Ghosted

In the spirit of taking a two-week vow of silence from this newsletter, I figured it was only fair to explore the fine art of ghosting—both then and now.

When I was 14, I had a girlfriend. Or at least, I was told I did. At that age, relationships were largely theoretical, like string theory or a reliable public WiFi. I couldn’t drive, which meant I couldn’t see her outside of school, and talking to her in school—where I risked the heckling of my so-called friends—was absolutely out of the question. That left me with one remaining option: calling her on the telephone.

For those under a certain age, a telephone was a large, immovable object that lived in your house like an elderly relative. Ours were rotary phones, which required you to insert your finger into a little numbered hole and spin it clockwise for each digit. If you made a mistake, the phone did not care. You had to start over. These phones were placed strategically in two locations: the kitchen, where my entire family congregated, and my parents’ bedroom, where I had a strict “no loitering” policy enforced against me.

Every night, I would pace for hours, building up the courage to dial her number. I would talk myself into it, then out of it, then back into it again. When I finally got up the nerve to place the call, one of her parents or siblings would answer, and I would, without fail, hang up immediately. My logic was simple: if they didn’t know for sure it was me, then maybe they wouldn’t talk about it at dinner. But we lived in a small town, where the rumor mill ran more efficiently than the post office, and by the third or fourth hang-up, they absolutely knew it was me.

From what I later gathered, they had full-family discussions about how rude I was, as if I had purposefully called just to breathe into the receiver like a hedge-peeking creep. Eventually, my girlfriend—if she could still be called that—stopped waiting for my call. She moved on to a more communicative boyfriend, possibly one with access to a push button phone.

I tell this story because lately, I have been reliving that experience, though this time, I am the one being ghosted.

For most of my career, the process of booking a speaking engagement was predictable. A CEO, COO, CMO, managing partner, or senior event planner—people with some experience and a vested interest in getting things done—would reach out, ask about my availability, and set up a call to see if I was a good fit. In exchange for their consideration, I would hold the date for them, waiting patiently until they made a decision. Sometimes they went in another direction, which was fine. That’s life.

But lately, the process has changed. Now, I get an email from someone who, based on their title, is either very new to their job or was created in a lab just last week. They ask if I’m available on a certain date. I confirm that I am and offer to set up a call, promising to hold the date in the meantime. They enthusiastically accept. And then—nothing.

Not a “We’ve gone in another direction.” Not a “Thanks for your time, but we’re looking for someone who uses more cliches and buzzwords.” Not even a “You can release the date.” Just silence. A blank, existential void where a professional exchange used to be.

I’ve heard that ghosting has become common these days. It’s strange, but I get why it happens—it’s easier to disappear than to have an uncomfortable conversation. But in business? In a setting where basic communication is supposed to be a core skill? What baffles me is that ghosting has become an accepted practice. You can just… pretend the conversation never happened. It’s the professional equivalent of a toddler covering their eyes and believing they are now invisible.

I’m not a big believer in generational stereotypes. I refuse to be one of those people who shakes their fist at “kids these days” while also Googling how to make my font bigger. But I do think something shifted in the cultural psyche. Maybe it started with dating apps, where people could disappear without consequence. Maybe social media conditioned us to curate our interactions, blocking and unfollowing anyone who became inconvenient. But wherever it started, it has now fully bled into the business world, where ghosting is not only commonplace but seemingly risk-free.

But it’s not.

If you manage people who interact with the outside world, I have one simple recommendation: implement a no ghosting rule immediately. It will save your company’s reputation, make your brand look competent, and ensure that people don’t share stories about how unprofessional your organization is over drinks at conferences.

Because the thing about ghosting is that it’s never as final as you think. The person you ghost today could be the one you need something from tomorrow. And they will remember.

Just like my ex-girlfriend’s family.