I have grown weary of trying to converse with people who think they have better things to do. When I have taken time to call or visit, I want to talk. To you. Not everyone who is not you. Just little ole you.
I want to put my phone on silent, look you in the eyes, and have a real conversation about something meaningful. I want to know about your heart, not what just went into your stomach. (Unless it was a gastronomic delight, in which case, share away!) I want to know whether you are reading a good book, or busy at work, not whether you clicked on a Yahoo article about Jennifer Hudson.
Most importantly, I want you to know that you are important to me, and that you are worth my full attention. And I want to know that I am worthy of yours, too.
We are a people possessed by our possessions. We no longer drive the usage of our smart phones. It appears they are now smarter than us, because we simply cannot function without them any more.
I recently spent time in a major shopping area. In between clients, I did a lot of people watching. It was a fascinating study of human interaction, or the lack thereof. Most startling to me was that parents and children no longer look at each other. If the child is older, they are both looking at their cell phones. If younger, the child is left to play with some trinket while mom or dad texts and talks and tweets to the world.
I wonder how many missed moments there were in those times they sent the message to each other that someone else was more important? How many children shoplift a piece of candy and never get caught, for example, because mom or dad are too busy texting someone to notice? How many cherubic smiles are missed, how many funny moments not shared, because the person at the other end of the electronic device was more important to you at that moment? When is the last time you had a real conversation with your parent or child? If it wasn't today, it was too long ago. Life is short. Grab the moments while you have them.
I believe there will soon be a newly identified mental condition called ancillary anxiety, to describe the panic and withdrawal of people who are disconnected from their social media. Those who are removed from their technology have been documented to show classic withdrawal symptoms, and they can become quite combative about it. What should be an ancillary device for our convenience has turned into an obsession that too many people can no longer live without.
Alec Baldwin recently got into trouble on a plane flight because he refused to turn off his cell phone when he was told to do so. He has been ridiculed for his arrogance, but he is not alone in thinking he is more important than the other people around him. How many people yammer away in public, or in a restaurant, or at the store or mall or a sporting event, regardless of how disruptive it is?
Respect for authority seems to be at an all time low. I think I understand why.
We have taught ourselves, our entire culture, to be narcissists. We focus on what we want to the exclusion of what is good for us, and we walk boldly where no one would have tread just a few years ago. The cult of the cell phone has unleashed our inner demon, keeping us connected even while we are holding people at arm's length.
But the me in media is what I find most troubling about the whole thing. All of these devices were originally designed to make us more accessible, more easily contacted, more available to the people who are most important to us.
In the end, it has had the opposite effect. The technology has created a barrier between the people we love and ourselves, a wall built with bytes instead of bricks. Instead of connecting people, it drives them apart. We may as well be saying, "My obsession with updating my friends on my every move trumps your problem, because I am more important." Really?
I am old fashioned, I guess. I do embrace and use technology, and I love the convenience it adds to my life. But I miss letters in the mail, where you waited for days to find out what someone's thoughts were on a topic. I miss the rotary dial telephone, where someone answered and said hello, instead of press one for English, and dos if you habla Espanol. I miss playing board games with family members all together, instead of everyone playing angry birds in silent isolation.
I feel that Hal has won.* And Narcissus is having the last laugh.
*2001, A Space Odyssey by Arthur C. Clarke.
