Addicted, Part 2

I said in my last post (Addicted, November 11) that I would try to exercise control over my internet addiction and not go online before 2 pm each day.

You can guess how long that lasted.

Judging from the amount of feedback I received following that post, I am comforted that there are so many of us in the same boat.

We are slaves to our devices. We know it, but we can't stop. Like the gambler who loves the rush, we get excited when we see mail in our inbox or text messages on our phones. We enjoy searching for answers on Google. I like to look at the weather in our little Italian village and compare it to London, where we are, or Washington and New York, where our daughters are.

Don't laugh.

I received some telling anecdotes about how far this compulsion can go: One friend told me how her husband, preoccupied with his Blackberry, fell into a swimming pool, fully clothed, phone in hand. Accidents can happen to anyone, though, right?

My friend kindly lent him her Blackberry until he could replace his. The next day, focused on her device, he once again fell into the pool, fully clothed, phone in hand.

Another reader sent me a text to say that she and her husband were with another couple having coffee together in New York City. All four of them were on their devices, enjoying a companionable silence while they focused on their phones.

A teacher at a posh school for girls in London confiscates the phones of students if they try to use them in her class. She has to hand them back when the school day ends. Otherwise parents become frantic with worry if their daughters do not immediately respond to their calls or texts. The teacher admits to a bit of phone envy as most of the girls have smartphones and she doesn't.

Side note: There is a video circulating that shows a teacher in Thailand confiscating a student's cell phone and smashing in on the floor. In Asia, where teachers are held in highest esteem, she had no fear of the consequences of her actions. Teachers elsewhere might fear for their lives, or at least a lawsuit.

One friend was relieved that her computer was down for several days because she accomplished more without its distractions.

Still another reader told me she stopped using the internet altogether after developing a serious blood clot in her leg from sitting for hours in front of her computer.

I have a slight fear that device addiction can lead to isolation. We don't need to leave the house for much anymore. We can do online banking. Many of us can work from home. Groceries can be ordered online. Who needs to go shopping for clothing or gifts when it is so easy to browse and order on the internet? We make our own travel arrangements. We can even attend university online. We are able to exercise at home by plugging in exercise DVDs or Wii-Fit. We don't need to talk to our friends because we can interact online.

All of this is wonderfully convenient, and I partake in it with enthusiasm, but is it good for us?

Since getting old is a fate in store for all of us, I am interested in why some elderly people do well while others decline and withdraw from life. If there is a serious illness and/or physical/mental disability involved, that is of course another story, not for this post.

My un-scientific conclusions: Those who do well seem to maintain their sociability. They have friends in all age groups. They leave the house every day. They belong to something, like a club or church. They stay on top of the events of the day and have an interest in learning new things. They exercise every day, walking or at a gym, where they see other people.

They have learned to use the internet to maintain contact with friends and family, or to find old acquaintances. It doesn't go much further, though. They still go out to shop, bank, socialize. They turn their devices off.

Are we addicts in danger of becoming anti-social loners? Even in a roomful of people, it is easy to tune everyone else out while we focus on our little screens. You may have read about the mother who shook her infant to death for interrupting her online game.

It is something to think about.

While I am thinking about it, I am also likely to continue indulging my addiction.

My latest effort at containment is this: I will allow myself no more than one hour on the computer in the morning to read the news and check emails. I will then put the computer away and not look again until after 2 p.m. (phone texts excluded).

That's my plan and I'm sticking to it.

Or maybe I will just try it out and see how it goes.

Addicted

Do any of you have a quiet addiction? Is there something you really must have every day or you feel deprived, unfinished? Have you tried to control your compulsion to whatever it is only to find that you can't?

With the exception of really good coffee, I've always asserted that I do not have an addictive personality. There are things I love and would hate to do without, like gelato, chocolate, pasta, and a Coca Cola Classic over crushed ice with lime, but I could if I had to.

I now have to admit that I have a serious addiction beyond coffee. I bet some of you reading this have the same one.

Does the following routine sound familiar?

You get up, check your iPhone/Android/Blackberry for text messages sent during the night, turn on your computer, get dressed for the day, make your coffee, check your email messages from more than one address, answer those that need a reply right away.

If you don't have a Smartphone that makes everything available to you anywhere and at anytime, you scan several news sources on your computer to find out what's going on in the world (NYT, CNN, Washington Post, Huffington Post, BBC, more...) before dashing out the door for work, class, errands.

On your way, you check your phone (and let's face it, yours is probably a smart one) several times for messages, answers to the emails you sent just ten minutes ago, Facebook updates, and WebMD to see if you should be concerned about the pain in your knee.

In the office or class or wherever you are, your phone and the outside world are only a glance away. It reassures you. Some of you spend the day doing legitimate work on the computer. There are books to write, reports due, stats to check, tele-conferences, finances to tend to, travel arrangements to be made, questions to answer, spreadsheets to work on and review.

Throughout the day your friends send you links to articles you have already read, but you appreciate that they are thinking of you. Texts come in saying "hi" or "just got up, feel terrible today." You are pleased that you were on their minds and write back, "hi," or "sorry."

Your phone or computer alerts you to more emails, so you read those and respond. You browse to see if anything new has happened in the world since you checked an hour ago. Then someone is sending you an IM. You chat for a bit. Oops -- now someone is trying to SKYPE. Do you look okay for the built-in camera? You need to research something, so you google it.

Some of you find this familiar. Come on. Admit it. Many of you do. You know you feel panicked if you leave your cell phone at home. You will even turn around and go back for it, afraid to miss anything. Let's face it: we're addicted.

It wasn't always this way.

When John bought his first computer in the early '80's, I was appalled at how much time he spent on it. For some years I referred to it as his mistress. Now he says I spend too much time on mine. The truth is, we often sit side by side in our own computer worlds for hours at a time. We read out loud to each other or tell the other to check out a particular site.

Our daughter once brought a friend home for the weekend who appeared at breakfast with a computer. I remember thinking it was odd. It was not a formal breakfast, but the kind where members of the family sit around drinking coffee, chatting and reading the newspapers. Except who reads papers anymore, except on the internet?

While out to dinner I used to be disturbed if a friend checked his/her phone for messages. Now I find most of us sit down and put our phones right next to our forks. Who knows when one might need to google or respond to a call?

For many, there is something comforting about being connected all the time. The author Jonathan Carroll once wrote, "I like receiving texts on my phone. It's like carrying that person around in my pocket."

Since we live in England and most of our families and best friends do not, that struck a chord with me. I don't feel isolated knowing we are all a text/chat/SKYPE/phone call away.

But still...don't you find that web addiction takes up too much time? Hours can pass while you are wired up and you don't even notice it. That cannot be a good thing (unless you are at an airport and your flight is delayed for six hours).

I realized the gravity of my addiction when a friend told me she was having a really bad day. She had lost her cell phone and her husband had left the day before to cover the war in Afghanistan. My response: "Oh, no! You lost your cell phone?!"

Something has to be done. I need to discipline myself. I am going to start by resolving not to look at anything on my computer until after 3 pm each day. Okay, make that 2 pm.

Behind the Mask

I was standing in the condiments section of Waitrose grocery in London, trying to determine what "scrumpy" meant, and whether or not I wanted scrumpy cider in my applesauce, when I became aware of someone standing close to me. I looked down to see a pair of Nikes and red flannel material decorated with Curious George monkeys. Pajamas. They were mostly covered by the long black abaya worn by devout Muslim women.

I've often thought that the abaya is rather convenient if you don't feel like getting dressed, and here was the proof.

I turned to see her face and was jolted to find that I could not. On the streets of London one becomes used to the hidjab, the head covering that leaves the face visible. I am still startled to see the face covering that leaves only the eyes apparent, but I can handle it.

This woman's face was covered entirely with a black veil. I could see nothing but cloth. Maybe I should have asked her if she needed help finding something on the shelf (how could she see?), but my first reaction was fear.

Is this unusual?

Are any of us truly comfortable when we cannot see the face of the human being in front of us? We might attend a costumed Carnival or Halloween party, entirely in the festive mood, masked ourselves, and still find it disconcerting to talk to another masked face. Or is it just me?

This woman was a black apparition in the aisles of Waitrose. Those monkey pajamas suggested she had a sense of humor and that eased my discomfort. But thoughts can't always be controlled and it crossed my mind that she (or maybe he?) could be a suicide bomber right there in the aisle with the scrumpy cider applesauce.

Would it have crossed your mind, too?

In the States recently journalist Juan Williams was fired from National Public Radio (NPR) for saying he felt uncomfortable when he encountered what appeared to be an extremist Muslim on the plane with him.

In airports right after September 11, the fear he spoke of was palpable, and traditionally-garbed Arabs were regarded suspiciously. Some travelers refused to get on planes with them. It was ironic because those who perpetrated the attack had taken pains to appear as Western as possible.

Even the most rational person can let fear make them irrational.

It is a comfort to me that our many Muslim friends have the same reactions I do to coming face to face (or should I say face to cloth?) with something none of us understands. They dislike the extremist wing of Islam as much as many of us dislike extreme Christian fundamentalism or ultra-conservative Judaism.

I am not sure any extremist group cares whether they are understood or not, though. If we're not with them, we are against them. Maybe that irrational attitude makes us have irrational fears when we encounter them.

Meanwhile, I've been thinking I might have tried to look beyond the veil and asked the woman next to me in Waitrose if she knew what scrumpy cider was and whether applesauce was better with or without it.

Rationality has to start somewhere.