It's OK: Unplug Yourself
Being Constantly Connected
Won't Necessarily Make Your Life Better
August 4, 2006
JAKARTA, Indonesia -- Sometimes you've got to climb a volcano to escape your email.
I may be an extreme case, but I suspect that it's becoming more and more the norm: an inability to escape the umbilical digital cord provided by email, SMS, online messaging and phones. It's not just the usual clichés about how BlackBerry-type devices have created an always-on, 24/7 workday world where no longer is the onus on the boss to find us, but on us to remain connected. That's bad enough. But for me it's more personal: It's the belated realization that everyone I know assumes I'm always online and available, and plans accordingly. And they're right: I have a device with me that lets me check all of the above, wherever I am. Only on a plane has it not been possible, and with in-flight wireless Internet, even that's no longer true. Always half an ear is cocked for the telltale "ting-ting" of an incoming SMS message.
But this doesn't make our lives any faster or more exciting. While I respond instantly, some of my friends will take several days to do so, especially if there's a public holiday they can fold into another long weekend. Communicating with such people requires taking into account almost 19th-century lags in communication while waiting for them to return from the beach/jungle/cliff face. It's like playing tennis with someone who takes a five-minute break before returning each shot. I offer a Loose Wire Law: Modern communications are only as fast as the slowest link in the chain.
Which is why I found myself recently heaving and wheezing my way up a 3,000-meter-plus volcano on Java called Merbabu, with a group of 21 fanatic hikers. My reasoning, if you can call it that, was that while logically I accepted the futility of being too tied to my communication devices, actually giving them up wasn't quite as easy. I knew I wouldn't be able to turn them off myself, so I had to go where they were useless. That turned out to be above cloud level. Not that things went particularly well: By about 9.30 a.m., three hours after setting out, I had long given up the struggle to keep up with the other stragglers. At one point a team leader, already rested, unpacked and fed on the peak, jauntily skipped past me down the path as I staggered to one side, mentioning he was off to fill up his water bottles again from a spring I had passed at least an hour ago. A few minutes later he was back, whistling and politely hopping over my now-prone body, dangling liter bottles of water from every buckle.
Still, the plan worked. The view was spectacular -- volcanic peaks poking through a bed of cloud, nearby Merapi spewing plumes of ash that coated its slopes like snow. The absence of sound, on one of the world's most densely populated islands, was extraordinary. No birds, no insects, no human voices except the occasional holler of a distant trekker and my own body loudly complaining about the pain it was being put through. And no "ting-ting": My cellphone stopped receiving a signal somewhere around 1,500 meters, which meant no email, no SMS and no calls for nearly four days. This must have been the longest period I've been without them for at least five years, and while the instinct to check remained strong, I didn't miss it all as much as I thought I would. It's amazing how just trying to stay alive pushes aside the itch to see whether anyone has sent you anything interesting.
Of course, there was some technology. We had some walkie-talkies, one of which I was given so I could report on our progress at the back of the group (slow going up -- and slow coming down), and receive regular reports from Dave, one of the leaders ("it gets easier soon"), all of which turned out to be wildly optimistic. We were probably the only people on the planet to sleep through the World Cup third-place playoff and receive the result by walkie-talkie from a local Indonesian Navy marine base.
What lessons did I learn? First, never trust anything your guides and team leaders tell you. They'll say anything to get you to keep walking. Second, being reachable is overrated. I had more than 500 emails awaiting me when I got home, and none really mattered. Friends were a bit upset that for once I wasn't available -- my friend Dean, who makes a living working in war zones, was alarmed enough by my silence to start sending me worried SMS messages, which sadly spoke more about my always-online reputation than his sense of danger-sodden irony.
I'm not going to offer any platitudes about finding the space to turn off in this always-on world. You know that, and you're no doubt better at it than I am. But whereas my advice before would have been that peace of mind comes from knowing that you can at least be reached if need be, perhaps better advice is: Don't let that become an excuse to remain connected. If you are, half an ear will always be listening out for the incoming message, call or email. Let's face it: In an emergency you can be found, more or less anywhere on the planet. So cut as much of the digital cord as you can -- all of it, if you dare.
As I drove back into the metropolis, my legs aching, my feet bruised and blistered, I passed billboard after billboard advertising BlackBerry-type devices offering the reassurance of connectivity. I smiled smugly to myself, knowing there is no such reassurance. But there is a certain peace to be found in turning everything off and listening to the sound of silence. Or at least the sound of one's own body protesting.
不被人找到的感觉真好
有时你不得不爬到火山上去躲避你的电子邮件。
这或许是个极端的事例，但我怀疑它正变得越来越常见：人们无力逃避电子邮件、手机短信、网上留言和语音电话这些数字绳索。这里可不是在重复那些陈词滥调，说什么黑莓之类的通讯装置营造了一个员工全天候待命的工作环境，以往老板在八小时以外找不到员工只能自认倒霉，而现在如果我们不能保证自己随时可被老板联系上就是失职。这当然足够糟糕了，但我的苦恼还要更深一层：现在所有我认识的人都能想当然地认为他们可以随时联系到我，而他们也会毫不犹豫地运用这份便利。这些人是对的：我随身带有一个装置，它使我不论身处何地都能随时察看上述信息。只有坐飞机时这一装置才不能使用，鉴于现在航班上也能以无线方式接入互联网，甚至这一个盲点也消失了。人们现在随时都要竖起一只耳朵，留心手机短信发来时的“叮叮”声。
但这并没有使我们的生活更迅捷、更刺激。 虽然我会立即回复联系我的人，但我的一些朋友却往往要拖上好几天，特别是在公共假日来临的长周末期间。与这样的人联络你要照著19世纪的通讯条件打出富余时间，他们回复你时可能正身处海滩、丛林或绝壁上呢。就像是与这样一个人打网球：你把球打过去他要歇5分钟再将球回过来。我这里要奉上一条数字生活法则：通讯链上最慢一环的速度就是现代通讯的总体速度。
为了验证这一点，我最近呼哧带喘地爬了爪哇岛上那座3,000多米高的默巴布火山，同行的20多人都是登山迷。因为我知道，虽然大可不必过于依赖通讯装置，但要完全对其置之不理却也不是那么容易的。我知道自己无法下决心将这些装置都关掉，所以我不得不到一个它们无法发挥作用的地方去。事实证明这样的地方只有在云层之上才能找到。要做到这点却也不易：到上午9点半时，上路3个多小时的我早已放弃了跟上大部队的打算。这时我们登山队的一个小队长与我不期而遇，此人早已饱览了山顶的美景，现在正一路欢快地顺来路跑下山去，到我一个多小时前经过的一处小溪去打水。仅仅几分钟他又跑上来了，全身满载著灌满了水的瓶子，一路吹著口哨从我身边一擦而过。
不过，我的计划却见效了。山顶的景色真是壮观──厚厚的云层已在脚下，不远处莫拉皮火山喷出的火山灰像一层白雪覆盖在山坡上。在爪哇这座世界上人口密度最大的岛屿上体验无声世界的感觉真的很特别。没有飞鸟，没有昆虫，除了远处一位登山者偶尔发出的叫声和我自己疲惫不堪的身体发出的抱怨声，这里也没有人声。当然也没有“叮叮”声──我的手机在海拔大约1,500米的地方就已收不到信号了，这意味著有近4天的时间我不必受电子邮件、手机短信和电话的打扰。这必定是我至少5年以来摆脱它们时间最长的一次，虽然我想察看这些信息的感觉依然强烈，但这种感觉还没强烈到我所想像的程度。令人吃惊的是，此时此地人的生存本能已经压倒了想看看别人是否发来了有趣消息的欲望。
当然，科技在这里也并非全无身影。我们登山队配备了一些对讲机，我手中的这部专门负责报告落伍队员的行踪，并能定时接收到小队长戴夫的情况通报(“前边的路就好走了”)，事实证明这都是望梅止渴之言。我们可能是世界杯季军决赛当晚唯一睡觉的一批地球人，这场比赛的结果我们是用对讲机从印尼一个海军基地获得的。
我从此行中得到了哪些收获？首先，永远不要相信你的向导或小队长告诉你的任何话。为了使你不停下脚步他们什么都肯说。其次，随时保持能被联系到并非那么重要。当我到家时有500多个电子邮件正等著我回复，其中没有一个是真正重要的。朋友们对我也会有找不到的时候感到有点不知所措──我朋友迪安谋生的地方正沐浴在战火中，但吓著他的却是我突然的音信全无，他不断忧心忡忡地给我发著手机短信，但更多谈论的却是我一呼即复的好名声给毁了。
我不打算讲那些在这个时刻睁著眼的世界上找一处能真正闭眼休息之地的陈词滥调。这方面你比我在行。尽管我前面的建议可能像是说只有知道自己至少在需要的时候可以被找到，心才能安下来，但更好的建议或许是：不要让那成为使自己时刻处于待命状态的借口。如果你这样做，那你的一只耳朵将永远处于警觉状态，时刻准备接收手机短信、电话和电子邮件信息。我们应做到的是：紧急情况下你能被找到──争取在地球上的任何地方。所以尽可能多地将身上的数字绳索砍断吧，如果你够胆量，就全砍断它们。
当我驱车回城时，我双腿生疼，两脚挂彩。路旁一个个宣传黑莓一类通讯装置的广告牌从我身边掠过。我对此报以轻蔑的一笑，心知这个世界上没有可确保人百分之百被联系到的通讯装置。但关掉一切电子设备享受那份寂静确实能给人带来安宁。至少听听自己的喘息声也好啊。
Jeremy Wagstaff
