I don’t have a cell phone.   This seems strange to most people, but I don’t want one.   Anyone who has a reason to call me, unless there’s an emergency, is asked not to call between midnight and 10:00am the next morning.   Otherwise, I’m sure the sirens will wake me.   I did have a cell phone once.   My ex gave it to me and called many times a day to ask where I was and what I was doing.   Those of you with possessive mates and clingy children will relate.   I started turning off the phone during certain chosen-by-me hours of the day and informed anyone who was likely to call of those times.  Why?   Because sometimes I’m not available.

When I’m grocery shopping, walking anywhere out in public, in a crowd, in a waiting room, people make and receive phone calls.   The odd thing is they exchange a few seconds of information and talk about nothing, for rather a long time.   In this way, cellphones are exactly like their land-based analog.   You are treated to sundry bits of information about them you’d rather not share.   Then you must endure a protracted good-bye that’s as inane as the conversation which preceeded it.

One reason email is the perfect communication medium is its speed, yet our ability to read and reply at our convenience.   In other words, we decide when we’re available to correspond.   There is some concern that allowing anyone access to our attention at any time adds to the baseline stress of everyday living.   We need ‘decompression’.   We need downtime.

My downtime is when I’m playing in dirt and when I’m at work.   There are phones everywhere, we can find one when we need one.   We can inform the people who need to know where we’ll be and when we can expect to be back.   Then we can get them used to the idea that if we’re not right where we’re supposed to be when they expect us to be there, they can practice their coping skills and just wait a bit.

Right now I’m not available.

Lisa Miller