The first date was a dinner date! When the waitress came, the inquisitive one ordered the Sloppy Spaghetti With Corn on the Cob.

The waitress’s face acquired a look of uncertainty. She said, “Are you sure you would like to order the Sloppy Spaghetti With Corn on the Cob?”

The inquisitive one proclaimed, “Yes!”

Soon, the food arrived. The inquisitive one and the date started eating.

“What do you like to do for fun?” asked the date.

“I like gardening,” said the inquisitive one, while splashing Sloppy Spaghetti sauce on the white tablecloth. And they talked about gardening for a bit.

At a lull in the conversation, the date asked, “Do you like to exercise?”

“Yes, I like running,” said the inquisitive one, between two massive bites of the corn on the cob. And they talked about exercise for a bit.

At a lull in the conversation, the date said, “I really like to sail. Sailing is my favorite hobby. I enjoy it very much! Do you like boats and being on the water?”

“I know a lot about sailing!” the inquisitive one cried out, slamming a fist on the table for emphasis, hitting the spoon at a perfect angle to fly up and land—plop!—in the half-full glass of red wine.

Together—for they were on the same wavelength!—the date and the inquisitive one watched the glass totter, and tip, and topple down toward the inquisitive one. The red wine splashed all over the Sloppy Spaghetti dots on the white tablecloth, and started dripping into the inquisitive one’s lap.

The conversation seemed to have come to another lull. So the inquisitive one said, “What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a writer,” said the date.

“Oh! What do you write?”

“Articles for the Washington Post.”

“What do you write about?”

“Dating and relationships.”

“Very cool!” The inquisitive one grinned widely at the date, revealing chunks of corn between every tooth. “Pardon me, I need to use the restroom. Be right back!”

The inquisitive one, who was nothing if not prepared, changed into an extra set of clothes. This extra set of clothes was in the bag the inquisitive one had brought, just in case—along with the passport and life vest, naturally. Then the inquisitive one used a paper towel to remove all the visible corn from the teeth.

The inquisitive one, upon returning, smiled brightly at the date, looking clean, tidy, and ready for a boating expedition.

The date stared at the inquisitive one in surprise, disbelief, and—one might even say—love.

I recently met, through a dating app, a man with an interesting philosophy about text messaging. In his view—if I may presume to attempt to state it correctly here—texting should be purely transactional. The purpose of texts is to set up a time and place to meet in person. To try to convey emotion or wit through a text is to set yourself up to be misinterpreted on the other end. It also puts you at risk of descending into kitschy sentimentality, as genuine emotions are best expressed in person.

I agree that kitschy sentimentality is something to be avoided (while acknowledging that beauty is in the eye of the beholder). And, as you know, I concur that language is a blunt instrument. Indeed, texting is one of the bluntest language tools ever invented, since it demands a severe economy of words, while still promising real human connection. It’s hard work to convey what you want to convey through a text. And there is, I agree, a risk that you will be misunderstood, which would necessitate even more time spent crafting even more refined text messages to correct the misperception.

Is it worth it? Which path is wiser—to use texting for transactional purposes only, or to also attempt to convey emotion and wit through this blunt tool?

Let’s ask our friend and guru Hafiz, why don’t we? Surely he can offer us some good advice on how to text a girl, woman, boy, man, or other divine spirit.

What—you don’t think a 14th-century poet can have anything relevant to say about text messaging? I say he just might. Here’s Daniel Ladinsky’s translation of the first two stanzas of the poem “Why Just Ask the Donkey,” from the book The Gift:

Why
Just ask the donkey in me
To speak to the donkey in you,
 
When I have so many other beautiful animals
And brilliant colored birds inside
That are all longing to say something wonderful
And exciting to your heart?

Yes! I am with you, Hafiz! I, too, have so many lovely animals and colorful birds inside of me, longing to speak out! Why, indeed, just speak the donkey-like transactional language of setting a time and place to meet?

In this poem, of course, Hafiz refers not to texting but to speaking in person. In other words, although people met in person in the 14th century more often than they texted (understatement alert!), they still, according to Hafiz, at least sometimes failed to express emotion and wit. Maybe people talked about how much merchandise they sold that day or week. Maybe they talked about their home improvement projects. Who knows what they talked about back then? But it’s clear from this poem that Hafiz thinks people often held back.

People do often hold back. I don’t think this has anything to do with technology. People hold back in person, they hold back while talking on the phone, and they hold back while texting. Sometimes people use digital technology as a means of holding back, as a screen to hide their true selves. But no matter what medium they use to convey information, they do hold back.

I, myself, wanted to hold back in writing about Hafiz. If you don’t mind me quoting myself, here’s why I felt this way: “It’s one thing to enjoy your personal reactions to what you encounter in life. It’s another to muck it all up by trying to communicate something uncommunicable.” In other words, I was afraid I would not succeed in communicating what I wanted to communicate.

This sounds suspiciously similar to my date’s reasons for not attempting to convey emotion or wit by text. He doesn’t want to be misinterpreted; and he doesn’t want to come across as sentimental (read: misinterpreted as fake). In other words, he’s afraid he will not succeed in communicating what he wants to communicate.

If I have not learned, from three years of therapy, that fear is the #1 enemy of self-actualization, I have learned nothing. When you communicate with another human being—whether in person or through technology—you inherently risk being misunderstood.

But no risk, no reward! And the more you work at communication, the better you get at it. Traveling by car, bus, train, and plane is risky; but we do it because we want to get places and have experiences. Similarly, using language, orally or in writing, to express emotion or wit is risky; but it’s one of the best ways to experience real human connection on those levels.

I’m not advocating replacing in-person meetings with texting. What I’m saying is, sometimes I am here, while you, dear date, are way over someplace else. Sometimes I have a miraculously amazing animal inside of me, who’s jumping up and down and snorting while thinking of you. And sometimes (okay, pretty much all the time), I have this amazing piece of technology within arm’s reach, whereby that incredible animal can totally leap up and slobber all over you! That is, if I don’t force it down through domination and fear tactics.

Yes, there’s a risk here. You might not want to be slobbered all over. Or maybe you’re not fond of that particular kind of slobber. And you might misinterpret the slobber as green slime. But there’s also a chance that you’ll love it and reciprocate with your own weird animal fun!

And that would be—IMHO—divine.

What are all your colorful birds longing to say today?

Everything in moderation, including moderation.

Heard that before?

Now you have, in any case.

Feel free to attribute that quote to me.

After all, I wrote it.

(Look above, if you don’t believe me.)

Take it and run with it, Internet!

Origin of the Quote

Oh, so you require more persuasion before quoting me on that? You wish to know who said “Everything in moderation, including moderation” before I did?

That’s easy—it was my date the other night. We might have been discussing whether we should order more small-plated food. Upon which he uttered the aforementioned string of words. Or perhaps it was another round of drinks that we were contemplating. Or was it dessert? I can’t remember; I was pretty inebriated at that point.

I’m confident that he said it, though. I remarked that that sounded like good wisdom, and that I should write a blog post about that. He remarked that that sounded like an excellent idea. And we flagged down the waitress and put in another order . . . of whatever it was we were contemplating ordering.

In any case, once I had recovered from that bout of immoderation, I decided to investigate the origins of the saying. If you believe the Internet (and—let’s be honest—who doesn’t??), the first part was said by everyone from Socrates to Aristotle to other illustrious, sandal-wearing dudes; while the latter part was tacked on by everyone from Benjamin Franklin to Oscar Wilde to Julia Child, not to mention several less famous, but surely equally redoubtable, personages.

What difference, I ask, is one more soul in this little parade of elocutionists likely to make?

Analysis of the Quote

Lately, I’ve had Taylor Swift’s album Reputation on repeat. Its first song “…Ready for It?” has a relevant lyric:*

I see two extremes here. Trying too hard to win over a crush seldom works. As for not trying at all . . . at first blush, this seems like a good strategy. Swift’s narrator is certainly captivated by the man in question. She launches into an extended fantasy about captivating his desire as he has captivated hers, and all that will happen as a result.

However, if the narrator’s crush is truly not trying at all, is anything likely to happen between them? Doubtful. Sure, she could throw herself at a man who isn’t trying at all to win her love. But if he’s really that uninterested in her (or uninterested in love with anyone, or cynical about any possibility of love), her dreams about him touching her, while they’re someplace with low lighting on some island, begin to sound more creepy than romantic.

The narrator ends the song by repeating these words:

If he’s not trying at all, then the answer is clearly no, he’s not ready for it. Playing a game with someone who isn’t trying at all is no fun at all. But if he’s only acting like he’s not trying, but actually putting in a highly nuanced effort to win her affection? Now he’s starting to sound pretty cool . . . and like he knows something about the wisdom of moderation.

And maybe, while they’re on the island, he’ll ditch the whole moderation thing and go wild!

And then, being the wise man he is, he’ll give Taylor** a good-bye kiss, fly home, and mow his lawn.

Uses of the Quote

In conclusion, I wrote the saying “Everything in moderation, including moderation.” (See the opening line of this blog post, or, actually, to save time, see the previous sentence.)

You can quote me on that.

For example, you can quote me on your next batch of T-shirts, mugs, coasters, knickknacks, wall hangings, notepad covers, or other trinkets you plan to sell on Etsy.

Feel free to go nuts with it!

Just, after you go nuts, back off for a bit.

Moderation, people.

*For a more complete analysis of the song, see the blog post by Clifford Stumme, a.k.a. the Pop Song Professor, called What does "...Ready For It?" by Taylor Swift mean?

**The name of the song's narrator is (coincidentally!!) Taylor.

The inquisitive one noticed someone cute on the dating site. They went on not one, but two dates!

On the first date, they met at a Greek restaurant. They had so much fun talking at the restaurant that they decided to go out for coffee afterward. A while later, they hugged good night and made jokes as they waved goodbye!

On the second date, they met at an art museum. They had so much fun looking at paintings that they decided to get dinner at a quaint little restaurant. They had so much fun talking at the restaurant that they decided to browse through a bookstore. They had so much fun looking at books that they decided to get tea and pastries at a café. A while later, they kissed good night, waved goodbye, and texted each other jokes!

Two days later, the inquisitive one sent two cheerful texts to the date!

A few hours after that, the date touched the icon of the texting app to send a message. But suddenly, just at that moment, the date’s soul flew out of the date’s body!

The date’s soul could no longer manipulate the date’s body!

The date was now, completely irrevocably, a phantom!

And for many months afterward, the date’s poor soul flitted about ancient buildings and graveyards, ruminating in agony over what had happened so suddenly and inexplicably.

This is the terrifying modern epidemic known as ghosting. I hope it never happens to you!

I would like to discuss with you a modern problem, one that has the potential to strain relationships, upset family members, destroy old friendships, prevent new friendships, and restrict opportunities of all kinds. All this, you say? Yes, the potential for all this, I say. What is this potentially destructive modern problem? you ask. Let me explain through a story, I explain:

I had gone on a few dates with a sweet, athletic, intelligent, family-oriented, and career-minded man. Wishing to communicate something important to him, I made the regrettable—for more than one reason—decision to do so through text messaging. I am a woman of the modern era; that’s my excuse. Well, and I may also be a rotten and thoughtless person. In any case, he called me the next day.

For twenty excruciating minutes, he beat around the bush. He wanted to talk about anything and everything, except for the content of my text. Meanwhile I, trying to go with the flow, did not intervene, but rather answered his questions briefly and without emotion (see: rotten and thoughtless person, above). Finally, he said, “Well, it doesn’t seem like you’re in the mood to talk tonight.”

“Um,” I blurted out, “don’t you want to talk about my text?!”

(By this point, you’ve probably guessed where this story is going. . . .)

“What text?” he said.

He had not received the text! Caught off guard, I proceeded to completely bungle an oral explanation of what I had written, communicating in the most uncomprehensible English my convoluted point of view; and things ended badly.

In addition to having experienced outbound texting failures, I have also been on the non-receiving end of things. In the past year, I have failed to receive text messages from my mother, my psychotherapist, and my housemate. That last was an especially interesting case, since it was a group text, and the other recipient got it just fine.

Having felt frustrated by this problem for months, I finally found the time to scamper off to the Internet. There, I discovered that many others are having this issue. And then I discovered that my phone service provider offers a text messaging app that can be installed on multiple devices (in my case, phone and laptop) and that, people claimed, solved the problem for them.

The setup of these apps went uncommonly smoothly. And now—whoa!—I can text from my laptop, not just my phone. This is an exciting development, as it means I don’t have to interrupt the flow of my work at the keyboard if I want to shoot off a quick text, or read an incoming text. Moreover, if my phone breaks or goes missing, I can still access my text messages.

Something else interesting occurred when I installed the apps. The missing text from my housemate appeared, in proper sequence, on my laptop’s app! . . . though it is still missing on my phone’s app. Such a mystery!

How many friendships around the world have been damaged, or prevented from flowering, due to missed texts? How many business opportunities have fallen through? How many mothers have sighed, thinking their children were remiss in sending love, when actually they were not? What countless words would Charles Dickens pen about this tragedy, were he alive today?

Have you ever missed an important text? Have you ever sent one that never made it out of the ether and onto the intended recipient’s phone?