Technology is great. It's what makes it possible for me to check (ranked in order of importance) the weather, my email, the latest news about Britney's shaved head, world affairs and US politics. Anyone who knows me knows that I'm an avid technologist. I'm nuts about it, to be honest. I recently slipped on some ice and very painfully blew out my knee fracturing my patella. I was frustrated and crabby because of my inherent lack of mobility but excited about the prospect of having an MRI.
Huh? Excited about being strapped to a gurney and drawn into a ridiculously huge magnet so images can be taken of my leg's insides by magnetic resonance? Something is clearly way off kilter here. Don't get me wrong, MRI's are really cool machines, but the fact that this excited me was troubling. As I lay perfectly still in the machine for forty minutes trying very, very hard not to budge my leg even a tiny fraction of an inch for fear of blurring the detailed image which would force another forty minute session it hit me: as impressive as MRI technology is, the experience was nevertheless lackluster. See, lately I've been feeling what can be best described as technology fatigue. Imagine eating chocolate cake with extra frosting for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Good, delicious at first, but tiresome after a while. My appetite for gadgets, the latest software and the best computer hardware is showing some early signs of waning. I wanted the technological nutritional equivalent of asparagus and broccoli, but regardless of what high tech toys I researched, daydreamed about and used day after day, I just couldn't seem to satisfy the craving. That's not to say I want to heave my computers, iPod and mobile phone out the window any time soon. No, it means I'm starting to realize that I want to connect to something that doesn't require a power outlet, rechargeable batteries or a built in WiFi antenna; something that existed way before I ever did.
Something that existed way before any of us did.
So, with these thoughts in mind I opened my mind to all possibilities. Saturday night Paula and I were deep in conversation while we lounged in the living room with one of my favorite programs playing in the background on TV -- "Sunrise Earth". As good as the conversation was, I was drawn to the crisp, high definition images on the screen. This week's one hour episode was video shot of the sunrise over Yosemite. Part of the show's appeal is the minimalist visual editing and superb sound reproduction. Most of us are accustomed to being assaulted within seconds of pressing the power button of our TV remotes by blaring ads, booming voices of announcers, and strobe-like graphics selling us everything from the latest toothpaste brand to sound bite politics to the truly unreal: reality TV. Sunrise Earth in contrast is far more simple -- the producers position a few video cameras in remote natural locations and press record (via satellite uplink a thousand miles away) while it's still dark, an hour before sunrise. They have sensitive pro-grade sound recording equipment set up to record the sounds of nature -- the distant roar of a waterfall, the morning songs of birds, the rustle of wind through leaves, the clicking and faint buzzing of insects. At the end of the hour, viewers get a sense of what it's like to wake up in Yosemite, watching the sun rise with no human beings around for miles and miles. Watching on a big screen in high definition, it was almost like being there.
Almost.
What occurred to me is that while I was drawn to the idea of being still and experiencing the awesome grandeur of nature minus the ubiquitous cell phone ring tone chirps, beeps, buzzes and other sounds that connect us electronically and wirelessly with the rest of our fellow human beings, I was nevertheless far from any semblance of true nature. I realized that I long, even yearn to be connected, if even for a few days, to nature and disconnected from all technology. For a guy who dedicated his little blog to the joys, pleasures and blissful wonder of technology, this was tantamount to blasphemy. It was also a genuine leap of faith just to think the thought.
After sleeping on this idea for a couple of days, I'm now seriously considering taking a true vacation when the weather is warmer. This vacation won't be my usual affair consisting of hotel rooms, night life, rental cars, swimming pools, or even the powdery sand of a public beach or sparkling deck of a state of the art cruise ship. No, instead, I want to disappear into nature. I want to see the sky the way it was a thousand years ago; scratch that -- a million years ago. I want to eat, drink, sleep and live for at least a few days away from everyone, and every thing that fills up my days.
Okay, okay. I can probably guess what you're thinking -- "Yea, right. No technology for a whole week? That'll last about two hours." Truth be told I will be leveraging the convenience of at least a few pieces of rudimentary technology, like a decent tent and sleeping bag, and maybe my hand held GPS unit in case I'm truly lost. I'm not a glutton for punishment, after all. But the spirit of my pilgrimage (which is, come to think of it, a far more fitting adjective than vacation) will be to connect with nature, to the Earth, which I hope will through some sort of natural metaphysical osmosis help me to connect to myself, if that makes any sense at all.
I don't know at this point when or where I'll end up, but I do know that it will happen, I can feel it. And when I return, I'm confident I'll be eager to fire up my cornucopia of technological wizardry and write all about it here on my blog.