Caitlin Shetterly tells a story that’s all too familiar to me:
On the way home, giddy from the effervescent freedom of disconnection, I blasted Ryan Adams on the stereo and watched a bleached winter sun sink down the pewter sky. I suddenly wanted to share everything I was seeing and feeling with Dan — so as soon as my iPhone showed I was able, I called him. He answered groggily and slightly grumpily (my mother had given him a respite from taking care of our three-year-old son, and he’d fallen asleep on the couch). In a haze, he didn’t remember my plan to stop and exchange my new running shoes in town; he wasn’t sure if he wanted me to pick up a loaf of bread or if we should make biscuits to go with dinner; he didn’t know offhand if we needed baby wipes. As Dan tried to catch up, I became irritated. In fact, I was incensed. The feeling of buoyant excitement I’d had only moments earlier had gone flat. Why wasn’t he standing at the ready, holding his smartphone like it was a walkie-talkie and we were under enemy fire?
Do read the story. I think stuff like this is more important than how we typically talk about it—technology ruining analog life, etc—gives it credit for.
(Via Rian van der Merwe.)