I’ve been thinking about a time nearly 30 years ago when I lived in my VW camper for over eight months traveling through the South and West of the United States.
I camped at many a state and county park and a few national ones too. It truly was an experience of a lifetime, thrilling and empowering, a time of learning and growth.
My van was filled to the brim with things I thought I’d need to survive and thrive, including, of course, books, music, and even a dictionary. Along with clothes and kitchen things, I had my camera, my tent and other assorted camping items all packed neatly somewhere in the van, with my bike strapped firmly on the back. The camper itself had a propane tank that fed a small stovetop on which I cooked my meals.
A fairly large part of each day was filled with maintenance tasks like filling and rearranging the cooler, shopping for food, cooking, cleaning, laundry, taking care of the van, etc. It was all a labor of love and I will never forget my time in that van, the places I went, or the people I met.
But thinking about those days has got me wondering how I ever managed to live and travel, alone, in a van, far from friends and family, in new and strange places without any, not even one, electronic device. I did have a boom box, but that surely doesn’t qualify. Somehow, I made it through alive without a cell phone or GPS to map my routes, with no internet connection at all. I used paper maps and strangely enough, I didn’t get lost much at all.
My radio kept me connected to the rest of the world along with local newspapers, but for the most part, I lived each day where I was, in the present moment. There were times when I was scared and I guess a cellphone might have been a nice thing to have, but I would find a pay phone if I needed to call someone, and somehow it all worked out.
In those days, we weren’t expected to communicate 24 hours a day. The phone was wired to the house and that’s where it rang. If we weren’t home, the caller would leave a message with the expectation that sometime, in the near future, hopefully, we would respond.
Now the phone is with us all the time, in our hands or our pockets, but always within reach, no matter where we are, and when it rings, we have a hard time not answering it. And that’s what everyone expects us to do, to answer it when it rings, or beeps with a text.
What’s brought this so keenly to my attention is what I’ve been seeing while riding on my favorite bike path, the Norwottuck Rail Trail. We are blessed with remarkable bike paths in this area, beautifully maintained by our state and local governments. These are lovely paths that take us through towns and fields, marshes and forests, filled with wildlife and growing things and all the colors and sounds of our beautiful valley. These trails get a lot of use by people who walk, jog, bike, skate and more. There is so much to see and hear along the way, so much beauty to get lost in as we get our exercise or take our stroll.
But what I see now are faces turned to tiny screens and phones up to ears, or ears plugged with earphones. Our bodies may be riding or walking, but our minds, our beings, are miles away. And, believe me, I’m not immune to this. When I feel that phone vibrate in my pocket, it’s nearly impossible not to reach for it. We are connected now, 24-7, and maybe that’s not such a good thing.
I know quite well that if I were planning a trip today like the one I took so many years ago, my list of required items would certainly contain multiple electronic devices. I’d be Google-mapping every inch of the way, checking the internet for campgrounds and other resources, and I’d be phoning friends or calling for help in an emergency.
I’d also be keeping in touch with the news, able to know in an instant, the latest unfolding events, as embarrassing or shocking as they lately seem to be. I have no doubt about this. That little screen wants my attention and I give in to it more than I’d like.
So, I worry about my inability, at times, to put down that phone and be present. And since I’m clearly not the only one who struggles with this, I’m suggesting, as an antidote, that we take a break from it, maybe even leave it in the car while out taking that stroll or jog or bike ride.
Leave it to ring or vibrate all by itself where we can’t hear it for a while. And then pay attention to what’s around us, be present to the sights, the sounds and smells, the breezes and sunshine, and feel the joy of being exactly where we are.
Karen Gardner, of Haydenville, a retired computer programmer, is a bird watcher, nature photographer and ukulele player.