Cell Phones in the Park

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.