my cell phone cell

Sometimes I feel trapped by my cell phone. I mean, it's always with me. Without it, my link to the world disappears. Without it, I feel disconnected, lost. I recently tried to catch up on some of my blog reading (I'm quite far behind right now), and I read one of Teri Franta's weekly Friday musings. This one ("Quit screaming in my purse") got me thinking about my life with my cell phone. It's been six years; maybe it's time to evaluate the effect of this supposed communicator.

I got my first cell phone when I was in college. I was sick of remembering/locating/using a phone card just to call my parents who lived 50 miles away. My parents were worried about their only child--their baby--driving home for the weekends on dark country highways. And, as a female, there were concerns with walking around campus and to the dorms late at night.

So I got a cell phone. And I'm one of those people who operates sans landline. I had one for a while, but no one would ever call it. They knew they could call my cell and get a direct line to me, though my roommate was excellent at taking messages when they did call the landline.

One problem I've found with being a cell-phone-dependent person with cell-phone-dependent friends is that we no longer plan in advance. It used to be that a call from a friend at anytime on a Friday to do something that night was an insult. A call on Friday meant you were the last-ditch effort. It meant your friend originally had other plans (that didn't include you), but plans fell through, and now they're scrambling to find someone--anyone--to do something with to salvage the evening.

Now, it’s commonplace that the “so what are you up to tonight” call is made just minutes before departure to a place or before the activity begins. We no longer think further than an hour beyond the present. If something goes wrong, if something unexpected pops up, our cell phones are nearby so there’s no need to bother with thinking ahead.

I think this cell phone culture has led to devaluing relationships. When I receive a phone call just as my friends are leaving for a restaurant, I appreciate the opportunity to go along, but I also wonder, "Why couldn't they have let me know they were going out sooner? Does my company mean so little?" And maybe I just ate something. Or maybe I just got back from the gym and need to shower. I wouldn't be able to go. But that's OK; they'll just call me next time. But it's not OK. It makes interactions with others disposable. It means we no longer feel the need to put effort and time into our relationships and interactions with each other.

I don't mean to imply that my friends don't care about me. And I'll admit that I'm most definitely an offender in this area. But there is a difference in the quality of interactions between whoever-can-come spur-of-the-moment activities and preplanned time to invest in your relationship with someone. I think we're lacking in the latter.

And then there’s that issue of quiet time. My cell phone is always on. Recently, though, I've started to make much more uses of the silent and vibrate functions--and my ability to simply ignore or turn off my annoying cell phone ring when a call comes through has vastly improved. The result: My grandmother thinks I ignore her. She knows I have my cell phone with me at all times, so what other reason could there be? And I didn't call back within five minutes. Maybe there's something wrong. Maybe I'm upset with her. Maybe she should call again.

Maybe we all need to cut the cell phone strings and chill a bit. I know I need to free myself from my cell.