I don't own a cell phone.
Well, actually, I suppose I do own a cell phone. It's a Samsung flip phone (remember those?),
and I've had it for nearly a decade. That
said, its only function for a couple years now has been as the world's most
reliable alarm clock. I've been using it
as such ever since my favorite windup clock retired from winding. I long championed the windup Baby Ben for its
lack of dependence on electricity; however, I've not considered a replacement because
my flip phone clock, equipped with a long-lasting battery, essentially provides
the same peace of mind without the various inconveniences of a windup. Plus, instead of buzzing obnoxiously, it
plays Rick Ross.
Even when my flip phone actually served as a phone, it served
as one very infrequently. The bill
ceased to be paid permanently when having a phone was no longer one of my job
requirements. The monthly charge was not
particularly expensive --- quite reasonable, actually --- it’s just that I never
wanted a phone in the first place. I hadn't
even purchased the thing; my dad gave it to me.
Given that over ninety percent of American adults are said
to own a cell phone, you can certainly imagine how often it is I am asked, by
persons of every kind imaginable, all of whom approach me in the same exact
state of disbelief, how I manage to subsist without one. The most typical inquiries are probably,
"how do you contact people?" and "what do you do if your car breaks
down?" To question number one, I
typically reply, jokingly, that I have no friends (and this is, in fact, a joke
--- believe it or not, I have a few). To
question number two, I retort, "whatever people did when they broke down
before cell phones."
Truth is, when I'm driving alone, I'd prefer to have a cell
phone, just in case. There are other
scenarios, too, when it'd be nice to maintain a line of contact. But I consider these instances to represent
mere inconveniences; minor drawbacks of living the lifestyle I cherish. In some cases, even, I believe my periodic isolation
from technology promotes mental health.
Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday after my fall ’13 semester
classes I would visit my favorite takeout restaurant. More than once the thought crossed my mind
that if I had a cell phone I could call in at the end of class, make the
ten-minute drive, and have my order ready for me. Instead, I would wait twenty minutes in the
parking lot between placing my order and chowing down. I soon realized I didn’t mind waiting,
though. I took this time to read a book
for pleasure, or simply to reflect. This
is the sort of considerate pace I prefer to maintain as I make my way through
life. I believe it to be enlightening. Also, I sort of came to know the employees
who received my lunch orders face-to-face.
We had a few nice conversations.
Above is a screenshot (provided by this fine gentleman) of Saturday evening's game between the
Miami Heat and Charlotte Bobcats.
Specifically, it captures the final seconds of regulation in a tied
game, the rock in the mighty hands of a basketball titan, a reigning MVP and
Champion who may someday be christened the greatest player ever to test the
sport.
As King James plots his attack, seven presumable basketball
fans sit in closer proximity to the pinnacle of sporting drama than any of the
other countless civilians who look on, forced to attend a television or squint from
the nosebleeds. These seven are in the
enviable position of being as close to the planet’s supreme athlete as anyone
but his defender at this heightened moment of interest. Yet, as the King of the Hard Court aims to
build upon his incredible legend, only one of these seven sets of eyes focuses
on him. The other six peer down at their
cell phones (one actually appears to stare blankly into oblivion, but I'm throwing her in with the cell phone crowd).
These six sets of eyeballs didn't really miss anything. Surprisingly, it was LeBron who missed. But, if at the very apex of the event, they
chose to stare at their phones, what do you figure they chose to do during most
of the rest of it?
Stare at their phones, probably.
Truthfully, this is nothing but an extreme example of a
common failure amongst people. Isn't it
ironic that our attempt to stay connected at all times, to not miss anything,
is causing us to miss out on so much of life itself?
A good deal of life stems from observation. Observations become memories. Memories become thoughts. Thoughts become ideas, feelings, and opinions,
which produce the actions that define us.
Actions become experiences, which in turn become memories, completing
the cycle. Additionally, our sharing of
ideas, feelings, opinions, and experiences with others forms the basis of human
interaction --- the sort of human interaction that is worthwhile, at least.
Had LeBron made his last-second shot to defeat the Bobcats,
those people owning the six pairs of eyes glued to the cell phones would've
posted photos and/or videos to Facebook, where they'd revel in the envy of
their peers. But for this hollow,
fleeting glory, they'd pay dearly. Never
could they recollect the time they watched a bead of sweat drip from LeBron
James' chin as he glared savagely into the eyes of his opposition, the very
moment before the kill. Never could they
offer an account of what it's like to be able to read LeBron's tattoos, to hear
him call “glass!” as he releases the game-winner. I mean, sure, they were there, but were they
really THERE? For all intents and purposes,
no. They chose to be in cyberspace
instead.
And I guess that's fine.
After all, it's not my position to tell another man what he can and
can't do in his courtside seat. But I do
find it unfortunate that our fixation on technology is taking such a toll on
the number and depth of connections made amongst us. The less we observe, the fewer memories we
have. The fewer memories, the fewer thoughts
(well, interesting ones, at least). The
fewer thoughts, the fewer ideas, feelings, and opinions we develop, and the
fewer experiences we have and share with others. Rather, we stare down at our cell phones,
petrified of missing anything, as we miss our lives unfolding all around us.
This is the real reason I don't care to own a cell
phone. Even having heard all the fuss
about staying in contact, and despite full familiarity with innumerable
"what-if" scenarios, I remain much more fearful of a different kind
of disconnect --- a disconnect from life itself.
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