Walking from the Lillis Business Complex to the EMU last week, I counted 12 people on cell phones. There they were, just walking down the street, chatting it up, and there I was with my hands stuffed in my coat pockets, counting the people who were talking on cell phones. I wonder if I’m missing something.
My roommates think I’m an oddity because I don’t want a cute little phone. My boss asked me if I would consider buying one. My dad thinks, “It would probably be a good idea for you to have one in case something happens.” I asked him, “Dad, what’s going to happen?”
Everyone who knows me tells me I’m hard to get a hold of, almost impossible to track down, MIA. They tell me they worry about where I am and if I’m safe. I wonder how they think a phone is going to keep me from harm. I guess if worse came to worse I could throw it at someone. Chuck it at their head, then run like the dickens. I can see it now.
As a society, it seems we are becoming more and more dependent on technology. We are obsessed with being in touch, instantly. We carry laptops, cell phones, pagers and PDAs because we don’t want to miss anything.
With this influx of technology we are seeing a loss of personal privacy. My best friend answers her phone while she’s on the toilet. She’s had whole conversations with her pants around her ankles. Nothing is going to stop her from staying connected.
But is all this connection good for us?
If the way the U.S. government is currently working is any indicator, by the time I’m ready to have children they won’t need to worry about telling people where they are. Instead of carrying phones, they will be implanted with a homing chip at birth, and anyone who is looking for them could locate their personal little blip on a Global Positioning System screen.
I feel like I need time to myself; time when people can’t get in touch with me and don’t know where I am. I don’t feel bad when someone calls my house and I’m not there. I think there are very few times in life when a message is so urgent that it can’t be returned later in the day with only minor consequences for lateness.
When I was a teenager, growing up in my parents’ house, the rule was, “Call by midnight and let us know you’re safe.” That was it.
At 16, I drove to Colorado with a friend for two weeks; we didn’t know the name of the lodge we were going to be staying at, the phone number or exactly when we’d be back. My mom stood on the porch the morning we left, waving and telling us simply to be safe.
When I was 17, Mom followed in my footsteps and headed out the door to travel across the country in a Volkswagen van for six months. I didn’t ask for her itinerary or a phone number where she could be reached. I just stood on the porch the morning she left and told her to be safe and to call if she got lonely.
I believe we need time in our lives to be alone with our thoughts and our environment, and I fear our movement toward a completely technological society will ultimately destroy any chance we have of achieving solitude.