By Geoff Ellis
MANY of us start the day with coffee and connection. Like the majority of my circle, much of my life is lived on-line these days. Emails and Facebook have long been part of our daily routine and now we zoom into meetings across the day. Between working from home, staying alert and keeping in touch, our devices are 24/7 companions.
Mobiles have superseded newspapers at our breakfast tables while the laptop glares from the corner of the room with all its teeth bared.
The constant stream of communication can get daunting and distracting. A couple of weeks ago I actually ran out of emails. To celebrate I posted this comment on LinkedIn “Every editor’s dream – no unread emails – now, where’s the coffee and when does the sun come up?”
MANY of us start the day with coffee and connection. Like the majority of my circle, much of my life is lived on-line these days. Emails and Facebook have long been part of our daily routine and now we zoom into meetings across the day. Between working from home, staying alert and keeping in touch, our devices are 24/7 companions.
Mobiles have superseded newspapers at our breakfast tables while the laptop glares from the corner of the room with all its teeth bared.
The constant stream of communication can get daunting and distracting. A couple of weeks ago I actually ran out of emails. To celebrate I posted this comment on LinkedIn “Every editor’s dream – no unread emails – now, where’s the coffee and when does the sun come up?”
By sunrise I had received ten more emails. And each one was interesting and important. I replied to several and then looked at Facebook. As the coffee brewed I settled into the routine of cosy solitude.
Last Friday I ended the working week with a zoom meeting and checked to see how that comment was trending. It had been viewed by over 800 people and had received more reactions than any of my other posts. Ever. I sent off a few emails, shut down the computer, tip-toed away and gently shut the door.
I didn’t invent the idea of a digital sabbath. The net is littered with articles extolling the therapeutic benefit of netlessness. As the speed of life increases, work and family are becoming a 24/7 blur. Lockdown and working from home are accelerating this trend. As zooming through the days and nights becomes routine, there needs to be an exit ramp on the digital superhighway. The decision to park has to be deliberate and disciplined.
I decided to leave that door shut till Saturday night. I left my mobile on the other side of that shut door. 5pm Friday. Back in the old warehouse days, that would have been beer o’clock. Outside the sun was setting. I took a deep breath of freshness and patted the dog.
Life off line. Too easy. Light the fire and fetch wood. Dinner, watch a movie. What do you do with your hands if you’re not monitoring Facebook and LinkedIn trends? Eat, drink, smoke? Smoke? Those were the days. Watch a movie and talk to the family. How was your day? No, seriously I want to know.
Early to bed brings early to rise. Chuck out the dog, feed the cats, make the first pot of coffee. Open the blinds so the sun can warm the concrete and rammed earth. Down to the beach. I think about notes in bottles tossed from sailing ships.
After breakfast I tidy the shed, check how the plants are going, tidy the shed some more. I think about mowing, but not too seriously. I tidy the other end of the shed, exhume the old stereo and set it up in the shed. A Rottel Amp ca 1974 teamed with speakers that are bigger than our solar storage batteries. Sound you can feel, analogue all the way. I could plug in the turntable, but I concede to common sense and stab the ON button of the CD deck. Deck? Crikey, ca 2003 that’s a museum piece and a word from the past.
The morning was no bother but as lunchtime nears I need to ring someone and A. Nother. I look at the smartphone and my thumb instinctively hovers between Facebook and Gmail icons. The numbers indicate that conversations are happening without me. FOMO – fear of missing out - fills me but the aroma of food draws me away.
Lunch then back to the garden. Better take the phone in case. I mark the hours as the clock ticks down to 5pm. Mission accomplished but there’s no rush. Light the fire and bring in the wood. Close the blinds to keep in the warmth.
6pm. 25 hours. I log on. The second email I read is a Reply All to a Reply All response to an email about something I don’t understand. FOGAS – fear of giving a stuff – kicks in. Back to the lounge room. Maybe the internet’s monkey grip has eased.
9pm and I take another peak. I send a few emails to people I want to talk to. Half an hour is just long enough. Tomorrow is another day.
Nine o’clock Sunday morning I’m hunched over the computer, madly sharing Facebook. Two coffees down. My partner passes the open door and asks me if I’ve missed the net. That drags me from virtuality back to reality. No, I didn’t miss the net, my worry is that it didn’t miss me.
Last Friday I ended the working week with a zoom meeting and checked to see how that comment was trending. It had been viewed by over 800 people and had received more reactions than any of my other posts. Ever. I sent off a few emails, shut down the computer, tip-toed away and gently shut the door.
I didn’t invent the idea of a digital sabbath. The net is littered with articles extolling the therapeutic benefit of netlessness. As the speed of life increases, work and family are becoming a 24/7 blur. Lockdown and working from home are accelerating this trend. As zooming through the days and nights becomes routine, there needs to be an exit ramp on the digital superhighway. The decision to park has to be deliberate and disciplined.
I decided to leave that door shut till Saturday night. I left my mobile on the other side of that shut door. 5pm Friday. Back in the old warehouse days, that would have been beer o’clock. Outside the sun was setting. I took a deep breath of freshness and patted the dog.
Life off line. Too easy. Light the fire and fetch wood. Dinner, watch a movie. What do you do with your hands if you’re not monitoring Facebook and LinkedIn trends? Eat, drink, smoke? Smoke? Those were the days. Watch a movie and talk to the family. How was your day? No, seriously I want to know.
Early to bed brings early to rise. Chuck out the dog, feed the cats, make the first pot of coffee. Open the blinds so the sun can warm the concrete and rammed earth. Down to the beach. I think about notes in bottles tossed from sailing ships.
After breakfast I tidy the shed, check how the plants are going, tidy the shed some more. I think about mowing, but not too seriously. I tidy the other end of the shed, exhume the old stereo and set it up in the shed. A Rottel Amp ca 1974 teamed with speakers that are bigger than our solar storage batteries. Sound you can feel, analogue all the way. I could plug in the turntable, but I concede to common sense and stab the ON button of the CD deck. Deck? Crikey, ca 2003 that’s a museum piece and a word from the past.
The morning was no bother but as lunchtime nears I need to ring someone and A. Nother. I look at the smartphone and my thumb instinctively hovers between Facebook and Gmail icons. The numbers indicate that conversations are happening without me. FOMO – fear of missing out - fills me but the aroma of food draws me away.
Lunch then back to the garden. Better take the phone in case. I mark the hours as the clock ticks down to 5pm. Mission accomplished but there’s no rush. Light the fire and bring in the wood. Close the blinds to keep in the warmth.
6pm. 25 hours. I log on. The second email I read is a Reply All to a Reply All response to an email about something I don’t understand. FOGAS – fear of giving a stuff – kicks in. Back to the lounge room. Maybe the internet’s monkey grip has eased.
9pm and I take another peak. I send a few emails to people I want to talk to. Half an hour is just long enough. Tomorrow is another day.
Nine o’clock Sunday morning I’m hunched over the computer, madly sharing Facebook. Two coffees down. My partner passes the open door and asks me if I’ve missed the net. That drags me from virtuality back to reality. No, I didn’t miss the net, my worry is that it didn’t miss me.