Sunday morning, as the boys chowed down on biscuits at McD’s, Moxy and Lean and I sat at a nearby cafe nursing steaming cups of the only decent coffee we’d had all weekend. When we arrived, I noticed a TV mounted on the wall and some newspapers stacked on a table. As we thoughtfully munched our brunch, although I sat with my back to the TV, more than once I felt compelled to turn and watch CNN’s “Breaking News” report, a myriad of crawlers and brightly-colored icons surrounding a talking head. Then I realized I hadn’t been online or watched TV in a whopping → 36 ← hours and truly felt a bit disconnected. Mox and I discussed how crazy it is to be so wrapped up in all that over-stimulating hoo hah but who among us hasn’t obsessively checked e-mail or totally disengaged, slack-jawed and drooling while watching Rock of Love and downloading porn. (Am I alone here?)
Lean went to a hippy fest in the forests of New York a few years ago where she meditated a lot and focused on centering herself. When she returned she told us she felt assaulted by all the stimuli in our culture. It’s bananas, when you step back and observe the amalgam of shizzle that swirls around us.
Last fall, just for kicks, I stopped watching TV for a few weeks and instead listened to music in the evenings. I enjoyed it but ended up withdrawing a bit too much and became Overly Reflective Girl. It’s strange that part of life in the modern world is finding a balance between these two extremes of information deluge and out-of-touch hermit.