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04/09/2015 12:01 AMWe just returned from a week in Florida visiting our son. I had plenty of downtime to people-watch and found myself playing an anthropologist of sorts, surveying a cross-section of Americans—tourists, snowbirds, and natives.
What I observed only reinforced an increasingly disturbing trend of people being plugged in more than they’re unplugged—even on vacation.
I admit that my husband and I have both chosen to keep our prehistoric cell phones instead of upgrading to smartphones. This makes us anomalies, but it also helps us resist the temptation to go overboard—as our culture tends to do with any new technological advance—kind of like choosing not to have a cabinet stocked with alcohol if you’re an alcoholic. It’s that addictive.
But the bigger question is how much of life is passing you by when you’re texting, talking, and emailing away the hours instead of being present in the moment, in physical reality, in real-time, where memories are made?
I watched a mother at the beach balancing a baby on one arm while clutching her mobile device as she walked into the water. She couldn’t even leave it on the blanket for a few minutes. I also watched two mothers sitting with their infants on a park bench, but instead of talking to each other about the trials and tribulations of motherhood, like we used to do in the playground, they were each glued to their little screens, ignoring each other. I watched a dad poolside, incessantly alternating between his phone and his tablet while his children played an old-school game of Marco Polo in the water after giving up on getting his attention.
And that raises another issue: Our generation was blamed for helicopter parenting—being too involved in every aspect of our children’s lives. Now it seems parents are still very much physically present, but not so much mentally or emotionally. Studies have proven that, yes, we can multi-task, but we can’t do any individual task as well as when we’re concentrating on one thing at a time.
I think of my future grandchildren. When they’re older, what will their memories of childhood be? One toe in reality and the rest in some strange, in-between cyberspace?
We played miniature golf one night, which was great, old-fashioned fun, except for the long lines at each station because people had to stop and pose and compulsively send pictures to their Facebook pages—talk about not being in the moment. Why does anyone care if you’re playing miniature golf? I don’t get that any more than I get why people post pictures online of the insides of their refrigerators.
And that begs the question of discernment. My son points out that mobile devices can serve as great tools, and I agree. Again, when not taken to the extreme.
An amusing example of how technology isn’t always better and faster is when I met a friend for lunch. She was driving and asked her phone for the best local restaurants. An electronic voice responded with numerous options. We pulled directly in front of one of the restaurants, and my friend attempted to download the menu, getting frustrated by how slowly the download was going. I pointed out that I could simply get out of the car, go inside, and look at a menu in less time than she could access it on her phone. “Oh, right,” she said sheepishly.
Back to the pool, rain started to suddenly pour down on us at one point as it does in Florida, just as quickly as the sun comes back out. People were on their phones checking the radar instead of simply looking at the sky, getting under an umbrella, and waiting it out.
How did we ever function when we had to rely on our intuition, our common sense? What will become of that inherent ability in subsequent generations?
Even though I wasn’t doing it, I found it hard to relax and disconnect while surrounded by people who never stopped connecting. It exhausted me. I stopped seeing where people’s hands ended and their mobile devices began.
But we thoroughly enjoyed bicycling, kayaking, walking on the beach, being with family, and being as spontaneous as possible amidst people’s constant urgency to share every moment with people who weren’t there.
Perhaps this will go full circle like everything else that goes to extremes—like my son who only listens to vinyl records and my friend who bakes bread from scratch and my husband who navigates via an old-fashioned map. Maybe we will remember what it’s like to look into each other’s eyes while having an intimate and confidential conversation and actively listen to what the other person has to say. Maybe we’ll tire of being so plugged in that we’ll leave our beloved phones behind to go fly a kite or frolic in the waves with our kids and grandkids.
You can always dream, right?
Amy J. Barry is a Baby Boomer who lives in Stony Creek with her husband and assorted pets. She writes arts features and reviews for Shore Publishing newspapers and is an expressive arts educational facilitator. Please email your responses and ideas for future columns to aimwrite@snet.net or visit www.aimwrite-ct.net.