For many years, I felt like an undercover member of one of those fringe groups that abhor modern technology and commit themselves to a life that’s free of its intrusions and deceptive conveniences. I had a love-hate relationship with most of the appliances and gadgets I owned and often found myself wishing that everyone would gather all of their devices and toss them in the rubbish. No more computers or TVs or iPods or mobile phones. I believed society would be better off if it were done with anything and everything that had a remote control or a battery that needed charging or changing. When I tried to envision life without any of those types of inventions, though, it was not at all appealing. I realised how dependent I was on technology. The very idea of writing my essays longhand or pecking out an entire manuscript on a manual typewriter would bring on a panic attack. Still, I did feel—and continue to feel—quite strongly that if we don’t take care, modern technology has the potential to destroy some of our most basic relationships and sacred intimacies. Here’s a fact that people should not only know, but regularly embrace: technology is here for you; you are not here for it. You don’t have to answer your phone every time it rings or respond to every text message or email right away. Because of the speed with which systems now operate we’ve suddenly developed this sense that everything needs to be done with immediate effect. It doesn’t. If, like me, you’ve ever hit the send button on an email only to realise, much to your horror, that you maybe shouldn’t have written back in the “heat of the moment” or that—gasp!—you’ve clicked the wrong button and that private message is being sent to your entire address list, then you understand the value of taking time. And since I’m on the topic of emails… The wonderful thing about email is that it can be sent anytime of the day or night; the terrible thing about email is that because of this, you often feel you have to respond when you get a message, even if you’re on vacation, sitting in the audience during your child’s school performance, or in the midst of a romantic dinner date. Why? What could really be that urgent? What saddens me the most about some of our technological habits is the effect that it has on our relationships. Sometimes it encourages us to develop a false sense of intimacy. Many of my friends on Facebook are friends in real life who live close by. We comment on each other’s posts and status updates; we’ll even Instant Message one another and spend several minutes discussing matters that are completely trivial. What I’ve noticed we don’t do as much anymore is actually see one another. Our interaction on Facebook gives us this illusion of being close and communicating on a regular basis so we don’t really make the effort to try to get together as much in real life. Then again, technology also entices us into ignoring the real intimacies of our lives, not developing them as fully as we should, and being unavailable to the people who matter most, like our family and friends. When I do get together with my friends, our time is often interrupted by the same technology that prevented us from seeing the importance of in-person contact in the first place. I can’t even begin to express what it would mean to me to be able to get through one meal with friends without them texting or emailing or taking every single call that comes through on their phone. If it’s more than three of us getting together, it feels like madness. Conversations are cut short, and attention is split between what’s happening in the real world and what’s happening in the cyber world. Whenever my former friend, A., and I would get together for lunch, she would spend so much time on the phone I’d wonder why she even bothered to leave the house. In the midst of us catching each other up on our lives, a call would come through and she would take it. Seeing as how I’d be seated directly across from her, I couldn’t help but hear whatever it was she was saying to the person on the other end. “Really?” she’d laugh into her mobile phone as I intently focussed on eating my food. “What does he look like? Where does he work?” They were so obviously personal calls that could have been put off until a later time so the two of us could take advantage of the one hour we’d allotted for ourselves. I found that habit of hers offensive, but I’ve noticed it’s actually more common than not. Another habit that, to me, is equally as offensive is when people watch television while receiving visitors in their home. Unless I’ve come with the specific purpose of watching a show or sports match with you, I’m not interested in sitting around for hours and staring at a TV. I happen to also own a TV; I can stay at home and watch it from the comfort of my own couch. Why do I need to come to your house to do that? When somebody comes to visit you it’s usually because they want to talk with you, laugh with you, have a drink or a meal with you and hear about what’s going on in your life. Anybody who is friends with me on Facebook will tell you that I have an active life in the cyber world. I enjoy being able to have exchanges with my friends who live thousands of miles away. I learn a great deal from other people’s posts, and look forward to reading all the witty, hilarious status updates. I often Skype or chat on the phone with friends for hours. And, of course, I spend a huge chunk of my day on the computer, writing and surfing the web for information and just for fun. The issue, for me, is not about the use of technology; it’s about being present for the people and events of my real life. If I’m sitting in the audience watching my child perform onstage, I want my mind to be on her every move, not on the screen of my mobile phone. If I’m having lunch with friends, I want us to focus on each other while we’re there together in the flesh. I can’t help but feel that the draw of all these gadgets, devices and networks is not just that they make us feel connected but that they also make us feel important, in demand. So much so I think a lot of us forget that while we’re busy tending to our virtual friendships we’re sometimes abusing, if not totally destroying, the real ones we have—with real people, in the real world. They are the people who will hold us while we cry, bring us soup when we’re ill, the ones who will still be there during a “light-off”, when the wi-fi service is down and the mobile network is overloaded—when our lives our completely unplugged. Author email: outloud@danquah.com