A friend pointed me to an article this week, a post by Arianna Huffington
detailing her planned holiday week Unplugging Challenge. She outlined a timeout
from her “devices,” no TV, no social media, only two email check-ins per day, only
when the office is open during the week of Christmas. There is, of course, no
small irony in the blog post which also points to the #holidaysunplugged
hashtag through which she and her compatriots will keep the conversation going,
but of course only before and after the “blackout.”
All irony aside, while I appreciate the notion of being more present with
those around us and the need for greater introspection, I replied with no hint
of over-the-top drama that I would kill myself before I would do that. In fact,
for myriad reasons, I would not kill myself. I also would not commit to turning
off my devices for a week, soulless person that I am.
I recognize that the grand gesture makes for a better blog headline, and
surely it lends itself to a better hashtag than #balance. But as with so many
things in life, balance is the elusive goal for which we should, almost always
fruitlessly, strive.
Still, the article and subsequent discussion made me think, and my hat’s
off to anyone who does that.
So why would I (not really except in overly dramatic spirit) kill myself
before I would turn off, tune out, log off?
In part, because I don’t give the Internet quite as much crap as a lot of
people do. Sure, it’s awash in bad grammar, mind-bendingly bad spelling, even
more mind-bendingly bad propaganda on every side of the aisle, and pages and
pages and pages of pornography that would make even Hugh Hefner shout “enough!”
But because we are so enamored with decrying the evils of contemporary
society (a fascinatingly consistent cry regardless of what point in history
marks a person’s particular relationship to what is contemporary), we forget
what the Internet does. It opens a world of ideas to us with an ease that is so
remarkable we already take it for granted. It opens a world of people to us as
well. At the end of the day, it’s the people that always will keep me from
pushing my devices aside.
I joined Twitter just over a year ago for a single silly reason but with no
thought that I would enjoy it. Me? Expressing myself in 140 characters… it
seemed beyond the pale of what might be possible. But I did enjoy it. I consume
the articles that no longer escape my notice because @parisreview, @TIME,
@Variety, @nytimes, and a host of others are in my newsfeed. In fact, they are
from time to time a catalyst for the introspection some would say only a break
from technology allows.
But the opportunity to connect with people in far flung corners of the
globe with whom I share an interest or two is why I delight in my Twitter
account.
There’s a brilliant, funny, broken, fierce girl in Canada with an honesty
of spirit that is quite simply beautiful and whose path would never cross mine
in the “real world.” There’s a lady in Atlanta with a courage and serenity that
left me speechless for much of this year as she cheerfully faced one
unbelievably absurd obstacle after another. I adore them both and look forward
to the day when our real worlds collide.
At times, while using my devices, I am encouraged to “talk to real people,”
but it is the very real people in my life--but unfortunately not often enough
in my eyesight--who make my devices essential to me. There are dear friends
whose presence in my life is quite simply greater by virtue of the ease with
which we can connect in today’s plugged-in world. There are relationships, some
stretching back decades, which are profoundly enhanced by the ability to
communicate daily about things of great import and those of almost no
consequence at all.
Because, at the end of the day, when we share our thoughts with others,
whether it is in person or electronically, we enrich our lives. Connections
with people who matter to us broaden our humanity, illuminate our hearts and
minds, and feed our souls. The people who make us laugh, cry, think, and dream
need not only sit with us in the room. It is the people who are a delight to me. The
people. And the manner in which we are able to connect is only background noise.
Embracing absent friends, as well as those in the room, is a gift enabled by
our technological age.
And
that’s not something I’m willing to turn off.
