Tweet less, kiss more

I
was driving from Washington to New York one afternoon on Interstate 95 when a
car came zooming up behind me, really flying. I could see in the rearview
mirror that the driver was talking on her cell phone.

I
was about to move to the centre lane to get out of her way when she suddenly
swerved into that lane herself to pass me on the right – still chatting away.
She continued moving dangerously from one lane to another as she sped up the
highway.

A
few days later, I was talking to a guy who commutes every day between New York
and New Jersey. He props up his laptop on the front seat so he can watch DVDs
while he’s driving.

“I
only do it in traffic,” he said. “It’s no big deal.”

Beyond
the obvious safety issues, why does anyone want, or need, to be talking
constantly on the phone or watching movies (or texting) while driving? I hate
to sound so 20th Century, but what’s wrong with just listening to the radio?
The blessed wonders of technology are overwhelming us. We don’t control them;
they control us.

We’ve
got cell phones and BlackBerrys and Kindles and iPads, and we’re e-mailing and
text-messaging and chatting and Tweeting – I used to call it Twittering until I
was corrected by high school kids who patiently explained to me, as if I were
the village idiot, that the correct term is Tweeting. Twittering, Tweeting –
whatever it is, it sounds like a nervous disorder.

This
is all part of what I think is one of the weirder aspects of our culture: a
heightened freneticism that seems to demand that we be doing, at a minimum, two
or three things every single moment of every hour that we’re awake. Why is
multitasking considered an admirable talent? We could just as easily think of
it as a neurotic inability to concentrate for more than three seconds.

Why
do we have to check our e-mail so many times a day, or keep our ears constantly
attached, as if with Krazy Glue, to our cell phones? When you watch the news on
cable television, there are often additional stories being scrolled across the
bottom of the screen, stock market results blinking on the right of the screen,
and promos for upcoming features on the left. These extras often block significant
parts of the main item we’re supposed to be watching.

A
friend of mine told me about an engagement party that she had attended. She
said it was lovely: a delicious lunch and plenty of champagne toasts. But all
the guests had their cell phones on the luncheon tables and had text-messaged
their way through the entire event.

Enough
already with this hyperactive behaviour, this techno-tyranny and nonstop
freneticism. We need to slow down and take a deep breath.

I’m
not opposed to the remarkable technological advances of the past several years.
I don’t want to go back to typewriters and carbon paper and yellowing clips
from the newspaper morgue. I just think that we should treat technology like
any other tool. We should control it, bending it to our human purposes.

Let’s
put down at least some of these gadgets and spend a little time just being
ourselves. One of the essential problems of our society is that we have a
tendency, amid all the craziness that surrounds us, to lose sight of what is
truly human in ourselves, and that includes our own individual needs – those
very special, mostly nonmaterial things that would fulfill us, give meaning to
our lives, enlarge us, and enable us to more easily embrace those around us.

There’s
a character in the August Wilson play “Joe Turner’s Come and Gone” who says
everyone has a song inside of him or her, and that you lose sight of that song
at your peril. If you get out of touch with your song, forget how to sing it,
you’re bound to end up frustrated and dissatisfied.

As
this character says, recalling a time when he was out of touch with his own
song, “Something wasn’t making my heart smooth and easy.”

I
don’t think we can stay in touch with our song by constantly Twittering or
Tweeting, or thumbing out messages on our BlackBerrys, or piling up virtual
friends on Facebook.

We
need to reduce the speed limits of our lives. We need to savour the trip. Leave
the cell phone at home every once in awhile. Try kissing more and Tweeting
less. And stop talking so much.

Listen.

Other
people have something to say, too. And when they don’t, that glorious silence
that you hear will have more to say to you than you ever imagined. That is when
you will begin to hear your song. That’s when your best thoughts take hold, and
you become really you.

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