by Tom Stoppard. One of the best lines in the play deals with the question of being. The two characters find themselves on a boat traveling to England, where they are to deliver a message from the King of Denmark to execute their best friend, Hamlet, as a favor to the Danish crown. They are beginning to have an inkling that they've been there before -- and that it doesn't end well for them.Rosencrantz: Do you think death could possibly be a boat?
Guildenstern: No, no, no...Death is...not. Death isn't. You take my meaning? Death is the ultimate negative. Not-being. You can't not-be on a boat.
Rosencrantz: I've frequently not been on boats.
Guildenstern: No, no, no -- what you've been is not on boats.
Contrary to Guildenstern's point of view, I've frequently not-been many places. I've not-been while on walks with my dogs. I've not-been while hiking in the woods. I've not-been while eating a meal. I've even not-been during sex. (Oh, yes!) Not-being, in fact, is a widespread cultural habit, against which Eastern religions and philosophies -- such as yoga, Buddhism, Zen, and Taoism -- warn their followers.
For most of us, I think the most common form of not-being is simply doing one thing while thinking about other stuff. Driving while thinking about what to make for dinner. Eating while thinking about paying bills. Sitting in a meeting, thinking about that deadline looming large on the calendar. Thinking about all that laundry that needs to be done while you're playing with your kids.
In essence, not-being is about not connecting with where you are and what you are doing in that very moment.
Technology seems to be the perfect screen behind which many of us are not-being.
In essence, not-being is about not connecting with where you are and what you are doing in that very moment.
Technology seems to be the perfect screen behind which many of us are not-being.
I'm somewhat baffled by folks who feel it necessary to plug their ears with iPods and Rhapsody players when they are out on a run or a bike ride. Do they really need to isolate themselves from their surroundings? What if there's an auditory warning of impending disaster -- an approaching car, a protective dog, a charging rhino?
Email is one of the ways in which people not-be at the office. It interrupts the flow of their days and distracts them while they're (physically) in meetings. We seem to be obsessed with it, requiring almost immediate answers to the ones we send, feeling pressured to respond when we see that "you've got mail" signal pop onto the screen. The net result is that we're not focused on the task at hand, the person presenting, the group discussion -- assuming there is one, with all of those eyes drawn to every blip on their laptop screens. It's tempting sometimes to talk gibberish, then ask someone to respond to it. (I admittedly have a mean streak.)
Mobile phones are all over the media. Distracted driving (talking on the phones and texting) means not-being behind the wheel. One's focus is elsewhere, rendering them less able to respond -- in the moment -- to mishaps and, as one auto insurance company touts, mayhem. I'll move away from this poor horse's corpse.
Email is one of the ways in which people not-be at the office. It interrupts the flow of their days and distracts them while they're (physically) in meetings. We seem to be obsessed with it, requiring almost immediate answers to the ones we send, feeling pressured to respond when we see that "you've got mail" signal pop onto the screen. The net result is that we're not focused on the task at hand, the person presenting, the group discussion -- assuming there is one, with all of those eyes drawn to every blip on their laptop screens. It's tempting sometimes to talk gibberish, then ask someone to respond to it. (I admittedly have a mean streak.)
Mobile phones are all over the media. Distracted driving (talking on the phones and texting) means not-being behind the wheel. One's focus is elsewhere, rendering them less able to respond -- in the moment -- to mishaps and, as one auto insurance company touts, mayhem. I'll move away from this poor horse's corpse.
Even "old" technologies can stand in the way of experiencing our surroundings in the moment. Cameras are my particular downfall. Granted, I sometimes use them as a social screen, behind which to hide in uncomfortable social situations -- parties where I know few people, family gatherings where there's tension, places where I truly need to not-be off-and-on.
But what's sad is that I've also been seduced by the camera's true purpose: recording events for future reminiscing. There have been instances where I've been backpacking and hiking and have spent so much time snapping photos that I barely notice what is in motion outside of the frame of my lens. I forget to listen to the sounds around me -- insects, birds, the wind in grasses and leaves. I don't remember to sniff the wind, which sometimes contains clues about my surroundings. I don't just look and see.
Even when I do look around, I see my surroundings from the perspective of how I can capture them. I objectify what's around me, turn it into something else. Mountain views become potential art; they don't remain simply mountain views. The light filtering through trees becomes a "take," rather than a moment to bask in. Bison on the prairie become a Kodak moment, instead of being what they are, where they are -- simply themselves in a particular breath of time.
Don't get me wrong. I love my camera. I love my phone. I even like email (mostly). Each has its utility, its purpose. That's not the issue. It's when we put aside being right here, right now in favor of these technologies -- which then also become something different from themselves, outside of their purpose -- that we pass unawares into not-being.
I'm learning to ignore my email, put away my phone, and even put down my camera so that I can focus on what's right there in front of me and treat it as important, containing value in and of itself. It's not easy. And I'm not consistent.
But,personally, I'd rather be not on a boat than not-be on the same boat.
But what's sad is that I've also been seduced by the camera's true purpose: recording events for future reminiscing. There have been instances where I've been backpacking and hiking and have spent so much time snapping photos that I barely notice what is in motion outside of the frame of my lens. I forget to listen to the sounds around me -- insects, birds, the wind in grasses and leaves. I don't remember to sniff the wind, which sometimes contains clues about my surroundings. I don't just look and see.
Even when I do look around, I see my surroundings from the perspective of how I can capture them. I objectify what's around me, turn it into something else. Mountain views become potential art; they don't remain simply mountain views. The light filtering through trees becomes a "take," rather than a moment to bask in. Bison on the prairie become a Kodak moment, instead of being what they are, where they are -- simply themselves in a particular breath of time.
Don't get me wrong. I love my camera. I love my phone. I even like email (mostly). Each has its utility, its purpose. That's not the issue. It's when we put aside being right here, right now in favor of these technologies -- which then also become something different from themselves, outside of their purpose -- that we pass unawares into not-being.
I'm learning to ignore my email, put away my phone, and even put down my camera so that I can focus on what's right there in front of me and treat it as important, containing value in and of itself. It's not easy. And I'm not consistent.
But,personally, I'd rather be not on a boat than not-be on the same boat.
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