Friday Real Talk

When Did Being Unreachable Become a Problem?

Dear Friends,

There was a time when we could leave the house and simply be unavailable.

We could go shopping, take a drive, visit someone, sit by the pool, or spend the afternoon doing absolutely nothing—and nobody expected an immediate response.

Somewhere along the way, being reachable became an expectation.

People call, text, message us on social media, and sometimes become upset when we don’t respond quickly enough.

But when did having a phone begin to mean that everybody is entitled to our time?

There are people who may be upset with me because I haven’t called them since moving back to Seattle.

I understand why they may wonder what happened. I was once very active on social media, and when I lived in Las Vegas, I regularly called home to stay connected.

But my life has changed.

I work on the telephone forty hours a week. I spend my days listening, answering questions, solving problems, redirecting concerns, and helping people navigate healthcare.

By the time I finish working, I am often talked out.

Then there is the reality of living with chronic pain. Sometimes I don’t feel like talking about how I’m doing. I don’t always want to give another health update, explain my limitations, or turn every conversation into a discussion about pain.

Sometimes I simply want quiet.

It has nothing to do with anyone else.

It really is me.

I believe people sometimes expect life—and the people they love—to remain the same as they were ten years ago. They remember the version of us who called frequently, stayed socially active, attended everything, and seemed to have endless energy.

But life changes us.

Our bodies change.

Our responsibilities change.

Our interests change.

What we are willing to give our time and energy to changes too.

Years ago, when I worked with artists and entertainers, I allowed people to have too much access to me. I freely shared my time, abilities, encouragement, and support.

Eventually, some people began behaving as though my time belonged to them.

I remember one entertainer becoming angry because I didn’t answer the telephone.

I was in the pool.

Mind you, this person was not paying me for my work, my abilities, or my support—but somehow believed I should still be immediately available.

Looking back, I understand that I helped create that expectation by allowing so much access in the first place.

When I moved home to Seattle, the whole arts-and-entertainment world had grown old for me. I stopped participating cold turkey.

And I have no regrets.

I no longer believe that caring about people requires me to remain constantly available to them.

My silence is not anger.

My quietness is not rejection.

My lack of a telephone call does not mean I have stopped caring.

Sometimes I am simply tired, hurting, talked out, or enjoying my own peace.

Being available is something we offer.

It is not something other people own.

The people in our lives may miss who we used to be, but they must also allow us to become who we are today.

We should not have to keep performing an older version of ourselves simply because that version was more accessible—or more useful—to other people.

Have you ever felt as though you owed people access to you—no matter what you were doing, how you were feeling, or whether they respected your time?

And if you stopped being constantly available, who would genuinely miss you—and who would merely miss what you did for them?

That is something worth thinking about.

Real Talk with Lady Flava 🌻