I have had the experience of losing online connections for several days at a time over the last several years, and I recall in some real clarity each and every situation. I have been developing into an online person (especially in the last 7 years) to the degree that when first confronted with …no connection…I was in a panic. Each time I had a comparable loss of internet connectivity it was less and less painful…
Now I see these experiences as worthwhile (and actually quite valid…on a regular basis!). There is value in disconnecting every once in a while, if 0only to see what life used to be like, to get a sense of proportion about what it is to be continuously connected.
As this link (as associated quote) showcase, the first time is the hardest, and for those who live deeply in the digital zeitgeist (i.e. the crack user-like lifestyles of some Twitter and Facebook devotees) the mere act of disconnecting may be more than I had to deal with…
You see, I use online connectivity to access information more than to connect with specific individuals. If you are one of the modern hyper-connected people out there, a digital detox may be an important experience to take part in.
Kicking the Digital Habit
http://www.digitizd.com/2011/04/25/kicking-the-digital-habit
Jemima Kiss: How I kicked my digital habit
http://www.guardian.co.uk/technology/2011/apr/24/jemima-kiss-twitter-facebook-emails?CMP=twt_gu
We were brushing through wet grass in the early morning when we saw it – a flash of white drifting behind a small patch of trees, backlit by the sun. Crouching down next to my small son, we watched the unmistakable shape of a barn owl until he disappeared into the wood. The look on my son’s face was part of a brief moment of magic, the kind of memory that we live for.
Ordinarily, my next thought would have been to pull out my phone and take a photo, send a tweet or record a video. Connecting is something I do unconsciously now. Tweeting is like breathing and photos and video have documented nearly every day of my 21-month-old son’s life. The meaningful merged with the mundane, all dutifully and habitually recorded – my enjoyment split between that technological impulse and the more delicate human need to be in the moment. This is how we live.
That weekend, however, our whole family – my partner, my son and I – were offline. Swallowtail Hill Farm, in Rye, East Sussex, is a pretty soft option when it comes to a digital detox; a charming small farm with a diverting collection of animals and four vintage tractors. Camping was an easy option for an offline experiment, but there wasn’t much choice outside that for a UK break. High-end hotels in the US are now promoting their offline credentials, from boutique luxury to remote donkey trekking, but the UK has some catching up to do. Anyway, blessed with two days of good weather and some delicious local food, I barely even noticed I wasn’t online.
What I did notice was my partner, Will. If my worst digital habit is incessant tweeting, his is allowing his phone to be the single most disruptive thing in our relationship. Country walks, dinner, bathing our son – no moment is safe from the seemingly irresistible ringing, vibrating, nagging phone that demands – and wins – his attention when he should be enjoying the moment with us. Any objections of mine are swiftly defended by explaining the importance of dealing with that email/text/voicemail now, though it never seems anything that couldn’t wait half an hour. I take equal responsibility for our connectopia – magnetically drawn, as I am, to any screen that can feed my addiction
