Emerging
Notes on a disreconnection
“I know it isn’t real. A few moments ago I was standing in a queue under harsh fluorescents, getting fitted with a helmet, goggles, and headphones. Cynthia and Héloïse suddenly blipped out of existence, becoming outlines, their names hovering over their heads, ghosts among dozens of other, anonymous, ghosts. The neons, room, queue, the entire space...gone.
Now, a small rift opens in the cathedral wall. Our guide beckons us to follow and I obey. I crouch, low enough to clear the passage, and walk, slowly, through the stone.”
That was in February, during a visit of the Notre-Dame de Paris virtual exhibit at L'Arsenal, in Montreal. Our first "serious" immersive VR experience. It was...ok, but that's beside the point. What fascinated me is how, despite the technology's shortcomings, we spent 45 (ish) minutes ducking under beams that didn't exist, getting dizzy in elevators that couldn't rise an inch, bending to avoid bumping against pixel ceilings. The sensory input, however improbable, became our reality.
I'm a month and a half into the disconnection experiment and, along the way, I've experienced emotions quite similar to that VR experience. Specifically the moment, at the end, when we removed the helmets: our legs suddenly unsteady, eyes squinting, balance off; those few minutes it took for our brains and bodies to readjust, dismiss medieval Paris, and grasp the real world again. Kicking my screen compulsion—not just temporarily but as a new central tenet—has forced a similar break with my former reality: the part where all events are equal, immediate, constant and constantly accessible. I've been forced to remember what is and isn't my world, forget the one frantically waving from behind glass. Ironically, the disconnection feels more and more like a reconnection—with thoughts, with people, and with an organic flow of time unchallenged by "breaking news".
It's also made me acutely aware of the space we've allowed devices to occupy in our daily lives. Yes, Captain Obvious here. But at a recent gathering I couldn’t help noticing how a person I was speaking with picked up their phone 3-4 times in the span of maybe fifteen minutes. Not replying or responding to a notification: they'd just scroll a social media feed for a few seconds, put it down again, and carry on with the conversation. The scary part is how it seemed barely conscious. Like scratching an itch. An autonomous reflex.
Anyway, here's an update of the experiment for you.
How it's going so far
News: Same setup described in the previous post, with the addition of a quick overview of headlines during the afternoon browsing session. But I don't dive in—no editorials, or commentary, and no video. I find that I actually end up spending very little time on this, relying on newscasts instead.
Web, RSS, etc: I've loosened the rules a bit. I allow myself to look up something outside of my "official" browsing sessions. But only if necessary, and never just to "pass the time". No mindless pickups. The result is a more engaged relationship with the content I read: sitting down with my iPad is now a "special" time of the day. It turns out there's no reason to leave the tap open—I can get a nice glass of water when I'm really, truly thirsty. And it's much more satisfying.
Apple Watch: part of me still recoils at the symbol, but the idea of owning a perfectly good watch and letting it die a slow death on its charger became ridiculous. So I wear it again but: dumbed way down. No tracking, no chiming, no notifications (except for Cynthia and the kids). An analog watch face and the date, that's it. I also use a 15 minute timer preset to meditate (on silent mode so it only taps my wrist at the end).
Bujo April: I've gone full bullet journaling method this month—Daily, Monthly AND Future logs. I've used adapted portions of the system for a couple of years, but had never embraced the whole concept. So I'm running a four-week experiment (geez…just call me doctor at this point), with all pieces at play as intended, to see what works and what doesn't. I'm still iffy on the Future log...but I'm very much enjoying the overall mindset and logic. My sense right now is that I'll be extending the experiment at the end of the month.
Shifts
Custom bullet brainstorm…
Call this a side-effect. Stepping back from electronics has led to a reversal of hierarchies: software is now second-tier to paper. I don't journal in Bear anymore. I use either my Zodiac journal or the latest insert in my Traveler's Notebook. I've started adding a reference to those entries in my daily log as well (notebook ID + page#).
What's more (in case you're wondering): I don't scan the notebook pages into Bear. Why? Because, frankly, no one gives a %#*—me included. Plus, I'm tired of working as the archivist and IT guy of my daily life, endlessly managing data as if it'll ever matter, as if those formats and devices will still be perfectly readable fifty years from now. The notebooks will, though, I know that much. Well, if anyone can decipher my handwriting ;)
As for Things: I use it for recurring tasks or anything that requires an alert. It isn't my daily driver anymore.
…
All of those changes might seem drastic, but they've followed a very natural progression. And really, any drops in speed or “efficiency” are vastly counterbalanced by a renewed sense of focus. Slowness brings s p a c e.
Besides, I'm in no great hurry.
P.S. A highly recommended essay if you have a few minutes: The Last Quiet Thing, by Terry Godier. Do yourself a favour and read the actual web page if you can. It's rare these days to find intentional design meant to elevate the content .
