Sunday, July 21, 2013

A Rough Draft Reflection on Google, Patios, and Parenting


Today I got an English sun tan which is to say I sat outside in the sun for several hours and burned my skin into a shade of red that lobsters would envy. This was not the highlight.

I can say that I did spend a few moments reading a book called The Shallows which is about the way technology has reshaped our brains. It tries to be unbiased by showcasing both the luddite and trekkie perspectives, but it fails to be completely dispassionate as it uses phrases such as "Still I miss my old brain" pre-Google.

The man who promoted this text (and it's opinion) is one of my colleagues. He does not know I am currently reading it, and I am only aware of its existence because he assigned as summer reading for his future students. I was curious. So. Here I am. Chapter 3.

I realized two chapters in that something did truly annoy me about the author's hypothesis. He argues that his brain can't focus the way it used to, that because we have every bit of information available, rapid fire, we cannot focus for long periods of time. Where he used to read for hours upon end, he now skims. And this is bad. Apparently he also allowed himself time to meditate upon arguments, enjoyed the voice of the writer, shared cognac and cigarettes with metaphorical characters after hours and hours of metacognitive masturbation, blaw-dy blaw.. and I'm like, "What? What the hell? Because I've read two chapters of your book on my gorgeously humble patio that I dressed by myself with plants and candles and a goddamn water feature (well, I'm working on it), and here I am taking a sip of coffee, and what interrupts my thinking is not the siren call of the World Wide Web, but that niggling thought in the back of my mind that my little five year old son is in the living room by himself watching his third episode of Bubble Guppies while I ironically read about the idea that internet interrupts one's cognitive process."

And I did feel lucky for a second or two that he didn't interrupt me to tell me he's hungry, that he wants to get dressed, that he needs to go tee tee, etc. And then came the guilt. What kind of mother allows herself the serenity of sitting on her (gorgeous, verdant, candle lit, fountained (coming soon)) patio while her little one might be lonely/ uncomfortable/ in a catatonic cartoon trance??  

Mothers have always had this sort of rapid fire distraction. Since the first woman said "Go play outside" or "I am not a referee" or "Give me one second. Please. Just one second..(so that I do not completely go nuts and do or say something I'll regret)" we have lived with this sort of distraction. We don't need Google to remind us that sometimes our thinking might be shallow. We don't need the internet to remind us that we once could read a book pre-children, but now we can only operate in two second intervals. Parenting supplies all the thought interruption that the internet does and more - forgetfulness, for example. And while screens do tend to make some of us feel more knowledgeable on the surface, I think we all end up shallow in the end. So. Cheers to Google, man! You. Complete. Me.

But I did catch some rays today at the park. Watching my little one jump into the paddling pool and the subsequently roll in the sand pit.

And I do look forward to Chapter 4.

Sunday, July 21, 2013

A Rough Draft Reflection on Google, Patios, and Parenting


Today I got an English sun tan which is to say I sat outside in the sun for several hours and burned my skin into a shade of red that lobsters would envy. This was not the highlight.

I can say that I did spend a few moments reading a book called The Shallows which is about the way technology has reshaped our brains. It tries to be unbiased by showcasing both the luddite and trekkie perspectives, but it fails to be completely dispassionate as it uses phrases such as "Still I miss my old brain" pre-Google.

The man who promoted this text (and it's opinion) is one of my colleagues. He does not know I am currently reading it, and I am only aware of its existence because he assigned as summer reading for his future students. I was curious. So. Here I am. Chapter 3.

I realized two chapters in that something did truly annoy me about the author's hypothesis. He argues that his brain can't focus the way it used to, that because we have every bit of information available, rapid fire, we cannot focus for long periods of time. Where he used to read for hours upon end, he now skims. And this is bad. Apparently he also allowed himself time to meditate upon arguments, enjoyed the voice of the writer, shared cognac and cigarettes with metaphorical characters after hours and hours of metacognitive masturbation, blaw-dy blaw.. and I'm like, "What? What the hell? Because I've read two chapters of your book on my gorgeously humble patio that I dressed by myself with plants and candles and a goddamn water feature (well, I'm working on it), and here I am taking a sip of coffee, and what interrupts my thinking is not the siren call of the World Wide Web, but that niggling thought in the back of my mind that my little five year old son is in the living room by himself watching his third episode of Bubble Guppies while I ironically read about the idea that internet interrupts one's cognitive process."

And I did feel lucky for a second or two that he didn't interrupt me to tell me he's hungry, that he wants to get dressed, that he needs to go tee tee, etc. And then came the guilt. What kind of mother allows herself the serenity of sitting on her (gorgeous, verdant, candle lit, fountained (coming soon)) patio while her little one might be lonely/ uncomfortable/ in a catatonic cartoon trance??  

Mothers have always had this sort of rapid fire distraction. Since the first woman said "Go play outside" or "I am not a referee" or "Give me one second. Please. Just one second..(so that I do not completely go nuts and do or say something I'll regret)" we have lived with this sort of distraction. We don't need Google to remind us that sometimes our thinking might be shallow. We don't need the internet to remind us that we once could read a book pre-children, but now we can only operate in two second intervals. Parenting supplies all the thought interruption that the internet does and more - forgetfulness, for example. And while screens do tend to make some of us feel more knowledgeable on the surface, I think we all end up shallow in the end. So. Cheers to Google, man! You. Complete. Me.

But I did catch some rays today at the park. Watching my little one jump into the paddling pool and the subsequently roll in the sand pit.

And I do look forward to Chapter 4.