Every action has a price. Most of the time the price is small and easy to overlook. At times chance and providence provide enough light to see the bigger costs. Riding, at it’s best, presents me an opportunity to see the world free of the chaos and illusion I create or find myself wading neck deep. On the road, even on a morning ride to work, the wind and the sound of the road can strip away the noise in my head and leave me breathless at the miracle of being alive.
Standing before Mount Nittany, watching the horses graze, tails slapping at the morning flies, watching the warm light lick across the tall corn I’m aware of how fleeting all this is. Behind me the morning commuter traffic roars by on the expressway with cars and trucks bent on getting things done.
Getting Things Done. A war cry in the business world and a phrase of near cult status among aficionados of achievement, success and Stephen Coveyites. I’ve pursued some form of this myself as I struggle to make better and more efficient use of my time and energy at work.
Just a couple weeks ago while riding into work on a particularly quiet, empty morning I could not help but notice how my mind raced around a problem at work, lighting for an instant on a solution before darting to another much as a hummingbird moves from flower to flower.
The idea of getting things done is seductive and the tools to plug in, connect and stay engaged are many. And behold, late in the evening last week, while barely able to keep my eyes open I found myself sitting on the bed, iPhone in hand, answering email, checking my calendar, adding notes to a Google Doc, and Tweeting a picture of my Vespa. I was getting things done. I was also torturing myself in ways I could not fully appreciate.
Nothing like a choppy, impatient brain to reek havoc on one’s ability to focus on complex problems, write, or make sense of chaos. With the iPhone sitting on my desk, bristling with data and information just an arms length away, I knew it had to go.
And so it has as I upgraded to a feature phone that is, well, a phone. And it can receive text messages or create them with mind numbing slowness that only a numeric keypad can engender. No more Camera+ or TweetDeck. No more checking email with addictive frequency or browsing the web at ever spare moment. I’ve taken back my brain so I can use for the things that I am valued for and not apply it to a kind of simulated feeling of accomplishment that can come from being plugged into an endless supply of data and information.
The result has seen the chaos in my head evaporate. And that which does appear is the result of real problems rather than artificially created through the misuse of a device promising convenience but delivering to me something different.
On the road I am careful of my choices as a rider. Seems only right to apply that to the rest of my life.
And perhaps there is a subconscious recognition of the danger of too much information when I recently responded to the familiar inquiry of “If you were going to buy a motorcycle today which one would you get?” with the words “Triumph Scrambler.”
A simple, functional machine that makes my Vespa seem overloaded with data outputs. No tachometer, fuel gauge, or much of anything. I’ve been riding one recently and have fallen in love. I suppose it’s no coincidence that the bike is a model of simplicity.
I know the iPhone and other devices of convenience aren’t a problem for everyone but for me, they hobble my abilities to think, write, photograph or wrap my head around large, complex problems. The price of ownership and use is just too high.
Later today I will purchase a paper calendar to keep in my pocket.
