Online, but disconnected
I have a habit of naming inanimate things.
I have a habit of naming inanimate things. There’s my laptop, Spencer; there was the one before that: Leo; there’s my Wii fitness magic weighing scales, Frank; and then there’s Jim, a battered old green VW Golf used in a Top Gear challenge that I got to drive on their fabled track, which I fell instantly in love with.
With the exception of Jim the Volkswagen, the naming of whom marked more of a surreal milestone in my life than anything else, there is a rationale as to why I give these objects names: these are my outlets to the outside world, the key to the vast majority of my interaction, and as such I feel the need to give that interface some semblance of humanity.
In college I was meeting people here and there, both purposefully and by chance, never off the batter; at the various conferences/residentials/think-ins/workshops I give or attend, the same applies, but the rest of the time, when I’m at home and hours away from anything resembling an urban hub, a modem or mobile is the only difference between me and a hermit monk sometimes.
Of course, I’m not the only one in this lonesome boat by any means. Such is mine and everyone else’s reliance on the internet and other such feats of telecommunication that its’ created a whole new strand of neuroses: Unstoppable Refresh Syndrome, where the amount of times you click on your inbox is directly proportional to the importance of the email you’re waiting for; Compulsive Group Alignment, where you join Facebook pages with amusing names and then never look at them again; and Cannot Be Displayed Rage, where the very prospect of not having internet for a even a few minutes can cause you to throw the computer out your window like medieval effluence.
So even though the way technology can widen your social circle exponentially and can shrink the whole world to the click of a mouse has enriched our lives, it can also be a crutch. In the same way a calculator inhibits mental arithmetic such short bursts of conversations, 140 character statements here and status update thumbs up there, can also damage the art of conversation. Of course these things can act as launchpads for that kind of discussion, but in a world where people text each other in the same room how often does that happen? And when there are times of inevitable quiet online, as there always will be, the lack of replies can often underline the loneliness felt by the perpetual net user. To paraphrase Liz Lemon from 30 Rock, there are a lot of different methods to ignore people these days.
I don’t want to lament the internet by any means; it’s an absolutely vital resource and I’d be climbing the ceiling to match Lionel Richie without it. And yet, my most blissful moments in recent times have been when I’ve been cut off from it, on a five day course here or a weekend away there, times I’ve spent just talking to people, and not worrying about the contents of my inbox. Much and all as I love Spencer, The Laptop, he’s no match for looking in the eyes of someone across from you.
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