The TV played 80s music, making me imagine a breezy night in the Coconut Grove area of Miami, where I spent some weekend nights growing up and later visited during trips home from college. I yearn for those moments when I could relax in a seat on a sidewalk, listening to people talk and watching others walk by.
Recently, I’ve also imagined relaxing in an old house, feeling the air through open windows from an ocean a few blocks away. I’ve tried to recreate my imagination of relaxation by leaving a door to the outside open while working. My dog’s incessant barking at the canine next door breaks my concentration.
Today I walked in my backyard for no other reason than to stand outside and look around.
I suppose many reasons make capturing today’s version of peace of mind difficult. But one consideration continues to present itself: the smartphone.
The smartphone in my pocket, on a nearby desk or on the edge of the couch sends out this invisible pull difficult to resist. I forget about the smartphone for a few minutes, then remember it’s there and wonder what new information it might have for me. Who might have emailed? Sometimes I stare at it aimlessly, wondering which application might briefly entertain me. When the SportsCenter jingle posts a loud alert, I might as well be a drunk in a bar with a drink within reach.
We went to the movies recently, standing in line to watch Godzilla. If it hadn’t appeared weird, I would have tapped a picture of all the people staring at their phones. Loren calls them screen zombies. When waiting, our smartphones are our saviors. While waiting at the movies, I purposely prevented myself from pulling the smartphone out of my pocket. I saw the zombies standing around me and feared transforming into one of them.
Those futuristic movies that often depict a world of people under the spell of some thought-control government don’t seem so far off. We watch those movies, imagining our individualism would never allow such group thought and robotic behavior. But look around: at restaurants, hair salons and anywhere we wait. I see screen zombies.
The social media mavens claim their latest innovations are attempts to better connect the world. But social media seems to make people less social. For the most part, I’ve abandoned Twitter and only check Facebook when someone “Likes” a picture of a pet I posted.
Now and then, I imagine stashing the smartphone away. On the one hand, people excel at not returning emails. On the other hand, they feel obligated to check for some emails instantaneously. When they receive those emails, they reply almost before the sender places his or her final period. The SportsCenter alerts are not crucial, and the news, for the most part, shares negative stories that aggravate me. Being informed sometimes seems overrated.
As much as I want to escape the screen zombies, how would I move forward without my smartphone’s GPS, camera and applications for notes? After all, I need to document in pictures the screen zombies around me without turning into one.
Imagine if I ditched the smartphone and showed up to a meeting with a standard device. Would people consider me less sophisticated? Is it similar to driving up in a Toyota when someone expects nothing less than a BMW?
I’d like to go to the beach, feel the breeze and not sense the pull of the square smartphone in my pocket. But how would I find the beach without my GPS? How would I photograph the scenic view? What if someone who laughs at making phone calls zipped me an urgent email worth a million bucks? What if I need to schedule something on the fly? What if I’m later watching the movie Roxanne and want to find out what happened to that actor who also appeared in Top Gun? Won’t I need Wikipedia?
If we are screen zombies, I’m one of those in the pack that has awaken from the dream and realized something feels wrong. I’m simply not sure how to exit that world.