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| Photo by Jessica Simmons |
HALF MOON KAY — Standing in cool sea water so blue
and clear it looked like a swimming pool, with soft white sand under my feet
and a towering thunderhead on the horizon dropping a sheet of rain against the
blue sky, I could sense how far off the grid I was.
My phone, which has become both a lifeline and a
distraction in recent years, was in a stateroom on the cruise ship that had
brought me to this place with my family. It had not been employed for a few
days, though my daughter continued using her phone for taking photos and
keeping up with the time.
For a week, I did not surf the web, update Facebook,
post to Twitter, Instagram, Tumblr or any of the other social media that sucks
away my moments. I didn’t send or receive a single text or a phone call.
Because I’ve stopped wearing a watch (trusting my phone to carry that burden) I
didn’t even know what time it was for most of the journey.
And I plopped down in the water, felt the sun drying
salt on my face, and knew it was all good.
No sooner had we returned to port and
“civilization,” than all of us turned our eyes to our phones and tried to catch
up on all we had missed. The car ride back home was quiet as everyone (except
the driver) busily reconnected with their cyber lives, myself included.
Just a few years ago, I was one of those Luddites
who thought he would nev er
need a cell phone. Then I thought I would nev er
need one that allowed me to tex t messages
rather than place calls (I still would rather talk to you than trade
half-conversations via tex t).
Then I thought I would nev er
need a “smart” phone.
I was wrong about all of that. It’s a necessity in
the multi-media business, and has become so in private life, where I’ve been
known to work myself into a tizzy (use of that word proves I’m old) if my wife
or children don’t respond to repeated attempts to reach them by call or tex t in the space of an
hour or so. Not to mention being able to watch videos, listen to music, take HD
photos, talk via Facetime and so forth.
But for a week, it didn’t matter what TV shows I
missed (my DVR was saving them for me anyway), or what brea king news I caught later in the day. I
wasn’t checking my phone to ensure I hadn’t missed someone’s message or email.
Time was only important when dinner was approaching or to be sure we were back from
an excursion before the ship sailed.
The world, as I experienced it, slowed down. It was
quieter. I could take my time with something, relish a moment rather than
trying to snap a selfie in the midst of it. (My daughter, however, took more
than 250 photos on her phone, and my wife shot nearly as many on her camera, so
the trip was still well documented. I don’t mean my comments here to devalue
their effort.)
I read a book and a bunch of old comics I took on
the trip. I watched the deep blue sea drift by. I spoke to strangers, helped my
family/team win a trivia contest, held hands with my wife as we walked the
streets of Nassau ,
joked with my kids. We made midnight visits to the buffet or to get ice cream.
But best of all, being off the grid gave us each
other’s undivided attention, and provided me the chance to look them in the
eyes and tell them how much they mean to me, and how wonderful it was to be
with them on this adventure and in this life.
Peace.
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