At age 72, it is safe to say I am accustomed to the rituals of daily life. For instance, my steadfast determination to keep my car doors locked twenty-four seven is so strong, I figure it's in my DNA. My penchant for having my phone with me twenty-four seven, is cut from a similar cloth, …
At age 72, it is safe to say I am accustomed to the rituals of daily life. For instance, my steadfast determination to keep my car doors locked twenty-four seven is so strong, I figure it’s in my DNA. My penchant for having my phone with me twenty-four seven, is cut from a similar cloth, or so I’d thought.
The other day I’d just gone out the front door for a walk when I nearly froze in place because – drum-roll, please – I’d forgotten my phone, also known as a “smartphone”. I put this word in quotes because I don’t like the word. It says I am supposed to believe an inanimate object has an IQ, is capable of thought, reason, and decision-making. Rubbish. It ain’t happening.
That said, and keeping it simple, it is nice to have a phone on my person when I am outside. This has been my pattern for years. I am not unique on this front, not even a little.
As I stood there without my phone, paused in place, I thought of how my parents and grandparents and millions of others had gone about life without a phone on their person and done just fine. And then it hit me- I’d managed life for a whole lotta years without a phone on my person.
My strategy is to pay attention to the patterns I’m in without judgement. Don’t judge, notice. This recent experience of forgetting my phone allowed me to notice that without it, I felt more alone and more vulnerable.
Like the name of Robin Williams’s 1979 comedy album says, “Reality, What A Concept.”
And then there is this. If the “smartphones” are so darned smart, how come they don’t say anything when I leave them behind when I’m walking out the front door?
