A friend of mine recently lost his iPhone. I’ll call him Jack, since that’s his name. (He doesn’t read my column, so I think we’re safe here.)
For about 24 hours, Jack’s life was a mess. He couldn’t focus on anything except his missing phone. “My whole life is on that phone,” he said. “My money, my passwords, my pictures, you name it. I’m lost without it!”
Trying to be the reassuring friend, I said, “But isn’t everything backed up on the Cloud?” He thought about it for a moment. He replied, “I don’t know. How do I get to the Cloud?” “Well,” I told him, “I think you should start with your password.” That didn’t solve the problem. “I told you, David. All my passwords are on my phone!”
Cutting to the chase, I’m happy to report that Jack’s phone was rescued the next day from between two sofa cushions. I know, that would’ve been the first place you looked, but you don’t know Jack.
My point is, most of us have become so dependent on those devices, that we freak out if they aren’t in our possession for an hour, much less a day. I think back to my daredevil youth, when I would take a solo vacation drive 12 hours away. Millions of others did too, never giving a second thought to the fact that we had no way to get in touch with our family in case of emergency. Of course, this has been the case since the beginning of time, but now we can’t imagine life without it.
Music legend Bob Dylan demands that his concertgoers hand over their phones before they enter the theater. When this happened in my town a few days ago, some fans were unhappy. “But how am I supposed to record video?” they asked. That may be the type of distraction that Dylan wants to avoid. Or maybe he just wants people to focus on his lyrics. Never mind that he’s largely unintelligible, but that’s a topic for another column.
Just last month, USA Today’s Blake Toppmeyer reported on a remarkable scene at the Masters Tournament at Augusta National Golf Course. Phones are not allowed on the course, even for reporters. Much like Dylan on stage, professional golfers want a peaceful environment as they do their job. The result? Onlookers are not taking (or asking for) selfies. They are actually watching the game.
This may come as a shock for sports fans who attend football or baseball games, only to spend several hours staring at their phone. I love watching old baseball game films, from an era in which fans focused on the field. I will never understand why someone would pay hundreds of dollars for great seats and expensive parking, and then watch cat videos while Matt Olson launches a massive home run.
I’ll admit I should try a day or two of digital detox, but what if I needed to take a picture? I am a news guy, so if I was unable to get images of a newsworthy event, I would be remiss in my duties. I think I still have a traditional camera stashed away in a closet, but I’ve forgotten how to use it. Besides, that is so 20th century, right? I experienced some special moments and met some amazing people in my pre-cell phone camera days, and I have no printed or digital evidence of it. But at least they’re captured in my memory bank, while it lasts.
I certainly wouldn’t want to lose my phone, but I do miss the days when a vacation was clearly defined: “a scheduled period of rest, relaxation, and a reprieve from work-related duties.” Not that long ago, the boss knew you were on the beach, and come hell or high water, you were unreachable until you returned to the workplace. With the advent of the iPhone, there is an unwritten rule that “we know you’re checking your phone constantly, so how about helping us solve a little problem that just came up?” Taking a cue from my friend Jack, during my next vacation, I might manage to get my phone “lost” between a couple of sofa cushions.
