Posted by: Bob Stott
Every fall, my dad gets the family together for one weekend camping trip – as he puts it, "a last chance to get away from everyone before we're trapped in with them for the winter." In years past, these trips to the great outdoors have meant primarily one thing: person-to-person communication.
Cell phones, BlackBerries, and PDAs had no service and no outlets to recharge them, televisions at best had one grainy basic cable channel, and the nearest (and most audible) radio station had a strictly 1960s classic rock format. In desperation, our younger generations were forced to return to the primal basics and, some perhaps for the first time, engage our parents and relatives in actual open, face-to-face communication. No texting. No constant e-mail updates. No escaping in online games.
However, even the expanse of the great outdoors doesn't seem to be much of a barrier against the flood of portable technology – at this year's camping trip, most of the younger children's cellular devices had direct satellite connections and batteries that could last for days, as they sat quietly, texting each other across the campfire.
And right there, it stares at me: the blinding contradiction. While we insist that our world is becoming increasingly complex, we have instead created a communications culture that has decreased the time available for us to sit and think, uninterrupted. We are ever primed to receive a quick message to which we are expected to give a rapid response – never mind the necessities of conversation, the back of forth of actual human communication with the underlying subtle messages, emotions, etc. I think my younger cousins may never know another way to think and interact.
For example, we can spend hours keeping up with our e-mails. A friend once told me, "I look at my watch to check the time. I look at my BlackBerry to check on my life." Its frightening to think about. People become alienated from their own physical experience and anxious about watching a virtual testament of their lives scrolling along faster than they can handle. Over time, I've watched 'screen addiction' – whether its a laptop, palmtop, cell phone or BlackBerry – consume people. We learn to see ourselves as one with our devices: always on, always uploading, always updating status, profile, life.
Many of today's kids get cell phones from their parents and more than likely I will follow suit when I have children (if I haven't implanted tracking devices in them by that point, of course). However, merely by extension of the device, kids are never quite alone, never having to count on themselves, or be wary of getting lost – not with a parent on speed dial. This is a comfortable element in a dangerous world, yet there is a price to pay in the development of autonomy.
There, at the campfire, it dawns on me how much many of these children can't be "alone" – cut off from their digital identity, tied up in e-mail, status updates, and social networking, I don't think many of them know how to act in a legitimate social encounter. How do you express an emotion verbally that usually only requires a symbol – one emoticon of the curt range of happy and sad faces – to say in a text message?
I think about their emotional development, these kids growing up with dolls in one hand and a cellular device in the other: when the breadth of human emotions is reduced to a shorthand of emoticon emotions, and reformatted for the small screen, how much is left out, presumably floating in cyberspace, in the process?