’t FaceTime. You have no clue what’s unfolding on the other end of the line. So don’t go demanding immediate responses when someone might be juggling fire or falling into bed after a night shift. Life goes off the rails sometimes, and that’s okay. Have a little common courtesy.

Ultimately, texting is a tool. A brilliant, efficient, occasionally maddening tool. It lets me send ridiculous memes at 2 a.m., coordinate brunch plans without playing phone tag, and communicate in a way that doesn’t make my ears beg for mercy. But it’s not perfect, and neither are we. Life gets busy, chaotic, wonderfully messy, and it’s okay to be human about it. So if you text me and I don’t respond immediately, don’t panic. Chances are I’m juggling fire, pretending to sleep, or just living in the glorious chaos that is life. And maybe I’ll see your text, smile, and think, “Ah, yes, connection—perfectly timed.” Or maybe I’ll send you a meme. Either way, the world keeps spinning. So those of you who expect an immediate response I have this to say to you. Look up and see the beauty of the world and life that is all around you, you are missing out on so much. Just because you have to be glued to a screen all the time.

What is your take on this text messaging and response time equation?