“If you surrender yourself to the moments as they pass, you more richly live those moments.”
That quote is from one of my favorite, stranded-on-the-proverbial-deserted-island authors, Anne Morrow Lindbergh. Her words first struck me in 1995 before cell phones were anything less than a bulky walkie-talkie. It strikes still as we carry mini computers everywhere, all the time. Tech interferes with our ability—our choice—to live in the present. Anne made an impact on me then, but her words impact me more given the craziness of today’s hyper-connected world.
A friend once asked her newsletter readers to electronically disconnect for one weekend and let her know what happened. The responses were interesting, especially the unexpected undercurrent of pride that shone through when people spoke about severing the tie to their devices. It was freeing and they felt more aware of their surroundings—a logical feeling to experience.
Across our ages, we’ve become too connected to the world electronically causing disconnections with the humans around us.
Purposeful Disengagement Engages You in the Moment
On a recent trip to Wales, we wound up in a 300-year-old cottage with massive walls almost two feet thick. To say picking up the wifi from the owner’s adjoining cottage was a problem is understating it quite a bit. We had to go outside and stand near his door, and since we had good weather, it wasn’t a problem for me or my travel companions. (Plus, we fell in love with him and visited a lot.)
It did help me decide to take a break from the internet—especially Facebook. That was a challenge because there’s a particular group on there, “Pembrokeshire—I love it,” full of Welsh humor and stunning photographs. As we posted pictures of our trip and the locals delighted in our delight, we were—well, delighted to response to their comments.
We’d wait until we were in a cafe and connect and check out the quips for a minute or two and shut off the wi-fi again. It was freeing. In any restaurant, our table was not one with three women sitting around it staring down at their phones. We were chatting, observing the beauty around us and having random conversation with anyone willing to visit.
How So We Surrender to the Moment
Pondering Anne’s declaration, how linked do we need to be to the world away from where we stand right now?
Do we truly need to be available to everyone, every day, every minute? As a child of the 1960s and 70s, we were free to play in the four acres we called a yard and the woods surrounding that. On snowy days fly our sleds down the dead-end road. Our mostly stay-at-home-moms knew where we were (hello—playing), who we were with (cousins, of course) and what (mostly) we were up to. We didn’t need to have phones or to constantly check in with them.
We kids were with each other, screaming with laughter, fighting occasionally, playing long into summer evenings—forming bonds that are instantly reconnected even if several years pass between cousin visits.
I have no problem ignoring emails, texts or phone calls, having made the decision years ago to control my electronics rather than be at their mercy. No surrendering my time to tech. I don’t permit any notifications on my phone or computer so if you private message me on Facebook, I might get it by the end of the work day. Better to send an email—I look at that more often.
My last office task before crawling into bed is to shut off the email on my MacBook and open Scrivener to the project I want to work on. This little act allows me to keep my focus where I want it to be first thing in the morning.
Being Present in the Moment
When I mow or weed, the iPod stays in the house, not clogging up my ears. I listen to the neighborhood around me, the children laughing at the house next door, the slight clicking sound behind the roar of the mower’s motor, and the buzz of a honey bee soaring by my ear on his way to our multicolored zinnias. Noticing those things keeps me in the now savoring the sunshine on my face and breathing in the fresh smell of the cut grass.
Sometimes I disconnect in the car since I already limit talking while driving—my 2008 Rogue came with Bluetooth, but usually there’s a MercyMe CD booming through the extravagant (for me) Bose sound system. The songs are uplifting—even the ones that cause me to get teary eyed thinking of people I’ve lost. Every so often, though, I shut off the music and enjoy a quiet drive.
Our Multi-tasking Youth Miss the Moments
The talking and texting youth are missing what’s in front of their eyes and ears. Twenty-five year olds think they can carry on a full conversation with one person while texting another. But we Boomers know you can’t split yourself that way and have a successful face-to-face interaction, building a relationship with a fellow human.
Once, in beautiful Rapallo, Italy, I watched a child strapped into a stroller while his parents visited with friends. But the child? He was glued to a tablet, watching images on the screen and missing everything going on around him—from the laughter of others to the glimpse of the sun setting on the calm Ligurian sea. The Italians are exceptional at immersing themselves in the beauty of the moments so seeing this boy caused a shot of sadness hit me as I wondered how he would learn to live in the here and now rather than inside a screen.
Another evening, I was in a fancy country club and a woman happened into the restroom when I did. She, ahem, sat down and made a phone call. Why? Trust me, the content was not so critical that it needed to be tethered to that moment. I thought, really? Didn’t you simply need a minute to yourself?
The positive of Facebook is making connections, the friendships you can rekindle or keep going across the miles. The negative to Facebook is that it gives a false link to people. Sometimes you have to stop and ask yourself, “When did I last see ________ in person or give them a call?” You have to make those efforts to keep your bond active.
Our Childhood was a Study in Immersion
Harking back to being a tot in the 1960s, our parents taught us three little ones to play the Alphabet Game on long drives. It was such fun and kept us active and our minds engaged. I’m convinced it kept them being good parents—meaning we didn’t irritate them so much shouting, “are we there yet,” to make them want to toss their kids out of the car.
The world is Harry Chapin’s song, Cats in the Cradle. Like people not seeing each other because they’re texting, not conversing, we’re missing times of our lives that are fleeting and not repeatable because they are right here in front of us now.
My father was the king of thinking quietly. He could sit on the back porch and look out at the rolling hills and woods he’d been studying since he was born and ponder. He’d have his coffee or maybe a drink in the evening, a cigarette or two, his spotting scope nearby. He’d sit at the stout walnut table he’d made, and he’d reflect. I know this skill, this strength, contributed to him being able to cope with having Lou Gehrig’s disease. As his body failed him and his voice faltered, his brain stayed perfectly strong and he was absolutely able to keep being Dad. Thinking.
Alex is able to sit calmly like that. He and Dad would have been interesting companions, wouldn’t they? Sitting without saying anything, sharing a cup of coffee, viewing the scenery, enjoying being in the minutes as they ticked past.
Then, there is…
Me? It’s hard work for me to live Anne’s statement. A boss once used a stop watch to see how long I could sit still, not talking, not doing, inactive in one spot. He could have counted on one hand. My father used to type into Harry, making his ALS voice machine yell: Slow down!
Life’s too short, I have to … I have to … whatever it is at that precise point in a day—I have to do it.
I think of Anne writing her phrase decades ago, as she worked to exist fully in the day she was living and wonder what she would make of our constantly connected world. I think she’d be dismayed and curious, wondering when do we manage to make quiet, tranquil time for self-reflection and to hear our random swirling thoughts.
When winter starts to settle in, the sensory overload of good weather tapers off. It’s easier to practice being in the moment, surrendering to them, as Anne so richly phrased it. That quieting down of the naturally hectic times of life is one of the few reasons to ever look forward to winter.
Maybe this winter I will pace myself, keeping time as the minutes and hours passably, seeing the blessings and riches I have in this very moment, right now.
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I am happy to disconnect with my smartphone and sit in solitude for hours. Lovely post.
You are a smart woman, Bola! We could sit quietly side by side–maybe with books and wine?
For me winter means quiet and solitude. Often, when I am walking in the woods, away from everyone, a new snow is coming down, the outside world vanishes. There is nothing more tranquil, it is a good time for me to think, or even better just to absorb the woods and do no thinking, leaving the internet, phone and everything else behind.
Thank you so much for sharing this, your dad reminds me so much of mine; A man who could do, and say so much, without uttering a word.
Beautifully said, William. I was disconnected from yesterday morning until this morning. What freedom! Oh, dads! Sounds like we were both lucky.
What a refreshing article.
I enjoy the benefits my smart phone brings; I can update my blog, respond to posters, access social media, google anything and everything, listen to music, update my calendar and so on. Who would have thought technology would have been this efficient? I remember when YouTube first arrived on the scene – it was overwhelming that I could download music – any type of music!
I agree that if we are not careful we will miss the moment, we can fail to truly listen to others due to being occupied with notifications on our phone. It is for this reason that I occasionally log out of Instagram to avoid spending too much time browsing. I am losing interest in FB and LinkedIn is my absolute favourite!
I do agree on the benefits, Phoenicia. It’s such a hassle for me to type on the iPhone, that I rarely bother with that. Sometimes I wish I had that skill and other times I’m glad I don’t. 🙂 With your commute, I would think you’d use that phone during that time.
Like many, I’ve a love-hate relationship with my SmartPhone. I know I read fewer books since an iPhone has been part of my life. I also tend to scroll through feeds when watching TV. I have to make myself put it down for the rare show or movie I really want to be immersed in. Such technology takes away the feeling of immersion we all need, whether with family, nature, etc.
I’m quite surprised, Jeri, that you’re so connected. Being the reader and writer you are, I would have guessed that you’d find it easy to disregard the phone. Shocker!
I had to spend so many years on-call 24/7 that when I left the corporate world I unplugged in nearly every way possible. I still don’t own a smartphone, but I can feel myself weakening on that one. Otherwise, like you, I highly value the Internet – who am I kidding – I’d be lost without it! But what’s important to me is that I can fit it around my schedule and quiet moments.
Marquita, I think you’ll be like me when you get a smartphone. I use it for all the fine features and ignore it the rest of the time. I don’t have email set to automatically show up on it, I don’t check Facebook, etc. on it unless I’m bored and waiting somewhere and don’t have a book handy. You get the idea. I learned early on that I didn’t want it controlling my time. I do love having my calendar handy.
I have friends on Facebook whose children must think their mother’s face looks like an iPhone. As a kid I’m not sure I would have been happy about always being looked at through a lens.
I hear you, Ken. It’s sad. Like the little child I watched when we were last in Italy. He/she was glued to a tablet and never looked up in the 15 or so minutes the parent was visiting with people. How much that child missed!
Interesting post, Rose. May I ask what precisely was your motivation? Was there a specific moment in time that made you step back and take note?
Ah, Doreen, this post stems from grief–from the moments of missing my dad and mom welling up to where I had to say something. As dad’s ALS worsened, what we observed repeatedly was him taking great joy in every moment. Like when he had my sister and bro take a note to the neighbor’s yard and tape it to their deer feeder. “Better corn 75 yards north.” Yep, he typed it, printed it and ordered it delivered. How everyone laughed!
I was in a dressing room a couple of months ago and the woman in the stall next to me had her phone on speakerphone. And the woman on the other end of the phone was screaming at her. Screaming!!! In Russian! I was like, why? Why do we all have to hear this? And I could tell that this woman wasn’t young.
As I side note, I sometimes take my phone away from my husband when we’re spending time together. He’ll barely look up otherwise.
Speakerphone and screaming in Russian. Now that’s something that doesn’t happen every day! It’s bad enough that so many people seem to think cell phones are tin cans and they have to use their outside voices so that they’re heard. What’s up with that? I’m giggling over you taking your phone from your husband. I did that once to mine–we were traveling somewhere gorgeous and he had it out checking who knows what. I said, me or the phone, buster. Wise man made the right choice.
Written 6 years ago and still holds true for me today!
Glad to hear it, sister.
This is a post from when I first started my blog. In cleaning things up, I re-read this and at this moment, for many reasons, it resounded with me. So here it is again.
My six months with you and Jeremiah taught me to enjoy the quietness of the house more than I ever did. I usually had music on or a movie in the background of whatever I was doing. Thanks for that lesson!
I had somehow missed this posting! I was probably too busy figuring out how to use the new computer!! You are so right about being tethered…I try not to be. I don’t answer my phone when I’m in a public place (especially a restroom!) and I too enjoy the peaceful quietness of driving without radio. I like to do that at home too…it’s just me and whatever I am doing. Gives me time to appreciate the God-given beauty around me!
Brilliantly written. What a joy to read what I feel so deeply inside. Technology and being disconnected run such a fine line…I think I’m over the edge! Thank you, Rose, for so eloquently voicing how our world is today. Patty