The Up Side Attack of the Shadow People : : by Michael Grady
O
K, I’m going to sound old now. I’ve been trying to avoid this. There’s a subtle self-consciousness that settles over you once you reach the far side of 40: “Don’t say anything that betrays your age,” it tells you, “Don’t gripe about progress. Don’t lament the current era or compare it with a previous one. Don’t complain about new-fangled inventions and don’t EVER use the word ‘newfangled.’” You don’t want to be perceived as a geezer. Because, once you are, there’s no going back. Break off a single, “In my day…” and perceptually, people put you over by the pickle barrel with a checkerboard, a spittoon, and a pinch of tobacky. That’s why many of us middle-aged folk choose our observations carefully. We accept popular culture’s neverending and infantile obsession with superhero movies and video games. We pretend not to notice the Grammy Awards are now weird enough to resemble the “Star Wars” cantina. We accept the emergence of reality stars and the odd cable show-public disgracegossip magazine eco-system they live in—because, these are just societal trends. They come and go. And, as long as “Seinfeld” is in reruns, who cares? But when a societal trend almost crushes you, you realize the label of “old” isn’t really so bad if the only other choice is “dead.” Let me hitch up my geezer pants and explain: The other day, I was driving down the highway when, for some unknown reason, the car in the adjacent lane seemed intent on killing me. We’ve all experienced this, to some degree: the mystery car, shouldering ever-closer; crossing the white line—forcing you to weave and swear and cozy up to the howling 18-wheeler on the other side. And suddenly a routine errand has become the chariot race from “BenHur.” So you manage to cheat death with a defensive maneuver or two. Then, when you pass the offending driver and you look across, what do you see? Not the apologetic wave of shame. No circumstantial explanation—like
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a wobbly steering wheel or a badger loose in the vehicle. No, this driver is on the phone. This person, unrepentant and unaware, is still absorbed in the conversation that almost killed you. Why are people allowed to talk and text on their phones when they drive? If getting behind the wheel with three vodkas in your bloodstream is a crime, why is driving one-handed, with an interactive distraction in the other, a good idea? Is this Natural Selection at work? Did nature create cell phones and texting as a way for our species to thin its own herd? Or did God just say, “People drive too well, now. They need more of a challenge”? I’m all for progress and mobile access and the “American Way” and whatever. But I don’t want to end up in the morgue, the victim of a phone-happy teenager, who died between choruses of: “You hang up!” and “No, you hang up!” Twice in one year, my wife was hit by drivers who were talking or texting at the time. On the second occasion, the driver got out of his car and actually told the cop: “Sorry, I just got this new phone and I was texting.” And the cop, utterly used to this phenomenon, asked him what kind of phone he got. What the hell? I don’t believe in the death penalty. But I do believe in poetic justice. And I think distracted drivers who cause accidents should be required to undergo some kind of invasive medical procedure while their surgeon trolls for kitten pictures on the Internet. Forget the blinding stupidity behind phoning and driving. Forget that future generations will look back on us as morons. (“You texted while driving?” They’ll ask. “Why not juggle while you were at it?”) They will regard us the same way we look at those who bled the sick with leeches, drove without seatbelts and smoked cigarettes as a “pick-me-up”—distracted drivers are the most dangerous expression of a societal trend that I find destructive and sad. We see it every time a phone caller breezes through a checkout line without so much as a word to the cashier. We
see it in restaurants, when two people sit down to eat and then one or both of them takes calls at the table. I see it every time parents glance away from their children to read or send a text. We are subdividing our focus so much, we are becoming a race of halfattentive shadow people. Technology now allows us to act with the powers of multiple people: we can sit at our desks at work, talking on the phone to clients across town as we email a colleague in another continent and scroll for shoes on Amazon to the music of a composer who died centuries ago. We have the capacity of being in so many places at once that we inhabit none of them fully. While this is tremendously attractive from a time management standpoint—and it really rocks your to-do list—it does have its long-term drawbacks. Very few of us are Einsteins in the first place. Even if you get my full attention, you’re not going to twitch under all that crackling cerebral wattage. But then, if you cut my attention in half—give me two tasks, a live conversation and a TV screen to follow—do you think I am more or less effective? (Ask my wife this question any time she’s talking and Paul Goldschmidt is at bat.) Halve it again: add a crawler on the TV screen; add a child in the background. Suddenly, your consciousness is playing a prevent defense, and it’s all you can do to keep up with the stimulus in front of you— let alone think about it. People spend
their days this way. People operate heavy machinery this way. People sit in boardrooms and make decisions this way. (Which, I believe, is the only reason why “American Idol” is still on the air.) The problem isn’t so much what we do (although I’m convinced the superficial sound bite politicians we elect depend upon our short attention spans) it’s what we miss: I wonder what if our critical thinking skills, creative problem-solving and literacy rates will suffer because we’re so busy walking into mall fountains as we scroll for the latest Grumpy Cat post. I know, as far as society goes, the multitasking toothpaste is pretty much out of the tube. We’re never going to go back to mud huts, where we live like shamans and watch grass grow. But the really powerful moments in life only come when we are fullyfocused on something, and we can’t lose the ability to do that. I want my grandsons to be able to contemplate the stars and their significance without wondering what’s on their Twitter feed. And I hope we carve out time to cultivate quiet for the solitary exercises that feed our souls: things like reasoning, contemplation, appreciation… And driving. Those of us who survived the “Me Generation” don’t want to be casualties of the “Huh? What?” Generation. Michael Grady is a Valley-based freelance writer, reporter and playwright. NOW A CCEPTING M EDISUN, SCAN, AVESIS EYEMED, UNITED HEALTH CARE, B LUE CROSS B LUE SHIELD, A ETNA, H EALTHNET AND MANY MORE.
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February 2014 : : Lovin’ Life After 50 : : page 7