Nomophobia

The wife says we spend too much time on our cell phones.  When visiting our grandchildren we are placed on a strict “no cell phones” diet.  By the time I retired from the ministry with its weekly worship service, I had grown tired of the cell phone interruptions in the middle of the sermon.  During my commute to my job at the university I am amazed at the number of drivers on their cell phones--I would say close to fifty percent of the drivers.  I should know because I got off my cell phone and counted them while driving.

 

Cell phones are everywhere, and they are becoming a bane to humanity.  If that sounds too brash of a statement, then I will claim it for myself and leave the rest of humanity out of it.  But I think there are a lot who would agree with me—it is a crisis boiling.

 

Looking on my cell phone, I discovered that the average American spends five hours and 24 minutes on their phones every day.  Fifty-seven percent of Americans consider themselves as “phone addicts”.  Another word for that is nomophobia.  Half of the Internet traffic (50.55%) comes from mobile phones.  An average American checks their phone around 96 times a day.

 

Nearly five-and-a-half hours!  That is a big chunk of the day . . . a big chunk of life when added up over a lifetime.  Consider that we humans need at least eight hours of sleep, work an average of eight hours, spend at least an hour eating, have numerous hours dedicated to exercising, relaxing, doing chores, and whatever else we can get done—all in a 24-hour period.  There are not enough hours in a day—yet we find time for 5.5 cell time.

 

Something has got to give.  Thus, the conversation on our cell phone usage between the wife and me.  Of course, being 100% male, I went on the defense when there is a perceived criticism.  There is no way I wallow for five-and-a-half hours on my phone a day.  I am better than that.  Shoot!  At the most I might only be on the phone for an hour or two (Wink!  Wink!)  In fact, I can prove it.

 

All cell phones have built-in applications (apps) that can do just about anything but feed the pets.  On cell phones there is an app that congregates usage.  The app measures how much time the user is spending on the cell.  It even breaks it down into categories according to the apps used and viewed.  All one must do is turn it on and the truth will be revealed.  Knowing that, I will stick to my façade and leave it at that.  I am not ready for the truth.

 

The problem is not just for my wife and me.  The problem is everywhere.  It is now becoming the reason for the downfall of civility and civilization according to many.  It affects everyone.  Sit in a public space and see for yourself . . . count the people with their faces planting squarely in their cell phones.  The problem is real . . . and the wife wanted a serious conversation about it.

 

One of the suggestions floating around is that folks schedule themselves a holiday away from their cell phones.  A recess.  A sabbatical.  A vacation.  Just put the cell phone away.  Take a break.  The wife thought this was a great idea and was raring to jump on the bandwagon.

 

I cringed at the idea.

 

Even though I do not see myself as having a problem with screen time, the suggestion of turning off my cell phone for any length of time makes me anxious.  It is a big challenge.  Going cold turkey.  I shudder and shake just thinking about it.  My wife got that look on her face as she stared me down—addiction!  Nomophobia!

 

Okay, I admit . . . I see my cell phone as a useful tool.  It is a sort of technological Swiss Army knife—it does everything!  It does so much for me on a daily basis:

·        Mail . . . or in this case, email.  I have both my personal and work email accounts connected to my phone.  I check both on a regular basis—morning, noon, and night each and every day.  I never know when I might receive something important.  How else am I going to know when that widow of a British officer sends me a million-dollar gift if I just work with the Ethiopian lawyer to make all the arrangements.  Or the countless offers and announcements that I have won the Loser’s Lottery.  Or the many invoices for products that I never ordered.  Countless newsletters that I have no idea how I signed up for them.  Even proposals for marriage.  Even, on occasion, real emails needing my attention.  Heavens knows what life would be like without my two hundred plus emails a day.

·        Text messages . . . though few and far between, I do get them.  Typically, they are from family . . . children sending a joke or vague message, the wife sending silly video clips and links to products she thinks “we” need.  Without my cell phone how would I keep in touch?

·        Facebook and Instagram.  Where else am I going to learn about the fantastic, alluring, and excitement infused adventures of the hand-full of friends I have?  Where else can I read their political rants, their “Jesus saves” messages, and see cute puppy dog postings?  Or pictures of children and grandchildren—all above average?  To see how much better everyone else’s lives are better than mine.  Plus, all those memes and video clips called “reels”!  All the false news!  My life is incomplete without Facebook, Instagram, and whatever is the hottest social media.

·        Games.  Though most of the games on my phone are there for the grandchildren, I do have a few games that are just for me.  They are there for my intellectual development and wellness of the mind.  At least that is what the advertisements for the games tell me.  If I play these games, I will live longer.  Who doesn’t want to live longer?  Without my cell phone and its games . . . well, I see the end coming sooner than later.

·        Apps.  These little boogers have made my life easier.  I have an app that: tells time, weather, road conditions, what my heart rate is, how many steps I have taken, how many calories I have eaten and burned, how to get places (complete with maps and verbal directions), provide entertainment like shows and movies, plays music, finds out information, dictionaries, critter identification . . . shoot!  My phone is practically a library.  I’d have to rent a truck to haul all this information around.  And it’s all on my little old phone.

·        Camera.  I’m Johnny on the spot with the camera on my phone.  I can take pictures and make videos.  I can capture the moment.  Provide live-up-to-the-minute visual proof.  Besides I can also share with everyone what I have eaten morning, noon, and night.  Who am I to deprive anyone of that pleasure?

·        Internet.  My cell phone is a computer hooked up to the Worldwide Web.  It is my source of all knowledge and information known and unknown to humanity.  It is my fact-checker.  It is my resource for all those inquiring questions . . . like, how many hours does the average American spend on their cell phone?  What is nomophobia?  Without my cell phone I’d be an idiot and could run for political office.

·        Calls.  Plus, I can actually make phone calls with my cell.  It lets me reach out and touch someone.  I can do it like a regular phone call or like Dick Tracy or the Jetson through video.  How cool is that!  Let’s me call all ten of the ones I love.  Imagine that . . . a cell phone that is actually a phone!

And it lets me do so much more.  Plus, it fits in the palm of my hand, and I can carry it in my pants pocket.  How could I ever live without this useful, resourceful, life improving tool?  How did I ever manage before there were cell phones?

 

I don’t know.  I can’t imagine my life without it.  Well, yes, I can . . . bleak.  Now do you understand my anxiousness in surrendering my phone for any length of time.  How would I ever validate myself as a contributing member of society . . . or at least to the cell phone companies.

 

True, five-and-a-half hours is a huge chunk of my day.  Surely, I can give something up.  I could sleep less . . . maybe four hours instead of eight.  What’s a little sleep deprivation?  I could throw away that hour I spend eating.  Besides, I need to lose a little weight.  I could quit or retire completely from work.  That would free up a whole bunch of hours.  Who needs things—food, shelter?  Surely, there is some way I could free up my life to incorporate five-and-a-half hours on a daily basis.

 

Oh no!

 

Look at me!

 

I am nomophobic . . . I am addicted!  The signs are all there.  First, there was the denial.  Then came the rationalization.  Next was bargaining.  There were physical signs . . . shuddering and shaking . . . anxiousness.

 

Oh my God!  I am addicted!

It is true.  Intervention might be my only hope.  Rehab might be needed.  Send me to the Elon Musk Nomophobia Treatment Center on the moon.  Oh, the shame!  Oh, the guilt!

 

Wait a minute . . . my phone is ringing.  There I go again.  I’m a backslider.  Is there any hope for me?  Give me a minute and I will see what my phone says . . . oops!  Maybe it is not that big of an issue, after all . . . everyone is doing it.  Also, my phone tells me that denial is the number one pastime of Americans.  My phone never lies to me.  It is my friend.  Just ask Seri, she will tell you.

 

Maybe say a prayer for me . . . for everyone.  I am sure you can find one on your phone.

 

It’s the Race that Counts

Okay . . . I’m old enough to accept that I’m not going to come out on top.  I’m not going to win the race.  It’s just not in the cards.  The best I’m going to do is to get a “participant” trophy.  I can handle that at my age.  It is just not going to happen.  The odds were just too great.  Something like a zillion to one.  In the end I think that is what everyone should get—a “participant” trophy.  After all . . . we finished the race and that was the goal all along.

In the end, isn’t that what we all deserve?  Recognition for a race well ran?  That we finished.

 

My grandchildren have reached the age when they are now competing in competitive sports.  They are no longer playing sports for the sake of playing, enjoyment, and exercise.  Nope.  They have entered the realm of “winners and losers”, bragging rights, and all the marbles.  There is more seriousness to the sports they engage in.  A sharper edge.  It is the weeding out of “winners and losers” . . . a pecking order . . . a caste system of sorts.  It has taken the fun out of sports.

 

As my children grew up, I had various roles in their sporting adventures.  In their younger years I encouraged them to try out sports.  I was a cheerleader for their sporting endeavors.  I also coached them.  I coached soccer, basketball, track, and cross country.  When I first started coaching it was about teaching the skills and enjoyment of playing the sport.  The competition wasn’t important.  It was for the pure joy of the sport.  But somewhere along the way I slid into the “dark side” . . . the competitive side.  It was all downhill after that.  I lost track of the exhilaration of sports for the sake of sports.  Lost track of my kids as individuals only to see them as cogs in the competition machine.

 

Sports lost their joy.  For that . . . I apologize to my children and all the kids who endured my slide into the “dark side”.  If I killed the joy of sports for anyone . . . I apologize.  Competition is a sneaky, slippery slope to navigate.

 

I know.

 

Recently at my granddaughter’s lacrosse game, I caught myself with a toe in the “dark side” . . . I was shining about the officiating or lack thereof.  In a close game against an aggressive team the granddaughter’s team was losing.  Now it couldn’t be that the more aggressive team was more experienced and skilled than the granddaughter’s team—they obviously had played the sport longer.  No, the competitive spark in me turned towards the most obvious problem for any spectator—the referees.  Thankfully the whining was contained within the confines of my granddaughter’s mother—my daughter.  It probably triggered all sorts of PTSD flashbacks from the days when I coached her or sat in the stands at her games.  Poor kid.  Besides, it was ridiculous on my part, the referees were doing their best as middle school kids made to volunteer to officiate.  Kids!  Shame on me!  Thankfully I recognized the awakening of the monster within me.  Unfortunately, the daughter caught the brunt of my whining.

 

I apologized.  Then I spent a lot of time thinking about it.  I concluded that it is the fought of competition . . . the need to have “winners and losers” . . . the need to determine the “best” . . . to have a pecking order . . . a caste system.  We live in a society of ranking.  A need to determine the “top to bottom” . . . to declare the “best”.  Competition has ruined life.

 

We live in a competitive world.  It is not just sports—it is everything.  Everything is a competition.  Think about it.  Education is competitive—class ranks, scholarship, valedictorian, dean’s list, grades.  Business is competitive.  Politics is competitive.  War is competitive.  Dog shows.  Music.  Art.  Religion.  Shoot!  We even compete to see who has the best yard.  We rank everything . . . declare things the best . . . have our “top twenty, forty, hundred” lists.  We live in a competitive world.

 

I think competition is destroying life.  That competition has taken the “joy” out of life.  Everything is a competition.  It has worn me out!  It has saddened me as I’ve watched it take the “joy” away from so many.  It has all come about winning.  Only one can win—the rest, well they are “losers”.  No one wants to be a “loser”.

 

May its not competition that’s the problem.  May it is the need to have “winners and losers”.  Instead of having “winners and losers” we should embrace the participation award.  After all, everyone competed and should be acknowledged for doing their best . . . for showing up.  The problem with that is that we have glorified “winning” and declared “losing” as bad.  I’ve seen it with my children.  I have seen it with my grandchildren.  Someone is always keeping score . . . declaring “winners and losers”.  Go to any pee wee sporting event in which the score is not being kept and any kids in the game will be able to tell you . . . they know the score . . . they know whether they have won or lost.  It is too ingrained in the psyche of human nature . . . in society.

 

How terrible!  This was never the intention of the Creator.  I think it was the intention of the Holy for a unified effort towards everyone finishing the race together.  Not individual achievement, but the totality of creation.  It wasn’t about who got there first, but that everyone got there.  That is what I believe the Creator intended but we have even bastardized that to the point where we preach “us” against “them” as God’s favorites.  No matter what anyone says, the Holy plays no favorites.  All of creation belongs to the Creator—the call is to be “one”.

 

With that in mind, I probably need to work on keeping the competitive monster locked away.  Instead, I need to focus on enjoying the race . . . enjoying the people . . . enjoy watching how all the pieces fit and work together . . . striving to be the best that they can be.  Striving to cheer everyone across the finish line.  It is a long race, this thing we call life, and it sure helps having someone cheering you along.

 

As I said, I’m not going to go out on top when the end comes.  Nope, I will be lucky if I am 11,397,521,198^th.  I’ll take that participation trophy with pride as an acknowledgement that I made it, and someone noticed my effort.  It’s not whether I win or lose, it’s how I run the race.  How we all run the race.  That’s what matters.  May we all run to our greatest potential.  That is what makes the Creator smile . . . not winning . . . not losing . . . participating.