I was recently having a conversation with an older male relative of mine. I don't remember what we were discussing, but I remembered something relevant that I had heard on a podcast while walking the dog.
My relative stopped me. "Wait, how were you walking the dog and listening to that?" It was a program from NPR, but I had downloaded the podcast so I could listen while away from the internet. "And so you did this while walking the dog?"
"Uh, yeah. It's great!"
"So you're one of those people walking around, oblivious to the world, with your ear buds in?"
No, actually. I'm pretty aware of what's going on around me, especially while listening to podcasts because they don't block out surrounding noise like music will. I don't take my iPod every time I take the dog out, but it can be a great escape sometimes. I explained this to him.
He doesn't like the idea of everyone walking around, absorbed in their own worlds. He likes to talk to people while walking his dog. It helps him meet his neighbors, meet interesting people at the dog park, etc. He rides the bus to work, and he knows all the regulars on the bus as well. His conclusion was that iPods and smart phones keep people disconnected from the world directly around them, even while connecting them to the greater world. In conclusion, iPods were just another part of the new digital world that disconnects us from reality.
I was... annoyed. Annoyed that he disapproved of me listening to music or a podcast now and then while walking my dog. Annoyed that this somehow was an indictment on my whole generation. I spend many hours a week out with my dog, but I probably only take my iPod 10% of the time. I don't take it to the dog park - too much going on. I started to justify myself, but I didn't really know what to say, and so we got back to the subject at hand.
*****
But I keep thinking about this, and I know what I wanted to say: there is no right way for everyone to walk around or ride the bus, or wrong way, just different ways.
This male relative of mine shares an office with one other person, someone who isn't even there all the time. He lives alone. He sees his time on the bus as a good time to socialize, and his dog walks as a great time to catch up with the neighbors and meet new people, especially new people who also have and love dogs.
I share an office with 8 other people. I answer the phones for two doctors. I interact face-to-face with hundreds of people a week. My desk in right inside our front door, and in the middle of all of my co-workers offices. I'm relatively extroverted, and yet this job can sap so much of my energy from dealing with other people that I often find myself feeling very introverted all weekend long.
So I need that alone time, that me time.
Yesterday, I took a long lunch after a very frustrating morning at work, and the dog and I walked for an hour, me listening to my iPod, her enjoying all the snow we've had. At one point, I saw a man approaching on the trail with a young, excited dog. I also have a young, excited dog, and I know how it can be a pain to interact with like-dogs while on the leash. Usually, I pause my iPod and take out my ear buds to let the other person know I'm paying attention, and to get a couple of words in while we try to pass each other without becoming hopelessly entangled in leashes. This time, I stepped about ten feet up a side trail and waited for them to pass, then we continued on our way. I thought about how my male relative would find this to be terribly sad behavior. It would prove his point: That modern technology only serves to separate and alienate ourselves from others.
But oh how I just really need some quiet time sometimes. Often, my lunch walk with dog is the only time of day I get to myself. No phones ringing, patients coming and going, pets yowling for dinner, husbands yowling for dinner, dishes that need doing, carpet that needs vacuuming, laundry that needs washing... I don't just sit on the couch with my ear buds in to catch up on my favorite podcast; I like to do that while also getting some air and exercise. And I need that time. And I deserve it. He and I are living very different lives, especially when it comes to our work lives.
Maybe we should trade jobs for a week, and then he can see what it's like to spend 40 hours a week talking, seeing, and caring for hundreds of other people, sitting in the middle of a very busy office, often eating lunch at your desk under the gaze of others.
I think he'd like to have some alone time, too.
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