When I kept my
cell phone in my bra, I always knew where it was. Now, because of all
the warnings regarding radiation and cancer, I have no idea where it
is. If I even put it in the breast pocket of my jackets, I swear I
can feel the vibration of cancer causing rays seep through the
material into the flesh of my breast. If I store it in my pant's
pocket, well then, a stream of radiation permeates my lower abdomen.
If I keep it in my purse, lo and behold, I just know it will radiate
through the plastic into my hip. So where do I keep it?
Whether it's by
accident or unconscious planning, I keep forgetting it.
And this poses
another set of problems. Because I've become reliant on instant
dialing, I don't have my favorite numbers memorized. Because the cell
phone has a record of my emergency numbers, I don't have them written
on the proverbial piece of paper in my wallet.
Emergency crews
might know my name from my driver's license, but no one will know I
have children, a mother, people who know and love me. Then there's
the stray contacts of people I meet who have expertise I need. Like
the woman who came to one of my book signings who offered her
services as an editor for my second novel. Her email connection died
at the time of the demise of my last Iphone, and the sign-up sheet
from the event got lost during my last two moves.
I keep missing
phone calls because I am 'out and about' and my phone isn't. The
instant conversations of texting is non-existent, and I've lost
opportunities to meet someone for lunch or see a movie. Of course, I
was already away from home and couldn't have joined them, but, hey,
I'm whining here.
Other problems
around my forgetting my Iphone have arisen. In the doctor's office, I
am forced to read magazines because everyone else is texting or
playing games on theirs. One day I was so engrossed in an
article, the nurse, who didn't want to wait til I finished, suggested
I bring the magazine with me. In a different waiting room, I found a
wonderful new recipe plus hints on making additional shelf space in
my kitchen. In another situation, I was drawn into conversation with
a man who wasn't holding the divine device in his hand. We had a
delightful time sharing stories.
While walking
between my home and office, I find I'm smelling the air and any
flower I pass. I pay attention to dogs and cats who seem to have
individual observations on their current state of affairs. I am
exercising my smile muscles at passerbys. I'm noting I feel better
afterwards than when I walked hunched over the tiny screen to read an
incoming email.
What I've
discovered is that there is life without a cell phone. It is a life
of slowing down, connecting more with myself and others. My
experiences have rebooted my priorities and put this instrument back into
its earlier designation as a tool rather than a substitute for
living.
