Technology and Self

If you'd ever looked at the "About me" section of this blog - unlikely, I know, but if you did - you'd know that under interests, the first thing I list is conversation.

And by conversation, I mean full-on, undivided attention, sparkling and provocative conversation. I grew up with extremely verbal parents, I have five chatty sisters and I've always been attracted to friends (and men) who not only love to talk, but have something to say. Give me your opinions and thoughts, if only so I can argue them with you.

Trouble is, it's getting to be the extremely rare occasion when I can find a conversationalist willing to stay in the moment with me.

I'm here to tell you that the situation has reached critical mass. I can't recall the last time I had a conversation with someone that they didn't pull out their cell phone at some point. Sometimes, it's to check facts, other times, nothing more important than checking screens to comment, text, like, tweet or even buy.

Let me be clear about that: while we're having a conversation.

I know I can't fight the tide, especially at this point when it seems as if everyone (and I do mean everyone, including ocotgenarians) except me has a cell phone, but the fact is, our collective ability to have vibrant, prolonged, open-ended conversation is on the way out.

Apparently I'm not the only one who's noticed, just the only one who's not doing it. A new book, "Reclaiming Conversation: The Power of Talk in a Digital Age" addresses this very subject, albeit by someone who calls the devices "facts of life and part of our creative lives," which strikes me as a bit over the top.

Creativity was in full flower long before the tech world had people convinced that life was impossible without constant communication. Hello Renaissance? What's up, Jazz Age?

In reading about Sherry Turkle's new book, I discover that she's a psychologist and the director of MIT's Initiative on Technology and Self, a title so ridiculous an improv troupe could riff on it for hours, nay, days.

But this is a woman who's studied our relationship with technology for decades and I, for one, am not the least bit surprised to learn that it's not looking good for dedicated conversationalists such as myself.

Using my hero and fellow Luddite, Henry David Thoreau, she elucidates her findings with the lessons he wrote about in "Walden." We need time alone to understand ourselves, which in turn helps us understand others, and then conversations with others to use that understanding, which then improves our ability to be introspective.

All well and good for 150 years, but not so much anymore.

Divided attention is the new normal because technology interrupts the cycle by curtailing conversation. There's a generation who have never experienced unbroken conversation, never enjoyed a meal or a walk in nature without someone pulling out their phone.

That's nothing short of tragic.

We've gotten to the point that phones are used as a safeguard against boredom  - witness waiting rooms, lines and other places people used to read or chat with strangers - despite countless studies proving that often it's boredom that sparks creativity. And even if it doesn't, isn't learning to navigate boredom part of life's lessons?

I realize I'm shouting into an abyss and no amount of lamentations will bring back a world where people got together solely for conversation without a thought to swiping, liking or posting, but as a mere observer to the constantly connected world, it makes me sad.

Even close friends, people who know how I feel about cell phones, no longer hesitate to pull them out at dinner. Worse is how when one person in a group does it, everyone else immediately feels entitled to do the same and suddenly I'm the only one not riveted to a screen.

It's especially depressing for future generations when I see parents walking or pushing young 'uns in strollers with zero interaction with the children. How do you teach a little one curiosity about the world or explain the wonder of what you pass by when Mom or Dad is on the phone?

In a recent "Date Lab" column in the Washington Post - where two strangers are sent on a blind date that is then documented in the Sunday magazine - the daters were barely a few minutes into the date, trying to get to know each other, when, in their words, their phones began "blowing up" with friends wanting to know how things were going, if they should call the police or not.

Bad enough (and so typical) that they looked at their phones five minutes into the date, even worse that they both paused to text those friends and reassure them that all was well. Actually, kids, the date is not going so well if you're willing to stop and text others rather than staying in the moment.

For several years now, a friend and I have said that when we're old ladies, we will live in her giant Church Hill mansion and hold salons, in the manner of Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas, inviting the cleverest and most scintillating guests to spend evenings conversing with us. Our responsibility will be to direct the conversations, keep them lively and provocative.

But I'm beginning to wonder if there will be anyone left willing to forsake their phones for the sake of talking to us without interruption.

Turkle says people need to use their phones with greater intention, but even a cockeyed optimist like me can't imagine such a thing happening. The world is too far gone.

A hundred years from now when someone unearths my blog from the crumbling remains of the Internet, they'll look at the "About me" section and wonder what kind of person put conversation above all interests.

Answer: one who never had to reclaim conversation because she never lost it in the first place.

Sadly, she may even be the last of her kind.

I'll Wait, Not Call

When someone gives me a hard time about not having a cell phone, I have plenty of justification for why I won't become one of the mobile masses. But one of the primary reasons is as simple as what cell phone culture has done to people's attention spans.

I can't always think of an example of this when I'm trying to justify myself to the cell-dedicated, but I heard a perfect example on my walk today. Heading toward the Village on Grace Street, a guy was looking left and right. Finally, he called someone and asked the dumbest question I've heard in a while, "Are you here?"

Apparently the callee confirmed what the caller had already known; he wasn't there yet. "Okay, then I'll go back inside and get a table," caller boy said.

Remember back in the olden days when you were meeting a friend at a restaurant and they weren't there when you arrived? You had a choice to make; you could get a table and wait for them or stand out front and wait for them.

But the issue wasn't so pressing or perplexing that you needed to know immediately in order to decide your course of action. Whether you stood or sat, your friend was likely going to find you once they arrived. And if they never showed, you ate lunch by yourself. But life went on.

Mine still does, but clearly I'm in the minority. Maybe that's my objection to cell phones: they negate the need for patience. And isn't patience worth preserving?

Patience is a virtue.
Possess it if you can.
Seldom found in woman.
Never found in man.

I beg to differ.

Poor Thing, How Does She Manage?

In today's Washington Post, a letter to Dr. Gridlock raises an issue near and dear to my heart:

"What of people who don't have a cell phone - they exist, I understand - or who don't have one that is charged at the moment?"

What of us? I love the way the writer qualifies our existence by saying "I understand." Clearly she doesn't actually know any such Luddites, but she's willing to concede that they're out there.

I'm living proof.

At last night's show at the Camel, a casual friend came over to talk to me, lamenting that I hadn't been at his recent party. "I texted you an invitation, but it came back...like you had a land line or something." Grinning, I explained that I do indeed use that antiquated technology.

His reaction? "That's awesome! Really and truly? Good for you!" I've had the same reaction from people more times than I can count. People are impressed, they compliment me, but would never consider doing the same. And you can't imagine the number of people who have offered to buy me a phone just so they could contact me wherever I was. Shall I name names?

My new music-loving friend was more prosaic about it last night. "Really, people only need it for business. When I go out, like now, mine stays in the car."

And when we eventually move to a cell phone-only world, mine will sit on the table in my bedroom, exactly where my land line sits now.

And then what will friends give me a hard time about?

Wine Drunk by 9:00

I met a good friend at Ipanema to catch up after several months of not seeing each other, except the random run-in at a show. And don't tell my mother, but I had blueberry pie a la mode for dinner instead of a proper meal (but it was damn fine blueberry pie with a brown sugar crumble on top), although we did share some cornmeal-crusted fried oyster and button mushrooms beforehand.

It didn't take long for him to remind me yet again that I am a Luddite for not having a cell phone or PDA (despite him freely admiting being addicted to his crackberry). As my friend said upon returning from the men's room, "See, if you had a phone you could have been checking your Twitter feed while I was gone." Instead, while he was off taking care of business, one of the two guys at the end of the bar had invited me to come share their feast; they'd ordered six dishes for the two of them, so I'm not sure how much was wanting my sparkling company and how much just seeking eating assistance.

Having both recently done the Robinson Street ramble after avoiding it for years , we compared notes on which of its bar crowds provide the most amusement for our viewing pleasure. He nominated Racine for best happy hour given its end time of 9:00 (even so, it's still impossible to beat a $2 glass of wine at Ipanema). He wanted me to help him understand the decor at Commercial Taphouse; clearly he doesn't remember the Early Rec Room period of the 70s or he wouldn't have to ask such a silly question.

Best lament of the night from said friend: "Wine drunk by 9:00 and ready for bed. God, I'm turning into my mother."

Coming home a few minutes ago, I heard my phone ringing and rushed up the stairs to grab it (no land line lectures, please). Whoever it was must have just wanted to hear my voice (a comment I've heard twice this week already), because they didn't say anything despite obviously being on the line.

Glancing at the clock as I put down the phone, it occurred to me that it's after 1, I'm just now getting in and someone has just called me. And then there's that matter of pie for dinner. God, I'm not turning into anything like my mother, that's for sure.

Velocity Girl*

Since I never gave in and joined the masses by getting a cell phone, I've taken a boatload of crap from friends (and family) over the years about being unreachable.

It drives people crazy that they can't just call me when they want me. I like to remind them that they can e-mail me or message me on Facebook and I always respond, but no one I know finds that an acceptable method of communication.

The fact is, I hate the phone and don't have any desire to be reachable 24/7.

So you can imagine my surprise when a friend (acquaintance? neighbor?) accused me of being just as connected as people with cells because I have a blog and am on Facebook.

I told him that I had friends who would consider those fighting words when it comes to me. As one good friend responded, "Clearly he's never tried to get hold of you in the evening."

And it's true; once I leave the house to begin my evening, you'd have to run into me physically to talk to me.

Being outside the connected mainstream doesn't necessarily make me a bad person (maybe slightly old school). Back in the mid-90s, long before everyone carried their own phone, I bought a t-shirt with a 1950s- looking guy pictured, pointing and saying, "I'm out of the loop and that's the way I like it."

The more things change, the more they stay the same...for some of us. So what?

(*With apologies to Sarah Shannon, whose voice I love. No comparison between Sarah and me was intended.)