Me Time
In the early days of video cameras, when they weighed 20 pounds and occupied a large spot on your shoulder, I refused to participate. I didn’t want to spend my time looking at my children’s lives through a tiny viewfinder. I wanted to experience them and let the films live in my memory. It was probably an easy cop out to avoid spending money I couldn’t afford, but it made me feel righteous.
Then last night I went to listen to music with my friends and left my phone at their house. It was profoundly disturbing. I felt lost, disconnected, unable to participate as if not recording the event on my phone some how made it seem like I wasn’t really there, because to be there these days requires documentary evidence. In addition, I worried about losing touch. That a text would come or a call, and I’d be unable to reply and what would the sender or caller think.
Of course, I made it through the night, and the show was wonderful. And I missed some texts and a call. But that’s largely the story of life anyhow. We miss a text or a call and reply late and hope for understanding, or we do things and see things and people have to take our word for it. It’s old school for sure, but I’m old, and I remember how it felt to walk through the world without anyone knowing where you were or why and how it felt to find peace in that solitude and to be truly alone with your thoughts. Those feel like strange days now, and I suspect there’s no going back.