Joining the Circus
Nashville, TN
January 22, 2020
People may soon hear less from the author of these notes. Or, rather, he may hear less frequently from them. He will see fewer texts, read fewer emails, observe fewer posts. For much of the day, he will unplug, put the phone down, and push it away.
He has been burdened or blessed throughout his life with an even keel, a level head, and a balanced temperament. This relative equipoise is sometimes misconstrued, either by himself, or by those observing him.
He can be perceived as cool, calm, and collected…or as aloof, indifferent, or uninformed. Some suggest, contra Kipling, that he who keeps his head while all about him are losing theirs…clearly doesn’t understand the gravity of the situation.
But the last few years, this oblivious observer has noticed more apples falling around him. He has found himself more distracted, less focused. He has often been agitated, anxious, and stressed, often for no apparent reason.
One day several weeks ago, he looked around, and found one. A woman was sitting in the hotel restaurant with a man and two other women, one of whom tried to say something to her. Without so much as re-directing her gaze, she furrowed her brow and raised an index finger as if to say “can’t you see I’m on the phone?”.
Meanwhile, throughout the evening the man at the table was hypnotically tapping his screen, perhaps texting his wife an alibi to absolve himself of the pretty company he was keeping.
These two weren’t alone, even among those who weren’t alone. Glancing around the room, only a few people in the company of others weren’t tethered to a screen. And most of those were serving dinner or drinks to those who were.
Like a marble in a Rube Goldberg machine, the view triggered a series of thoughts. People seem incapable of ignoring their phones, even when in the company of others. Any ring, buzz, or beep brings a reaction akin to Doc Holliday reaching for his holster.
People hear a bell, and feel compelled to chime in. They must give their opinions and prove their points. They watch, and eventually join, the online circus…and become another clown. They become consumed with things that don’t matter, news that doesn’t affect them, and people they’ll never meet.
Like Gin, our mobile phones can be wonderful. Taken in moderation, they facilitate communication, spur creativity, and ease social engagement. Mixed with earphones, they are great for listening to podcasts or avoiding conversation on the plane. But when used improperly or indulged to excess, they dull the senses, warp our minds, and waste our time.
I read recently that the average person checks his phone 1,756 times each day. The statistic was made up. But the point was valid. The phone consumes spare moments the way lungs inhale air. The response is almost automatic.
And we must always be accessible. We wonder at what we might miss, and worry that people might miss us. Time that could have been devoted to thought, to observation, or to a kind word is now spent scanning, scrolling, or trolling. Or speaking at unnaturally high volumes regardless the hapless souls who happen to be in immediate proximity.
I am writing this from the middle of the small Crown Room at the Nashville Airport. No fewer than seven people, each within ten feet of me, are including me in their conversations. Not that I can understand any of them.
Through the cacophony, I think the man next to me is trying to close an order for auto supplies. The woman across from me seems to be arranging a meeting with a doctor at Duke. She appears healthy, so perhaps it is on behalf of someone else. Or maybe she is trying to sell him medical supplies. Or maybe she is having an affair.
I wish I knew more. And I would…if only the guy behind me would shut up. He is very enthused about his trip to Vegas last week, and seems to assume I should be as well. The woman to my left was just telling her kid (I think) what he needs to do tonight, but cut him short to take another call to arrange her own evening. The man to my right, speaking into space but ostensibly thru Bluetooth, assures someone (and everyone) that he will soon have enough miles for a free flight to Phoenix.
Amongst this buzz I sit quietly, open book lying forsaken across my lap, lacking the peace required to tend its pages. So I did the only thing I could do. I slipped on my big shoes, put on my red nose, and joined the circus. And started to type.
Outside, fingers would freeze before they‘d complete a text or tweet. Anyone walking around Nashville would see vaporized water billowing from shivering blue lips. Frozen water hangs precariously from Ordovician road cuts, and drifts slowly down the Cumberland River.
Two nights ago, on the banks of the river, ice fell into glasses, warming spirits and whetting appetites as we awaited our table at Adele’s in The Gulch.
This area is among the many hip new districts that have arisen in this appealing city. Trendy bars, clubs, and condos serve as local roosts for college students and flighty youths who have recently left the nest.
We were here to deliver a presentation yesterday, and to meet several people at our local offices today. One of our party is friends with the owner of Adele’s and of 404 Kitchen, a slightly higher-end bistro a couple blocks away, where we had dinner last night.
Both meals were outstanding, and the service and scene were delightful. After dinner at 404, the bill arrived. As I reached for it, the waitress quickly returned, and swapped it for one she had left on a nearby table a few minutes earlier.
She apologized for bringing the wrong bill. I told her I didn’t mind, but thought the other table may have been startled when they received the tab for our orders. As it happened, neither of them had even noticed.
They were both on the phone.
JD
