Issue 61: Airplane Mode

What is your policy regarding group dance songs at weddings? The Cha Cha Slide, the Cupid Shuffle, the Wobble. They’re the songs everyone somehow already knows. And if you don’t? Just copy the most confident aunt on the dance floor, you’ll catch up fast. They are often crowd pleasers, but I keep them behind metaphorical glass labeled “In Case of Dance Floor Emergency.” Do you disagree? Do you think you know better? That you’re a better judge of music danceability and wedding reception rhythms? Well check-mate buddy. I’ve literally DJed over a dozen weddings which means I’m right and you’re wrong and also maybe I should start saying no to more DJ gigs because honestly, how did that happen?

When you’ve DJed over a dozen weddings you learn a few things. Most wedding speeches are the same, some people’s families are secretly rich, and Fergalicious is still an absolute banger. You learn how to think on your feet. Just saying I’ve “DJed” a dozen weddings undersells it. At some I’ve been the default day-of coordinator, tech guy, and once a reluctant emotional support person. I’ve also learned that if you make yourself the biggest fool and dance like nobody’s watching, then everyone actually watching is less afraid of looking foolish. At the first ever wedding I DJed, I had the most obnoxious and overbearing day-of coordinator you could imagine. She was disorganized but arrogant. A dangerous combo. She kept texting me to turn up the mic on the groom and then turn down the mic on the groom. She texted me to start music that was already playing. She texted “We’re doing speeches during dinner.” Then: “Nevermind on the speeches.” Then: “Ok, speeches back on.” I was one text away from faking a power outage. Eventually, I learned another DJ lesson, turn your phone on airplane mode. 

How did I get into DJing? For the last time, stop trying to live my life. Get your own hobbies. (Sorry that was directed to one reader, you know who you are). For those looking to keep ghostwriting my biography, I got into DJing by being asked by a guy I went to college with. I’d like to think it was for my music taste, but the reality was “You’re good behind a mic and we really need someone to MC the wedding and play some good music.” It must have gone well enough because someone at that wedding asked me to DJ their wedding later that year. Someone at that wedding asked me to DJ their wedding and so on and so forth. 

When I started DJing, I was a young and single guy fresh out of college. I would put Shakira on not to see who in the crowd had hips that wouldn’t lie, but to show the world that I had the most honest hips of everyone in attendance. At the time, putting my phone on airplane mode was a reluctant necessity. When I turned it back off at midnight, sweaty and amped from yelling into a mic over Dancing Queen, my phone would light up like a slot machine. Dozens, sometimes hundreds, of messages and notifications. People asking what I was doing after. People sending snapchats and instagram messages. Friends inviting me to late-night food runs. It felt like I was returning to a buzzing little digital city that had missed me while I was gone. I’ve never really had fomo, but turning my phone back off airplane mode and waiting to see who all missed me and wanted my attention was a direct injection of validation: you are wanted. 

When I turned my phone off airplane mode last Saturday, there was… nothing. Not a single notification. Does that mean I’m no longer cool? I think we all know the answer to that… Does that mean I had no plans past 8 PM? Obviously not. Our crew that has been to so many weddings together continued our ritual of Modelos and Margaritas after a wedding. It was just, no notifications. Not in a sad way. Just in a still, almost reverent way, like coming home to a house where everyone’s already asleep. In fact, I didn’t even notice the lack of notification until days later upon reflecting. 

I didn’t notice the change happening either, just the quiet that arrived after. Years of tiny shifts suddenly made themselves known in one still moment when flipping my digital “Sorry, we’re closed” sign back to “We’re open.” These days, I have most notifications turned off by default. No social media, no apps of any kind, just texts, calls, and emails. I haven’t played Shakira in a long time because the only person who needs to know about these hips is dancing beside me even while being nine months pregnant. The same guys who wanted to hang out after 8 PM now have their own built in plans putting kids to bed and catching up on shows so they are no longer reaching out at that time. 

There was a time when I’d walk around a wedding ceremony and be told “You’re the life of the party,” and “Look at this video I took of you!” Those were the conversations that filled me up. This time, the best and most fulfilling conversation I had was with a new friend named Byron. At one point we were taking a group picture and before returning to my dancefloor duties Byron asked how Niki and I were doing. From there, he mentioned he’d been meaning to call and catch up but didn’t know how busy we were or when a good time was. Little did Byron know that this cool, hip, DJ loves a good phone call while running errands on a Saturday. He was unaware that the deepest friendships I have often are built on long phone chats. He, unwittingly, may have just signed himself up for many wasted hours on the phone growing closer and investing in each other’s lives. What a fool. 

There was a time when silence felt like being forgotten. These days, it feels more like being full. Like that old saying, “shallow rivers are noisy, but deep lakes are silent.” I think my life’s gotten quieter, not because it’s empty, but because it’s deeper. It’s less “Whatcha doing after this? Wanna grab a drink?” and more “What time would be good to call and catch up this weekend?” My circle hasn’t disappeared, it’s just drifted closer. Like the universe contracting into our den with a sectional, curled up watching Lost with a dog we still call hypoallergenic while we vacuum up the hair she sheds.

In a few days, however, silence too will be a distant memory when a new voice enters our world. One that doesn’t text but rather cries at 3am with no regard for Do Not Disturb settings. I imagine I’ll be even less reachable then. When she finally is sleeping, I wouldn’t dare risk a notification waking her up. When she rests and the house quiets back down to two (barely) awake people, I will want to make the most of my time with my best friend before we are needed again. When my daughter wakes up, where on Earth would I rather be and who in the world would I rather be talking to? I might just put my phone on airplane mode from 5 PM to 8 AM every day.

Yet I know even this season won’t last forever. I will eventually return not just to notifications, not just to having my phone on vibrate, but to a place I never thought possible. One day, I’ll probably be the middle-aged dad with his ringer turned up so loud it startles waiters. I’ll be the guy who jumps at every vibration, convinced it might be my daughter – freshman year, first apartment, first heartbreak – needing to hear her dad’s voice. When that day comes, I won’t mind being reached. I won’t mind the noise. I’ll want to hear notifications more than ever. 

I used to love turning airplane mode off to see who needed me. These days, I love leaving it on, because I already know who does.