Last week, my computer broke.
In 2020, this phrase is scary just to think about much less to actually have happen. Our current era of ubiquitous connections, of zooms, slacks, emails and tweets, almost requires you to be online. And despite phones approaching the size of cutting boards and tablets becoming nearly desktop equivalents, the laptop still reigns supreme as digital society’s work engine.
So, a couple days ago, when I first noticed a series of problems with my own work machine, I did what any worried person might do in my place, I called tech support.
They must have known something was seriously wrong because the friendly voice on the other line identified themselves as a “senior tech advisor” right away. I knew something was wrong when, after an hour and a half, that same voice announced their shift was almost over and we still had no solution.
It wasn’t as if I had come totally unprepared — this wasn’t my first tech-support rodeo. I had checked various online forums for the symptoms my computer experienced, I complied a list of possible causes – I even ran some diagnostic tests. What I learned from my error messages was that I had a common but not always easily diagnosable problem called Kernel Panic, and I turned to the experts as a last resort.
“If this doesn’t work,” said Daniel, my astute and knowledgeable tech advisor offering me one last set of steps to follow, “you’re going to have to bring it in.”
It didn’t work.
Eventually I found a store with an available appointment, drove 45 minutes, got my temperature checked, spoke with another lovely advisor and begrudgingly sent my five-year-old computer off into the ether.
The first thing I noticed was that I now have a lot of time. Though I can still check my emails and respond to messages on my phone, I don’t have the usual computer-based distractions and work tasks that keep me at my desk for 10 hours at a time. On normal days I take my dog for a quick walk in the morning and play catch. I read a little. I play piano for a few minutes at a time. In the last few days I’ve gone on two two-hour walks with Lucky, I’ve finished all my weekly magazines, I’ve read from my pile of books (admittedly less deeply than I would like) and I’ve learned a new song — all with time to spare.
In the absence of my laptop, I have noticed the power and prevalence of the temptation to consume in daily computer life. On a computer, work and play can almost run in parallel. It’s not uncommon to listen to music while performing a repetitive task and it isn’t unheard of to watch a video either. Every distraction is just a quick click away. And when the tasks are over, our brains remember that thing to check, that video in the queue, that high score to beat.
These consumptive tasks are so easy to do it’s almost automatic. They only take a few minutes — even fewer if you can watch or skim at 2x speed — and they give you the brief buzz of accomplishment.
Creativity, production, thought; all these require focus and time. These activities are done outside of work only by an elite minority, by people who have figured out how to use their gifts for the benefit of others, who take more pride in a finished product like a scarf, booklet, or poem, than in a finished task. These are the people who push humanity forward, who stretch the limits of our collective imagination. The rest of us look on, ready to consume their creations, eagerly anticipating the next release, the next piece of music, the next article.
There is nothing inherently wrong with consumption. Knowledge, after all, is acquired through reading, watching or listening. What is worrisome is frivolous consumption — consumption because it’s there. Balance is essential in maintaining the proportion of consuming new information and creating it.
Without a computer, distractions are more distant. There are more steps, more barriers. You have to go somewhere to consume something.
As the great Amazons and Alibabas make it easier than ever to get any product delivered right to your door, as YouTube and Instagram and TikTok make time so easy to fill, our ideas and creations have very little room to be made without distraction.
This is a shame. Creation is one of the things that make us human. We alone aspire and dream and build. The fact we can assemble everything from chairs to rockets – or, that we can, in the most magical act of creation, procreate – is a reminder of just how important this act really is.
Creation makes us feel alive, it reminds us of the wonders of the world, of how improbable it is to make something out of nothing.
There is hope, however. It’s not as if technology and the internet have impeded humanity’s ability to create — quite the opposite. On Pinterest, DIY is one of the most popular categories and 500 hours of footage are uploaded to YouTube every minute. LinkedIn education is more popular than ever. Kids, driven perhaps by the perceived respect garnered by those who create videos for a living, have even named “Youtuber” as one of their top career inspirations.
This last fact might be troubling— what ever happened to astronaut and firefighter? But considering education is still the most popular genre on YouTube, maybe it is encouraging that young people want to use technology to leave their mark on our increasingly digital world.
Even the more traditional among us, the poets, writers, composers and engineers, now have a place to showcase their creations and to share them with their peers and admirers.
With all this extra tech-free (or semi-tech free) time, I plan to do my best and produce what I can. I’m not sure entirely how I can contribute, though. So far the only thing I've made is this essay, this brief collection of thoughts. And who am I to launch my personal thoughts, unprovoked, into the world?
For now, I’m still waiting for my computer to get fixed.
In the meantime, let’s create.