It was an odd sound — a strange one. One I had not heard on a run in quite a while.
The sound? Silence. Or should I say natural noise. Sounds of the world going round and not drowned out by the tunes from my trusty iPod.
I’m not an iPod addict like some people, but it has become a running staple for me the last couple of years — as common as running shoes or my frequent cursing as I try to loosen up during the first mile.
Only, one of the speakers has started kicking out sounds like a chain saw revving in my ear. Thompson sweat can penetrate a hermetically-sealed chamber, and I think mine fried the earbud. I’ve been borrowing my wife’s, but I’m starting to feel guilty seeing as how I’m sweatier, dirtier and smellier. Why is it women could roll in garbage, live with pigs, swear off bathing for weeks and still beat us men even after we’ve showered.
I come back from a run and apologetically hand her sopping-wet ear pieces that are dangling from wires like soggy fish. “Here you go, honey. I’m all done,” I say. She takes them out back with rubber gloves and hoses them down.
So this day I decided not to gunk up her pair and instead did the unthinkable: I ran without music. And I have to tell you … it was rather nice. It was invigorating. It was like I was experiencing all of my senses again. I felt like I wasn’t tuning out the world, but instead tuning in. All the sounds! I heard basketballs bouncing on a nearby court, chickens clucking while roaming a yard, birds chirping, a big bubba truck rumbling by and children playing. How glorious.
It started occurring to me we’re becoming too “connected.” Too dependent upon our devices. Too much slaves to our own technology.
Not an hour before I was at work, thrilled with myself for having whittled down the dozens upon dozens of e-mails in my inbox to a mere nine. “I’m a god!” I shouted … just as a new one popped in, dashing my dream and beginning again the endless cycle of electronic messages that would soon back up on my computer for miles. We live to delete e-mail.
I have three e-mail accounts right now, and check my University of Missouri student account every 20 minutes in hopes that I will receive word from my adviser that my thesis is OK.
I hear from long, lost friends on Facebook, converse with my contractor by cell phone as he nails plywood to my addition, and search out bathroom fans on the Internet with my spare time. I check English soccer scores. I watch videos online. I even videoconference over the Internet with a graphic designer I work with who lives in Nicaragua.
But do I stop and smell the roses anymore? Yes, luckily, I somehow still find the time. But maybe not enough. Maybe not as often as I should.
Technology has become something of a trap for us. It suckers us in and keeps us plugged to it. I was thinking about this on the walk home for lunch the other day. I was tempted to pull out the cell phone and make a call. In fact, I had already flipped it open and was about to dial when a little voice in my head snapped at me: “Hey, stupid, it’s a beautiful day. The sky is the color blue that no computer screen could ever render, you couldn’t describe the temperature by e-mail, and you sure couldn’t experience the sounds through the static of a cell phone or an iPod. Enjoy this right here; right now.”
It was a “seize the day” moment, or maybe a “banish the technology” moment. I slipped the phone back into my pocket and finished my trek totally disconnected, immersed only in the world around me. The trees. The squirrels. The clouds. Even the garbage in the street. It was great, just like it had been on my run.
I’m sure I’ll get a new pair of earbuds soon enough and I’ll be back to music while running. But I’m going to try to leave the iPod home once in a while. Too much stuff I’m missing. Too many other things I need to hear.