Last week I went for a walk in Lincoln Park
in West Seattle. It was a glorious summer day – one Seattle is renown for and
which makes up for many a dreary winter’s day. The parking angels were with me
and I found a spot right by the trail entrance. I ventured into a welcoming old
growth forest, shady, fragrant pine, soft breeze. I strolled along the upper
ridge overlooking Puget Sound with the hazy outlines of the Olympic Mountains
in the distance. I was mostly alone, but did pass a few couples, looking down
at their cell phones. Hmm, look what they’re missing.
I trudge down the gentle incline to the
beach. Oh my! What a view. I dip my fingers and taste the salt water. My
nostrils fill with the pungent smell of the sea. I am in the hallowed presence
of Mother Ocean. I walk along the shore, drinking in as much as I can of the
beauty and majesty and magic of this sacred place.
I pass by many more people, of all ages:
singles, twosomes, groups. They are scrutinizing their smart phones, thumbs
busily tapping. Even couples are glued to their devices, alone in the company
of their widgets. They are not interacting with each other. They are not
speaking, not holding hands. I gaze further along the beach trail. I am astonished!
It can’t be true! But even more people are bent over their cell phones. They’re
not even using their devices to take photos or to talk. They are gawking at god
knows what and poking away.
What an eerie sight: a sea of humans
walking along a gorgeous beach, eyes downcast, staring at little oblong boxes. My
stomach lurches.
Only the score or so of people walking sans
phones look at me, smile, and say hello. The rest are in their virtual smart
phone worlds.
It’s a struggle to move beyond this
disturbing sight and the implications for what this means in our society.
I focus on the energizing walk and the
sensations in my body, the throbbing of my heart, the warmth of the sun
caressing my face, the sparkles that twinkle on the waves, the joy in my soul
that connects me with the water, the mountains, and the trees.
I begin the steep climb back up to the
ridge, my chest pounding happily with the effort. At the top, I have completed
the circle – a mini circle of life. I want to blog about this and look about
for a place to take an accompanying snapshot.
A couple sitting on a nearby bench say hello.
I smile and return the greeting. They tell me that a group just passed by and
didn’t respond to their hello. “Do we look dangerous?” they ask. Of course not,
I reassure them. “Enjoy the rest of your evening,” they say as I walk away. I
turn back and with a huge smile say thank you, you too.
