Unplugged

By G. E. Shuman

     I've been thinking lately, and more and more often as the days pass, about what it would mean for a person to be “unplugged.” The idea of being unplugged, to me, is not one of being taken off the power grid, and to rely on wind mills, solar cells, or water wheels to provide my electricity, as some in our area have done. Those people take great pride in the fact that they are 'off the grid'. To me, that's their business, but not a big deal. They still have power, and may still hunker down around their various screens every single day. No, to me, to be unplugged would mean to be disconnected from those screens, and intentionally cut off from all the interconnected, interfering, meddling, identity-permeating 'stuff' that being on the grid has graciously provided for us. It would mean accomplishing the much braver act of pulling the plug on things like email, television, and, as impossible as this might seem, cutting the cord from the increasingly omni-present 'god' of the electronic world, the internet. It would certainly mean the elimination of the newly-discovered face of that 'god', face book, itself.

     For some, but not all of us older adults, the idea of getting off the information grid would actually be a relief from some of life's complication, at a time when we feel the great need to un-complicate. For some of our kids and grand kids that idea would be simply absurd. To them, there is little more important in life than maintaining contact with their 'twelve hundred friends', online. That, to some of us, is what is absurd. (By the way, no one has twelve hundred friends.) I have been chuckled at, and seen the grimacing faces of some of my own children, at any mention I might make of not being 'into' social networking. Kids, just so ya know... being treated as some bony old object in a Jurassic-period museum display is uncomfortable, especially when the ones you are teasing still see you as the little, drooling, diaper-dirtiers you were about five minutes ago. Also, don't blame us older folks when you look up from your screen someday and realize that you just spent your allotted eighty years without ever looking out a window.

     An elderly uncle of ours recently died. We didn't even know about this, until days after the funeral, because, well, it was announced on face book, and we didn't see it. Because of this I have, seriously, asked my own kids to not note my passing in that way. If you hear that I have recently assumed room temperature, just call around, like people used to do. I think that missing a family picnic because you missed seeing a face book post is not a big deal. Missing the funeral of a loved one because you're not online all the time is tragic. It really makes me wonder what our society is becoming. Admittedly, I'm sure there was a time, not so long ago, when making a phone call to deliver bad news was also considered less than proper by some. After all, with a phone call, you're not present to see the person's face, to give them a hug, to comfort them. I guess this is all relative, to our older and younger relatives.

     I am not unplugged, and am not sure it would even be possible for me to be so. But, as you have just read, I have given the idea some thought. In some ways, that thought is a very appealing one to me. It would mean that the people, my real friends, who wanted to talk with me would have to come and visit me. That would be nice... an actual three-dimensional visit with a real person, with a voice, and intonation in that voice, and expressions, and hugs, and handshakes, instead of abbreviated words in texted messages. (LOL). It would also mean that the friends and relatives who never call me would still not do so, so... not much would really change there. It would mean that news would travel slower, but since most news is bad news, I could live with slower. I would not have TV, or even be able to send this column, electronically, to the paper. I would just have to be happy with reading the classics, writing more books myself, and visiting my favorite newspaper office in person. I wonder how terrible all of that would be.

     Someday, when I am gone, I hope that people remember me for who I was to them, not for what my screen name reminded them of. If I suddenly disappear from the electronic world, it will be more evident to some people than to others. You will know, if you know me well, exactly what happened. If not, you may have to wonder if I am truly gone, or if I have simply become unplu----.