I live most of my life in text. Not because I’m avoiding people, but because text is the medium where my mind actually has room to breathe. Talking is fast, slippery, full of interruptions and social static. Text is deliberate. Text is spacious. Text lets me think at the speed I think, not the speed someone else expects me to respond.
Online, that means my communication is almost entirely written. Messages, posts, comments, long-form essays, chats in little windows that feel more like a study than a screen. I don’t need the choreography of voice or the performance of video. I want the stillness of words.
Text also gives me continuity. I can scroll back through a conversation and see the thread of my own thinking. I can track how an idea evolved. I can see where I hesitated, where I clarified, where I changed my mind. Talking evaporates. Text accumulates.
And because I’ve been writing online for decades, text is also how I build relationships. Not through volume, but through resonance. A well‑placed sentence can do more than an hour-long call. A paragraph can hold nuance that a phone conversation steamrolls. Text lets me show up as myself—measured, reflective, precise—without the sensory overload of real‑time speech.
So when I think about how I communicate online, the answer is simple: I write. I write to think. I write to connect. I write to stay grounded in a world that moves too fast and talks too loud. Text is not just my preference; it’s my home.
Stories That Are All True 
Don’t you think written communication can sometimes lead to misinterpretation or ambiguity because it loses some of the nuance we get in person? When we talk face‑to‑face, we pick up visual and verbal cues that help us understand each other better. Other forms of communication are great too, and technology has definitely pushed us in that direction, but I still wonder if we lose a bit of connection without those in‑person cues.
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It’s a balance. I don’t do one thing all the time. Text is just the most convenient.
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