Alan Liere: Taking a permanent break from cell phones
Several years back, I had to cancel a long-anticipated bucket list elk hunting trip because my step-daughter and her fiancée decided at the last minute it would be a fine idea to get married in the fall in Las Vegas.
Reluctantly, I unpacked my camo and packed my suit coat so I could attend the wedding ceremony at the quaint little Chapel of Love and Eternal Optimism on the Vegas strip.
Following the ceremony, bride, groom, attendants and guests hopped cabs for a private casino dining room and after first investing several dollars in a chapel slot machine, I hailed one myself. When I got to the casino, I walked into a bluish-white lit room in the back.
I expected the guests and attendants would be interacting happily with the newlyweds, but I was wrong.
The room was silent, and everyone – bride and groom included – were staring at their cell phones. I was incensed. What, I thought, is more important on this day than what is happening right here, right now? When I got home, I threw my cell phone in the junk drawer and have not used one since.
It is mind-boggling to me that so much of American society will tear at their pockets and jeopardize their safety to answer a ringing cell phone. Tossing mine has been liberating. No longer am I contacted by people I do not want to talk to, at times and in places I do not want to talk.
“But what if there’s an emergency on the way to one of those god-forsaken hunting or fishing spots you’re so fond of?” my sister asks me incredulously. “What if you break down on a lonely back road in the middle of an arctic freeze?
“I’ve met a lot of really fine people during life-threatening situations,” I tell her. “Adversity binds humanity. And what good is a life that is always safe, sterile, and predictable?
How can there be an adventure without risk, and how can there be risk with cell phones?” Okay – I didn’t really say that – much too eloquent. What I said was, “Get a life, Sis!”
My sister can’t imagine how good it feels to be casting a streamer on a wild river without worrying about anything except whether I should change patterns. If the wheels are coming off somewhere in civilization, I’d just as soon not hear about it until I get home.
Remember how little kids say, “Me do.”? It is an innate human desire to take responsibility for your own actions.
In some ways, a cell phone circumvents this process by making security just a call away.
My friend, Lester, evidently doesn’t mind being so dependent. On extended hunting trips, Lester calls his children and grandchildren every day.
He makes me want to mangle his options when we are on a snow goose hunt in South Dakota and he is calling from our motel room late at night and getting all animated and talking baby talk, and trying to solve everyone’s problems.
And so, I carry on with no concern for the disbelieving silence when people say “If you can’t find my house, call me on your cell and I’ll talk you in” and I tell them I don’t have a cell.
Life is a lot more exciting when you can get lost now and then.