Technology in my pocket

One of the most obvious manifestations of my modern-day inner conflict is my relationship with technology. I really am not a jump-on-the-bandwagon, always wanting the next-best-thing, upgrading-just-because-I-can type person. My approach to the panoply of gadgets with which our consumer society controls us is much more convoluted.

Take my recently-acquired smartphone, for example. I resisted for what I’d like to think was a respectable amount of time. I waited until my existing mobile was at least a little on the blink (well, it crashed a couple of times). I didn’t go for the latest, greatest addition to the market, but spent many agonizing hours circling around online comparison sites and reviews to choose a model and subscription that met my “needs” without being too flash. It seemed like almost everyone around me had a smartphone; surely I was missing something? A smartphone could save time, I could work during the morning commute, it would make me more efficient; in short, I succeeded in convincing myself that I needed one.

So now I have joined the ranks of those travellers who seem unable to function without their smartphone glued to a palm on the tram. We check emails we would be able to check more easily on our office computers in fifteen minutes’ time; we waste precious MB on Facebook; we play 101 variations of Solitaire; we ruin our eyes peering at e-book applications (because, of course, it is far too inconvenient to also carry a book). A journey without a multitasking phone seems like such a waste of time, and interminably boring.

Then I arrive at my destination, elbow my way off the tram, and shove my phone, often together with my ipod, into the dodgy pocket of my winter coat, worn and somewhat scruffy because I tell myself I can’t afford a new one. To this technology-fest add the laptop computer in my bag (which I can currently justify as being work-issue), and often an external hard drive and flash drive or two. The sheer volume of wiring, rare earth metals and memory space about my not-terribly-well-dressed person on an average day is, when I think about it, rather terrifying and abhorrent. And yet it all seems so necessary and normal.

I know, yet I am fooled. I am aware, yet I am ignorant. I feel the fear, but I am obviously not afraid enough - yet.