The Accidental Luddite (Revisited)
(with backing-off Afterthoughts)
Yet another article has been dredged up from the drek of the TEL archives. An incident this week prompted me to resurrect this topic. (See the comments below the original article.) In our modern lifestyle, digital device dependence is an increasingly worrisome concern almost as troubling as forced alliteration. Last week, I finished H.G. Wells classic book The Time Machine in which he extrapolates what would happen to human beings if current trends are taken to extremes. Hmm…
But, before we dive into fascinating speculation about our modern digital conveniences, please stop by my Buy Me A Coffee page and give generously through that modern digital convenience.
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The Accidental Luddite
A couple of years ago, in a moment of distraction and carelessness, I left my phone on the bus. Such memories come flooding back with frightful vividness. For an expat, incidents like this make us feel especially vulnerable. Okay, I admit it; it was entirely my fault. Leaving my phone on the bus seat when I got off was so quick and so innocent; I realized what I had done almost instantly – almost, but not quite instantly enough to rush back to the bus before it pulled away. (This story has a happy ending. Thanks to some helpful and honest people, I got my phone back the next day.)
This, then, is about my musings as I considered the characteristics of life without my phone as a constant presence – and, when I say “phone”, I mean a smartphone with all the bells and whistles modern digital technology allows. For an expat, such a fully-equipped smartphone is what allows us to navigate through the mysteries of a new culture, a new city, and a new language with some degree of confidence.
A few minutes later, as I consoled myself with a soothing cup of coffee at a nearby restaurant, I was reminded of “how life used to be”… before everyone carried a cell phone. I was also reminded of why I persist in always carrying some good old paper money. Even though I use my phone to make almost every major and minor and even micro purchase these days, I continue to carry a little cash for just this sort of situation. That coffee break (paid for with cash, not digital currency) helped me to relax after the initial panic. The emergency caffeine transfusion, plus sitting alone for a few minutes in a quiet corner, allowed me to take stock and (sorta) calmly deliberate my next action.
For the first time in many years, I did not have a phone at hand. I was disconnected; I was unable to call anyone… and no one could call me. Actually, losing the telephone service itself was only a minor concern. The much bigger issue was living without a computer in my pocket. Suddenly, I did not have all my useful apps, especially a translation app which allows me to bravely go where a non-native speaker could never go before. Even more importantly, I was without my internet access, without the ease and convenience of digital purchases, without my podcasts and ebooks, without banking services, without my background music for working sans distractions, without my camera, and without my stored photos, videos, and files. Most stunning of all, I was incommunicado – no one could reach me by any means – phone, instant message, or email. In a paroxysm of irony, my first impulse was to reach for my phone to call my wife to help me – until I realized that I had no phone, hence, no way to call her. No Problemo, as I have taught my son to say… had suddenly become a Big Problemo.
What a tumult of emotions washed over me as I began to realize the implications of that one moment of carelessness. Watching the bus roll down the street was crushing. The driver and all the passengers were merrily going about their busy lives without realizing that the foreign guy waving at them from the sidewalk was having a crisis. I was well and truly alone. I have said many times that the cell phone was what allowed me to be somewhat independent and mobile as a non-fluent expat. Now, the full effects of losing that smartphone were about to become very real. The implications were sobering.
The actual expense of losing the phone was not the most important factor; not at all. I had been planning to replace my four-year-old phone soon, anyway. Also, although I castigated myself using golfing phrases and computer installation terminology for being so careless, in truth, I didn’t feel too guilty. After carrying a cell phone 24/7 for almost 15 years, one slip didn’t seem terribly inexcusable. Over the coffee, as the implications began to focus, I had several thoughts:
I was flying solo. The convenience of calling or messaging for clarification, changes, and details of every activity was no longer available to me. The good news was that I would not be continuously besieged by unwanted messages and irritating changes of plan. Indeed, in some ways, their absence made life dramatically simpler. I remember periods in the past when the pressures and distractions of almost continual stimulation from all my devices and digital connections would stretch me to the breaking point. The solution – temporary, but effective – was to simply turn off my phone and, concurrently, my computer’s internet connection. Immediately, a sense of peace would descend. I could then work without the expectation of being disturbed by a beep to alert me to yet another incoming email, message, or notification. Sleep was more peaceful also since I was completely assured that I could not be jolted awake by a new digital arrival. Air gap technology is still sometimes the best solution.
So, what does this have to do with being “The Accidental Luddite”? Being thoroughly digital and connected to the internet through my home computer, I stopped typing this long enough to do a search: What is a Luddite? The instantaneous response was:
1. Derogatory: a person opposed to new technology or ways of working.
"a small-minded Luddite resisting progress" ·
2. Historical: a member of any of the bands of English workers who destroyed machinery, especially in cotton and woolen mills, that they believed was threatening their jobs (1811–16).
In leaving my phone on the bus, I became a Luddite, in behavior if not in attitude. I had lost my digital lifestyle. In one moment, I reverted to living on my own resources, with only what I had in my pockets. Balancing that, I could only be confronted by one matter at a time… because the outside world could no longer bombard me with several new problems before I could finish dealing with one old problem. Forced simplicity: I had no choice; I could not multitask because I was not accessible when I had no computer in my pocket. Not having a digital device that enabled being confronted by several issues simultaneously meant I was dealing with only one thing at a time. Suddenly, the skies cleared and the birds began to sing. Life was simple again. I was suddenly returned to an earlier era.
It is easy to develop a form of technological amnesia where we forget the limitations and complications of the more primitive, pre-cell phone life. I can say that life was simpler but that doesn’t mean it was easier. Far from it. When I began my expat life in 2004, the cell phone was not yet universal. Indeed, I recall that, every evening, I would see students on my campus standing in line to use the many public payphones on the streets. Payphones were a common sight those days. Simplicity, Exhibit A: When you left your home or office, no one could contact you and you could not contact anyone. On a trip, you were unreachable until you arrived at your destination and used a payphone to check in for messages, news, and updates. That’s pretty simple. However, accompanying that was a downside. In that era, if I was expecting an important call, I had to stay home or at the office to be near the old-fashioned landline telephone or else risk missing the call. Looking back, it was very inefficient, forced to stay near the phone. Don’t forget that we were literally tied to the phone. We had exactly as much mobility as the length of the cord connecting the handset with the base.
In retrospect, two recent technological events completely changed the expat experience. The first was the introduction of the ebook and ebook reader. A handheld device for locating, purchasing, downloading, and immediately reading a book on a screen was much more than a new invention. It meant that expats were no longer restricted to books they could physically carry with them or purchase at local bookstores. It meant, instead, they could carry a lifetime library with them at all times, plus add to it easily, inexpensively, and conveniently. The cascade effects of the ebook were akin to the seismic shift in the modern world brought about by the widespread introduction of radios a hundred years ago. Radios brought about the end of rural isolation or news that was no longer new or undistorted by a series of retellings. Ebooks and digital readers brought similar relief.
The second was the introduction of the smartphone only a few years ago. Although the cell phone was a wonderful device that freed us from the limits of a physical connection – hence the term “landline” – it was only that, a telephone. Even the added function of text messages was limited to the few people for whom we had phone numbers. The smartphone, when it came along a digital generation later, was much, much more. Originally promoted as a way to “store your favorite music on your phone”, they quickly added built-in cameras. Next, someone came up with the bright idea of using your phone to send and receive emails. Then, since we were already connected to the internet, why not allow the user to download other apps that would vastly extend the usefulness and productivity of the now-mobile user? What’s that, you say? Do you want to watch movies and play games and chat with your friends? Or use it to pay for your breakfast, take a photo of it, then post insipid photos online of what you ate for breakfast? With the smartphone, everything became possible. It was, literally, a computer in your pocket, a computer that included navigation and translation assistance. For the expat, it meant liberation – a new life in a new country while still being able to access the best parts of our old life.
All these thoughts were going through my mind that afternoon as I waited for my coffee to cool and my heart rate to return to normal. With the loss of my cell phone, I was no more technologically advanced than the most digitally resistant Luddite, as someone who refuses to use an ATM and who is confounded by a dropdown menu. Mark Twain said the man who does not read is no better than the man who cannot read. Similarly, as I sat there, waiting for the comfort of a caffeine rush, I was no better than the person who deliberately chooses not to utilize the digital goodies offered on a modern cell phone. A few minutes later, calmed and caffeinated, I took the bus home… paying the fare with cash.
That evening, a friend dropped by – no phone to call me, remember? - to tell me that my phone had been located and I could retrieve it the next day. Problem over, crisis resolved, panic abated. To be entirely truthful, I was rather enjoying my life as a Luddite because I was aware it would be only for a short time. I already knew that simple life would have lasted only until I could purchase a new smartphone and reinstall all my apps on it. No, I would not voluntarily choose to be a permanent Luddite. It was sheer bliss, in a way and for a short time, but I would not want to give up my conveniences and connectivity permanently. It would seriously limit my expat adventures.
As an expat, the prospect of facing the world digitally naked was disconcerting. It makes me appreciate the daring of those brave, smartphone-free pioneers of previous generations. In America, when Lewis and Clark returned from exploring the newly purchased Louisiana Territory (1804 – 1806), they had to ask about the outcome of the presidential election held while they were off exploring the West. It is difficult for me to relate to such isolation.
While I concede that there are some attractions to the Luddite lifestyle, the disadvantages far outnumber the advantages. In my imagination, I often go to Grandpa’s bus on the banks of the Little Dry Fork when the stress and cacaphony of domestic bliss on the 18th Floor Homestead become overwhelming. But, after a few hours of the unalloyed “simple life” it afforded, I would be screaming for a return to modern life with all its devices. Thus, I may go Luddite long enough for an undisturbed picnic, perhaps, but not as a lifestyle – especially not an expat lifestyle.
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Afterthought from a couple of years later:
One of the slipperiest of slippery slopes in modern life is our dependence upon our devices and conveniences to make our lives more comfortable - and, often, that term “comfortable” means effortless. These are devices that our great-grandparents never had because they hadn’t been invented yet. In great-grandmother’s day, she would have instantly traded great-grandfather for the delicious luxuries we modern city folks - and many rural areas - assume will always be available: electric lights, running water, purified water, refrigerator/freezer, a stove that doesn’t require chopping wood and disposing of ashes, and air conditioning in the hot summer.
But I wonder if we urbane, digitally-sophisticated, pampered moderns may have gone too far. Maybe our devices have made things too easy. When a device or service becomes “normal”, we soon do not value it. Indeed, if we apply the old relationship platitude “familiarity breeds contempt” to our devices, the constant presence of even the most useful device breeds indifference.
There’s another issue related to this dependence. Upon deeper examination, I realize that much of the stress in my life comes from the very devices that are supposed to make things easier, faster, better, smoother… effortless. In my life, I insist that my devices, whether they be car, phone, computer, front door lock, hot water heater, and other items that we depend upon to maintain our lifestyle, operate correctly every time. Yet, as I wrote earlier, “How many knobs, switches, accessories, lights, and controls are there on the modern car? And, what are the odds that, at any given time, every single one of them is working properly?”
And the modern car - admittedly far more reliable than the cars of a generation ago - is only one of the cloud of devices in our lives today. It is mathematically irrefutable that increasing the number of devices in our lives increases the odds of stressful, time-wasting problems. I cannot prove it but I believe the increase is exponential with the increase in the number of devices. Even if it is only the nuisance of frequently being required to reset passwords and update apps on our computer - and those are some of the least time-consuming, least frustrating examples - I question how much convenience and comfort we are deriving when weighed against the complications and frustrations of maintaining them. (Don’t forget learning curves!) Blood pressure spikes and incidents of golfing language are added to the lost productive time spent on such joy.
Henceforth, I resolve not to purchase any new devices until A) I am absolutely convinced that it will truly simplify and expedite my daily activities or work; B) The damn thing has been on the market long enough for the bugs to be identified and corrected; C) It is popular enough to lower the price due to mass production methods; and D) It is clearly superior to something I am already using - and I don’t mean going from 95% efficiency to 96%.
Maybe the Luddites weren’t so crazy after all.
Tune in next week for more rambling and speculation as seen from the expat’s perspective. And please visit my Buy Me A Coffee page to make a small contribution. (A large contribution would be okay, too.)
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