Silencing the Social White Noise
Sigh. I wish I could say that since I published this column, I've sworn off all new technological innovation and instead have cultivated in-person relationships, volunteered and so on. But no. Not even a little bit. In fact, I've grown reliant on six or seven new technologies since this came out.
Originally published June 26, 2011
I've traveled back in time to 1991 for a week, and it's extra dull. I'm not allowing myself to use post-1991 technology, which means:
• No smartphone, except when I am at home, and it's plugged into the wall.
• No texting, and I can never recover the texts sent to me this week.
• No Internet, even if I really need a recipe for banana bread or something.
• No personal email (I can't leave the work one behind).
• No Twitter
• No Facebook, except insofar as I need it to check event information.
• My TV is Internet TV, so no TV.
• No DVDs (VHS is kosher).
• No instant messaging.
• No Google Maps, which requires you to use actual paper maps or get detailed directions over the phone.
In short, it was giving up about 14 addictions at once, which is why it seemed like a good idea.
The first thing I do when I open my eyes is check my email on my phone; the last thing I do at night is read New York Times and Dlisted on it. If I don't have my cellphone (and, by extension, the Internet and all its answers) with me, I feel anxious and incomplete, like I'm missing my nondominant hand.
But I was able to pretend it wasn't a serious problem, until one day when I realized I don't really absorb TV shows anymore because I try to watch and read news on my phone at the same time.
One electronic screen wasn't enough stimulation for me; I had to double-fist.
I used to be a filthy chain smoker, but I've never smoked at the rate I check my phone. If checking your phone came in packs, I'd be a four-pack-a-day girl. I'd buy by the carton.
The night before I was to give it up, I binged on Internet — Slate.com! hungoverowls.tumblr.com! YouTube! Facebook! — I had to make it last me a week.
In the morning, I reached for my phone, and it wasn't there.
It's embarrassing to admit, but this is harder than quitting smoking, at least in terms of number of times per day you acutely feel the lack.
You do not realize how often you look up pointless stuff on the Internet until you can't. In the past hour, I've wondered what Holly Golightly looks like in the first scene of "Breakfast at Tiffany's," the history of SweeTARTS candy, how to make Bolognese sauce and what my friend who is on vacation is doing. All those things remain unknown to me.
Nor am I able to send out anything; thoughts remain just that. My brilliant comment on that kitten video shall never be made; a snide tweet about the state of Chinese food in Salem never sent. Truly a loss for the human dialogue.
I was hoping I'd spend this week reconnecting with people, being on time to places because I couldn't text to say I'd be late, reading books and learning important lessons about the value of real-life interactions.
Mostly it's just kind of been lonely and boring. The absence of this chatter, this social white noise hasn't made space for deep, meaningful thoughts. It just leaves a weird silence.
There are some benefits. I am more productive at work when I am not expected to receive and transmit information through 14 different channels. I won't spend any time today doing what I normally do, which is peeking through my fingers at online comments about the column (sample: "SO BORING. EVEN FOR YOU.")
When I tell people of a certain age what I'm doing, they launch into tales of how they did things — like put out a newspaper or send office memos or whatever — before computers. And, without exception, it sounds like a total nightmare.
They even sound surprised that they were able to handle these huge tasks — developing and hand-cropping photos, say, and then they quickly add how much easier everything is now. Surely in 10 years, we'll look back on this time and wonder how we ever made it without our (fill in the blank).
So this is my main takeaway: I never want to adopt any additional new technologies, ever, because it moves in stages:
• Stage One: Oh my God, this is incredible. I can't believe this is possible!
• Stage Two: Things become comfortable, familiar and largely invisible.
• Stage Three: Life without this seems impossible and dreary.
The time it takes to move through the three steps gets shorter and shorter, it feels like. Something dazzles for a moment, but then it just gets added to the list of things that aren't noticeably good to have but are noticeably bad not to. You don't understand how you made it without this or that, but for 10, 20, 30, 40, however many years of your life, you were just fine. You didn't know what you were missing because you weren't missing it. Better never to have loved at all.
And so, at 12:01 a.m. Tuesday, I will happily jump back into this addiction. I will look up every obscure song and fact, I will send out dozens of text messages, I will update my list of Favorite Books on Facebook just because I can.
But if anyone else decides to undertake this, please tell me if you enjoy it any more than I did.
K. Williams Brown is the entertainment reporter for the Statesman Journal. Send her updates on your no-technology progress via post, fax, telegraph or smoke signal.
Originally published June 26, 2011
I've traveled back in time to 1991 for a week, and it's extra dull. I'm not allowing myself to use post-1991 technology, which means:
• No smartphone, except when I am at home, and it's plugged into the wall.
• No texting, and I can never recover the texts sent to me this week.
• No Internet, even if I really need a recipe for banana bread or something.
• No personal email (I can't leave the work one behind).
• No Twitter
• No Facebook, except insofar as I need it to check event information.
• My TV is Internet TV, so no TV.
• No DVDs (VHS is kosher).
• No instant messaging.
• No Google Maps, which requires you to use actual paper maps or get detailed directions over the phone.
In short, it was giving up about 14 addictions at once, which is why it seemed like a good idea.
The first thing I do when I open my eyes is check my email on my phone; the last thing I do at night is read New York Times and Dlisted on it. If I don't have my cellphone (and, by extension, the Internet and all its answers) with me, I feel anxious and incomplete, like I'm missing my nondominant hand.
But I was able to pretend it wasn't a serious problem, until one day when I realized I don't really absorb TV shows anymore because I try to watch and read news on my phone at the same time.
One electronic screen wasn't enough stimulation for me; I had to double-fist.
I used to be a filthy chain smoker, but I've never smoked at the rate I check my phone. If checking your phone came in packs, I'd be a four-pack-a-day girl. I'd buy by the carton.
The night before I was to give it up, I binged on Internet — Slate.com! hungoverowls.tumblr.com! YouTube! Facebook! — I had to make it last me a week.
In the morning, I reached for my phone, and it wasn't there.
It's embarrassing to admit, but this is harder than quitting smoking, at least in terms of number of times per day you acutely feel the lack.
You do not realize how often you look up pointless stuff on the Internet until you can't. In the past hour, I've wondered what Holly Golightly looks like in the first scene of "Breakfast at Tiffany's," the history of SweeTARTS candy, how to make Bolognese sauce and what my friend who is on vacation is doing. All those things remain unknown to me.
Nor am I able to send out anything; thoughts remain just that. My brilliant comment on that kitten video shall never be made; a snide tweet about the state of Chinese food in Salem never sent. Truly a loss for the human dialogue.
I was hoping I'd spend this week reconnecting with people, being on time to places because I couldn't text to say I'd be late, reading books and learning important lessons about the value of real-life interactions.
Mostly it's just kind of been lonely and boring. The absence of this chatter, this social white noise hasn't made space for deep, meaningful thoughts. It just leaves a weird silence.
There are some benefits. I am more productive at work when I am not expected to receive and transmit information through 14 different channels. I won't spend any time today doing what I normally do, which is peeking through my fingers at online comments about the column (sample: "SO BORING. EVEN FOR YOU.")
When I tell people of a certain age what I'm doing, they launch into tales of how they did things — like put out a newspaper or send office memos or whatever — before computers. And, without exception, it sounds like a total nightmare.
They even sound surprised that they were able to handle these huge tasks — developing and hand-cropping photos, say, and then they quickly add how much easier everything is now. Surely in 10 years, we'll look back on this time and wonder how we ever made it without our (fill in the blank).
So this is my main takeaway: I never want to adopt any additional new technologies, ever, because it moves in stages:
• Stage One: Oh my God, this is incredible. I can't believe this is possible!
• Stage Two: Things become comfortable, familiar and largely invisible.
• Stage Three: Life without this seems impossible and dreary.
The time it takes to move through the three steps gets shorter and shorter, it feels like. Something dazzles for a moment, but then it just gets added to the list of things that aren't noticeably good to have but are noticeably bad not to. You don't understand how you made it without this or that, but for 10, 20, 30, 40, however many years of your life, you were just fine. You didn't know what you were missing because you weren't missing it. Better never to have loved at all.
And so, at 12:01 a.m. Tuesday, I will happily jump back into this addiction. I will look up every obscure song and fact, I will send out dozens of text messages, I will update my list of Favorite Books on Facebook just because I can.
But if anyone else decides to undertake this, please tell me if you enjoy it any more than I did.
K. Williams Brown is the entertainment reporter for the Statesman Journal. Send her updates on your no-technology progress via post, fax, telegraph or smoke signal.