Computers and the Internet have been a part of my life since the late 1990s when I resumed my career in journalism. Gone were the days of typewriters, X-Acto knives, wax rollers and pica rulers. With a keystroke, a page could be laid out, printed for proofing, and electronically sent to a far-off printing press. I was — and am — in awe of computers.
The amazing machines got smaller and smaller and, before long, I owned a snazzy tangerine-colored Apple iBook, which I festooned with counterculture stickers. Where once I wrote by hand, I now pecked my creations on the laptop.
As the Internet expanded and grew into its own immense possibility, my research became less book-centric and more entangled in the Web. And, sadly, the art of letter-writing went the way of the eight-track tape. But it was a world I embraced wholeheartedly for its immediacy, its connectivity, and its shiny newness.
Technology, fickle and fast-moving, soon demanded the family acquire the newest laptop, and it wasn’t long before our domecile welcomed a second. A third is entirely within the realm of possibility.
Not terribly long ago, the Dearly Beloved would come home, rid himself of his work clothes and hunt down the newspaper or rifle through the stack of mail on the kitchen counter. Now, he flips open his Mac to catch up on correspondence and pay bills. We still take the paper, but it, sadly, seems a relic from a simpler time.
Me? I’m an e-mail obsessive, a devoted online shopper and a Telluride Daily Planet comments voyeur. I also gather much of my news online, and am quick to hit the Web when I can’t remember things like the name of Mark Lanegan’s first band or the guitar chord on the bridge of a Tom Petty song I’m trying to learn.
I’m also guilty of the occasional self-Google, and am a YouTube surfer, occasional New York Times commenter (much more civilized, thoughtful and certainly better spelled forums than the Planet’s), and I spend way too much time keeping up with my Facebook community.
Imagine, then, the bottomless, adrift sensation of a long weekend without either computer in the house. Tune-up time demanded they temporarily reside elsewhere, and their absence was palpable. Fact-finding had us blowing the dust off our respectable collection of reference books, and instead of flying to a guitar tab site for help, I knuckled down and figured out the elusive chord myself.
Or better yet, I played something of my own creation. The coffee table played host to board games, and postprandial conversation expanded noticeably. Never did we feel the urge to sign up for computer time at the library. We found that we now had oodles of time to do other things. We bustled about with previously shunned household projects and spent more time gazing out the window or into each other’s eyes. Our outdoor forays seemed longer and with two fewer electronic devices in the house, it felt quieter in a deeply satisfying, old-fashioned way.
When I was growing up, the television was always relegated to a room far away from the kitchen, dining and entertaining areas of our house. My parents believed correctly that the “boob tube” was a conversational sucker hole and a poor substitute for human interaction.
Computers can also become an excuse not to talk, to play games (the kind that invite eye contact with your fellow players), to pick up pen and paper, envelope and stamp. While it is arguably one of the most useful devices of this modern age, it really is no more than a tool, and like any other tool, when its job is done, it should be stashed in a place far away from the heartbeat of the home.
I’ll be the first to confess to my addiction, but I am a firm believer in mind over matter. It’s unavoidable to spend unholy amounts of time hooked to the machine at work. It’s just the nature of the office beast. But at home, relegating the connection to one or two online sessions a day should be an achievable goal.
The laptops are back now and when I find myself slipping into my old ways, I bend my head over my guitar with renewed intensity, or make myself read the whole business section of the newspaper. Better yet, when the Dearly Beloved says, “Let’s go for a walk,” I’m already shrugging into a jacket.
Suzanne Cheavens is a former editor of the Telluride Daily Planet and was a member of the 2001 Colorado Voices panel.
