If you could un-invent something, what would it be?

DAILY PROMPT RESPONSE

I was in public today, watching people because I’m a people watcher. Not one of those creepy people who gawk at you with sinister smiles, but one who is entirely aware of their surroundings. A by-product of my PTSD. I noticed people were inches from one another and weren’t talking. Their faces were buried in their mobile devices. What freaked me out was that nearly everyone, young and old. Myself included. Immediately, I looked around for a magazine or left behind newspaper. There weren’t any.

I opened a document on my iPad and started documenting my outrage. Yes, I’m aware of the hypocrisy of this rant, but it was either my iPad or my phone. So, I ended up at a diner with the intention of finishing this post, but I got sidetracked. There was a veteran eating with his wife, and I struck up a conversation with them. Though I don’t know the couple’s names, I learned his family had served in the military in various capacities for four generations, starting with WWII.

We began to discuss the rudeness of society and how no one talks to one another anymore. We laughed about how we get in trouble with wives and so much more. I closed my iPad and just enjoyed the conversation. They left and tried to remember the last time I had a decent conversation with a stranger. I remember today’s occurrence wasn’t a rarity but the norm.

For those who know me personally, what I’m saying may shock you. Most of you have never seen me with some sort tech in my hands. I purchased my first mobile device in the early nineties. And now I wish we could un-invent them. Even as I write this post, I have something processing on multiple devices. I started writing code in the mid-eighties. So, I’ve been working with tech in one or another for over 40 years.

I’ve witnessed or been a part of miscommunication issues; it’s ridiculous. Why can’t we just talk to one another?

Below is a bit of prose I wrote over fifteen years ago; I feel it is still relevant today. Especially the closing line, I believe, sums up my feelings on the matter.

Archaic

The pulsing glow fades on your monitor. Closing the door is one’s outlet, portal, or means to escape. Escaping the insanity that is sometimes right outside your front door. Sometimes, sitting right there in your living room, sitting on your couch looking crazy, talking about some “what?”

Thinking back, one would take a walk, read a book, or sip some lemonade while sitting on the front porch. Sitting wondering what the hell your neighbor is wearing or just sitting there letting the night breeze caress you into a calm?

Saddened, we are by the daunting realization that a clever array of ones and zeros now defines our existence. Once complete, syllable vocabulary is reduced to an abbreviation of some unknown order. Deviance is becoming the norm, as the once social norm is fading into a deviant wasteland.

Identities expanded behind hexadecimal veils in fleeting hopes of discovering who we are. All the while, all that is necessary is to stand in front of the mirror facing the face they have come to hate. Yearning for some form of validation of who you are or what you are. Searching for answers that can only be found within ourselves.

If surrendering one’s identity is the price we must pay in the pursuit of progress, then may I forever be archaic.