Exchanging long voice memos isn’t everybody’s thing. I know this. I don’t judge. Some people don’t like avocados or coffee. They’re not bad people. They’re just wrong. As for me and my house, we want to hear seven straight minutes about your breakfast buffet. Tell me more about the six slices of bacon and the omelette station. I want to hear your waffling about the waffle station and a truly expert-level analysis of the sketchy guy you saw out of the corner of your eye. Please tell me, again, the story about what just happened in the coffee shop just now where you grabbed the wrong latte and walked out with it. Tell me in exquisite detail about how embarrassing it was when the barrista came out from behind the counter and tapped you on the shoulder and how it reminded you of that one time in the sixth grade…
I love it when you crack yourself up so hard you can’t finish the story, or when you say, “I have absolutely no idea why I’m even telling you this.” (Spoiler alert: I do.)
Ten out of ten when you’re driving and you interrupt your own story: “I think it’s probably strep throat or — Stay in your lane! Jeez! — I swear people don’t know how to drive in this town… Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, so I think it’s probably strep throat but…”
Immediate hit of dopamine when you dig yourself in very deep. “OMG, I can’t believe I said that. You could cancel me hardcore for this.” You’re right: I could. And I absolutely would never. Delete.
Your voice memos are alternately the confessional booth, the stand-up stage, the storytelling workshop, or the audio commentary of you making a meatloaf. I don’t know which one it’s gonna be until I hit play.
When I’m really busy or you’re really on a roll, I crank you up to 2x the speed. Hilarious to hear chipmunk-you yapping about you know who at double speed.
You sing to me.
You read me poems.
You pray. Out loud. In my ear.
I can’t believe you listen to me, in return. This hardly feels like a fair exchange, but there you are. You endure my shaggy dog stories and the eight-minute monologue of me rehashing the same story over and over and over again. You love it, you say. As it turns out, you love my stories because you love me.
This is how it works.
If you’re sick of my cast of characters, you never let me know, even though I chase my tail and give you the play-by-play (since you didn’t ask…). I take you on wild goose chases and lead you into back hallways. “I forgot where I was going with all this.”
You didn’t. You took notes.
You. Took. Notes.
How did I get to be so lucky?
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#WritersWrite and I write almost every day. I sometimes share my thoughts publicly in this series called “500 Words or Less.” This practice allows me to explore a variety of different topics in a restrained/contained way and learn what resonates with people. I wrote it, not AI. If you share, please give proper credit. © Traci Smith, 2026. All Rights Reserved.