Our Relationship With Technology

For students, the amount of goals we make on the first day of summer rivals only the amount on New Year's Day. Throughout the year, we have to deny ourselves a lot of "for fun" activities, but we promise ourselves we'll do it over the summer.

It's no surprise to those who know me that my goal is primarily to read more and write more, with some ideas of biking and walking added for means to get to a library. Also unsurprisingly, I spent most of this weekend playing little games on my phone and watching television.

I could have easily continued down the unproductive and barely entertaining slope of summer stagnation, but today, I went to the library.

To be honest, the library here is only one floor, and the lady who gave me a library card was clearly untouched by the exciting energy I gather from being in the same room as so many books. Nonetheless, I was my usual measure of enchanted at the sight of so many accessible books.

The first thing I grabbed was a video game.

Next, I hit the nonfiction shelf. At this moment, I'm half way through the first book I saw (The Wounded Spirit by Frank Peretti) there, and the pile in my arms grew until I had to ask a library worker to keep them at her desk as I found more.

As I brushed through the shelves, touching every book that looked interesting, I wondered how I could read all that I wanted. Based on how little I'd read so far, I must not have the time to read.

I pause right there. Not enough time to read? I pulled out my phone and looked at all the inane little apps I'd wasted time on all weekend. I could hardly put my phone down.

Before I go on and possibly offend someone, I want to stop and talk about this "problem" with technology.

A video's been going around lately, narrated by a British poet who's rather anti-internet, that depicts a couple that meet because he asked her for direction. We witness their romance, eventual life together, and grandchildren. At the end, you see the same scene except he's looking at his phone for directions. The implication is that technology robs you of real life.

Gary Turk, the real or chosen name of the poet, has a solid point. I've been to dinner plenty of times with friends who stared at their smart-phone the entire time. I don't have one myself so I'm usually left twiddling my thumbs and watching people check their Facebook or upgrade games.

For years, I've grown increasingly irked at the choices of individuals to look down at the screens with blue light instead of at me (then again, I can be narcissistic), but this weekend, after getting a device that connects to wi-fi, I spent more hours staring at a phone than I did sleeping, reading, talking, writing, or even watching television. So, I understand you, thumb-twitchers.

At the same time, I completely oppose the idea the internet is bad for us or that you'll find love only if you set your phone down.

My family lives a full day's drive away when I'm at school. Every time I tweet or update my Facebook, I'm giving an update on my life, since they can't be here. Since I don't have a car, I Skype with my little sister who goes to school an hour and a half away. I play video games with my little brother whose school is three hours away.

Sometimes, I stay in my room all weekend to do these things. Sometimes, I'm staring at my phone instead of at the trees while I'm walking.

It comes down to presence and intentionality.

Putting your phone down isn't the answer, because you could easily open a book. I do that. I sometimes don't like people talking to me when I'm walking around campus, so I pull out a book and avoid eye contact. However, I wouldn't pull open my book sitting across the table from someone I know. That's the wrong setting, the wrong purpose of that moment.

We usually don't realize we've spoiled time by not being present until someone points it out. It's not intentional. So, be intentional!
Do you want to ignore the person sitting next to you because their view on a hot topic is so ignorant you can't be trusted to same something nice? Pull out your phone.
Do you want to enjoy a walk to the store? Leave your phone at home.
Do you want the person at the dinner table to know you're paying attention? Put the phone in the other room.
Do you want to make friends and keep in touch with them? Pull out your computer.

I'm writing a blog. I have an obvious bias towards technology. But I believe, as in all things, it comes down to balance. Extremes are dangerous. Troglodytes are just as wrong as an iPhone addict.

This has been my view for awhile, long before Gary Turk started the discussion. Yet somehow I spent all weekend training a ninja and raising an army. I have no self-control.

I deleted almost every game app off my phone, despite the hours I'd just logged building levels.

See, I struggle with intentionality. I'm lazy and far from self-disciplined. If there's an easy way, I'll take it, and reading is not always easy. Reading is my goal though. Reading and writing and working and growing are all what I wanted to do this summer, and I do none of those things when I stay up, waiting for "one more level." I'm not playing those games intelligently, socially, or even purposefully. I accidentally got sucked into them.

So, I'm intentionally deleting them and intentionally opening my computer to write a blog about it.

Haiku #1

What I thought was plot
in my personal story
was exposition.

Beginning

   A few weeks ago, my dad called me after reading Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell. I haven't read the book myself, but he tells me the theory is that all great skill comes not from some innate talent but as a result of 10,000 hours of practicing the skill.

   I've got about two more years left as a creative writing major, and I wonder how many hours I've logged already. I started writing a lot when I discovered email around age ten and sent probably 500-1000 rambling words to friends about my adventurous life on a pseudo-farm.
   In high school, I wrote a lot by hand but continued to write emails to friends. It's a habit I've fallen out of now and know others would find odd. Letters and emails are not the preferred way to communicate, but I'm thankful I did at the time.
   I've also made many friends who don't live within driving distance, and I've had to learn how to best convey myself with words to make up for the lack of physical presence. It's an upgraded form of my former email-writing, but it's writing nonetheless.

   I had a blog when Xanga was cool.

   The result of rampant reading and the lifelong habit of writing have given me a wonderful relationship with words. I don't just mean vocabulary. The words in themselves are merely the paint, but you must still select canvas, brushes, strokes, styles, and the image itself.

   I've also learnt that writing is essential to who I am. For a brief period, I was studying for a non-English degree, and I neglected my habit of writing. I returned only as a last resort when my life had, for other reasons, begun to change and transform beyond what my head could keep up with. I remember this moment after writing for the first time in months when I just went, "Oh. This is what I was missing." I need it.

   Obviously, there's still much to be improve. This post itself is rambly and perhaps not to the point. It's practice though.
   This whole blog is. I want to start practicing and experimenting, but I was never good at keeping a journal. I can't write if I'm not going to be read. It feels like standing in a corner and talking to myself if I write secretly. Of course, who knows how many people will actually read this blog, but it helps me write if I can trick myself into thinking at least one person's reading.

   I plan on dallying in nonfiction, creative nonfiction, short stories, flash fiction, poetry, etc. I'll indicate what genre each post is in the title, if it's not obvious. The main point is to write, hopefully once a day.

  I used to worry that I had no material to write once a day, but if I've learned anything in the past few years, it's that my life is fully of material.