A Moment’s Notice:
Striving for Awareness of Each Moment,
Reflecting
on the Events of the Moment
In my last post I worried that the development of
brain-computer interfaces would turn us into motionless sloths who change
television channels just by thinking.
But now I’d like for you to consider a more disturbing consequence: That
such technological advancements would render our isolation from each other
total and complete.
You might be
asking, “What isolation?” If so, I
gather you haven’t wandered into a public place in the last ten years or
so. Stroll through a shopping mall, wait
in line in a grocery store, or take a seat at a church supper and you’ll see
folks hunched over smartphones and tablets, oblivious to the people around them.
My mother
used to scold my sister and me about our posture: “Raise up your
shoulders! Hold up your head!” I wonder what Mama would say if she could see
today’s wireless junkies. She might try
to give their slouched posture the benefit of the doubt, attributing their
bowed heads to prayer in progress. But
then she would see the dance of the index fingers. Slide up, slide down, tap, tap. Slide, tap, slide, tap. Tap, tap, tap, tap...
Tapping, not
talking.
Many in our
modern world seem to have taken a vow of silence, preferring quiet communion
with cyberspace to conversation with their fellow man. In spite of my reputation for chatter I have
no quibble with quietude. Companionable
silence with a dear one and the peace of a house devoid of noise are good
things.
What I don’t
understand is turning away from the wonders of the world and the people who
populate it in favor of Mozilla, Google, Outlook, Twitter, and Instagram. Before
the advent of wireless technology folks had to make the best of whatever situation
in which they found themselves. Consider
a line in a grocery store. Customers could
choose to engage with the people around them, complaining about high prices or
talking about the weather; study the tabloids at checkout, especially that
article about the alien baby; or even talk to the cashier, who managed to smile
in spite of the onslaught of shoppers.
(I must interrupt
this even-tempered commentary with a rant.
I fume when I see people conduct an entire retail transaction without
acknowledging the person behind the register.
I want to scream, “Were you raised by wolves? That’s a human being in front of you, not an
ATM with a pulse.” We now return to our
discussion in progress.)
When I go
about my routine with my eyes wide open I stumble across countless stories: The woman struggling to help aging parents,
the elderly couple who met online traveling to a fresh start in Florida, the
World War II veteran eager to talk. I suppose
it’s no coincidence that most of the people open to impromptu conversation are
middle-aged or older. There seems to be
a relationship between youth and a strong attachment to electronic
devices. I’ll never forget visiting the National
Archives and seeing two children playing with handheld video games as they
stood before the Declaration of Independence.
(To be fair, I’ve also seen a middle-aged man surfing the Internet as
our cruise ship sailed among Alaska’s glaciers.)
Although I
don’t have a smartphone I am not blameless when it comes to inattention to the
moment. My blog’s mission statement at
the top of this post is an ongoing resolution.
I wish I had spent less time taping my younger son’s band concerts and
more time enjoying them. I’ve missed
conversations in progress because I was occupied with my responses or writing
the next version of my to-do list. I
haven’t fully appreciated the beauty of a sunset over the ocean and clouds
skimming over mountaintops because my mind was busy elsewhere.
If such
inattention is a problem now, what will happen once we establish an
all-but-psychic link to our machines?
Picture this: You’re standing in
your backyard, talking to your neighbor Ray about the high cost of living and
whether the Nationals will win the pennant.
All of a sudden Ray’s eyes close, his lids flutter, and his sprinkler
system comes to life. A moment later
he’s staring past you and smiling, and you realize he just got an update about
the Capitals game. He reengages in the
conversation for a couple of minutes but then you see him swaying slowly; he
must have downloaded that new song by country music’s latest guy with a hat.
At this
point I’d ditch Ray and spend the rest of the day with a Labrador retriever.
I wrote last
time that technology is a wonderful servant but a terrible master. We must resolve to use machines and interact
with people. To do the opposite will
lead us down a lonely path.
What do you
think? Am I making valid points or are
my concerns unfounded? Could put aside
your smartphone or tablet for a day? Six
hours? I have a phone that is not smart:
No Internet capability, no camera. What
do you think I’m missing?
I look
forward to hearing from you.
(Next time:
What would you say if your best friend got a tattoo? “Cool!” or “What were you thinking?” We’ll discuss both sides of the issue.)