A Merry, unplugged Christmas

If Santa tries to e-mail me I hope he doesn’t want a prompt reply, or he’ll probably just wind up leaving a lump of coal in my stocking. I pretty much unplugged from the cyber-world so I can enjoy some peace for the season. What’s notable is that this should prove so, well, notable. But it has. Some of my friends are therefore adjudging that I’m a Neanderthal or something. So if it pleases the jury, the accused will say a few words in his own defense.

Even in normal times, unless I’m working on something that might require responsiveness, I only check e-mail a few times a week.

Admittedly, I think this makes me out of sync with the times. Judging from the glimpses I’ve seen of the younger set, text messaging, smart phones, and other forms of connectivity seem to be a primary focus in life.

Come to think of it, it’s not just the younger set. A common sight in hotel restaurants at breakfast is the middle-aged guy staring into his laptop computer, totally engrossed in his cyber-bubble, while his wife sits across from him in an awkward, neglected silence.

But it’s not always silent. Some Prince Charming will usually be offering a running commentary on the news as he peruses it. It’s mighty generous for such a guy to share his worldly wisdom with the little lady. And so much the better if he’s shoving a toasted bagel into his gaping mouth during the monologue, since the mixture of saliva and dough has been known to soften the diphthongs a bit, making for a smooth tonal quality.

I wonder how many wives have spent how many hours enduring how many breakfasts facing the backs of computers. Or, for that matter, newspapers.

Maybe the instant cycle of news these days makes constant connectivity and attention to media seem necessary. Well, it’s easy for to me to neglect, I guess, since I lack the hand-wringing impulse over what the world is doing. Why bother? For me, it’s like microwaving a bag of popcorn; there’s no need to stand there and watch it, it’s more efficient to just follow the instructions on the bag.

One of my favorite things about this season is that I get phone calls from pals all over the world, typically colleagues from various flying jobs and contracts. None of us are “keep in touch” kind of people, so it usually takes Christmas to force us into that mode. It lets me reel in the years a bit, as I thumb through my photo album reliving our adventures and, in a few cases, our misadventures.

Ah, adventure. There’s no better time to think about it. So I’ll spin a brief tropical yarn.

When I worked at sea on merchant vessels as a helicopter pilot, we’d be on the high seas for weeks, or even months, and we’d get little, if any, news. I did have a special luxury, though; I was allowed a weekly, single-page fax from my girlfriend, which came via the company’s maritime satellite connection. If there was an emergency a crewman could get a phone call placed via the satellite. So we weren’t totally incommunicado, but a lot closer to it than most modern folks can even fathom.

One guy eventually bought a fancy radio in port. It got satellite feed from an armed forces broadcast, but once at sea again the outside world seemed so distant and remote (because it was) that none of us could muster the energy to care about the news.

Existence pretty much boiled down to a singularity: The ship. Society was our shipmates. My world was a helicopter. The universe was our slice of the ocean, and, for me, my slice of the sky.

That’s a helluva way to earn a living. As a geezer now, I couldn’t gather the guts to do it again. But I wouldn’t take a million bucks to have forsaken the experience; professional adventure pays a type of interest that no bank can match.

And, incidentally, for all its demands, that life was unfettered by the noise and chatter of the world at large, the same noise and chatter that compels constant connectivity these days.

Well, that was a long time ago. As for the gal who sent the weekly faxes, she’s now the lady at the other end of my breakfast nook.

I don’t deride connectivity or news, but it’s never had a place at my table, and during the holidays I keep it even further at bay.

So I can’t send you an e-mail to relay the sentiment, but I wish you a very Merry Christmas!

Visit Ed Stephens Jr. at [URL=”http://tropicaled.com”]TropicalEd.com. Ed is a pilot, economist, and writer. He holds a degree in economics from UCLA and is a former U.S. naval officer. His column runs every Friday.