Once upon a time, long ago, before the internet, before cell phones, messaging, or email, we humans relied on landlines for phone calls and the postal service for written communication.
Looking back, it all seemed so simple.
We didn’t have Google. Or Apple. No passwords to remember or reset. That particular labyrinth didn’t exist.
Whew!
People actually spoke to one another over dinner or coffee or tea. When the phone rang, we answered it without wondering if someone was trying to sell us something, steal our identity, or ask for our vote.
And nobody accidentally signed up for two primary internet providers.
Yes, life was simpler. Perhaps not easier, but then, that’s subject to interpretation, isn’t it?
I realize some will argue with me, touting all the wonderful advantages modern technology has to offer. And I agree. Mostly.
But sometimes I long for the days when mail arrived in a box near the front door, a telephone was just a telephone, and nobody needed a six-digit verification code to prove they were themselves.
This past week has been nothing short of a nightmare.
Not long ago, I confessed that my computer doesn’t give a damn if I’m spiritual. Well, apparently, the universe wasn’t finished testing that theory.
Technology and I have been battling it out, every waking moment of every single day. I’d resolve one issue only to have two more pop up, rather like some demented game of Whac-A-Mole.
UGH!
Phone numbers disappeared into my email. My email refused to load properly. Apple and Google apparently declared war over which one had jurisdiction over my digital existence.
Meanwhile, I wandered through a tangled maze of passwords while T-Mobile and Cox fought for ownership of my account.
And somewhere in the middle of all this madness, I had a rather humbling realization.
I’ve spent decades contemplating the nature of reality. I’ve sat with spiritual teachers, practiced meditation, explored the mysteries of consciousness, and pondered the meaning of existence.
And apparently, I can still be brought to my knees by a spinning wheel beside my phone number and those two infuriating little words next to my email accounts:
Not logged in.
So much for enlightenment.
And here’s something else I’ve realized. I’m not sure I want to keep up with all of it.
There. I’ve said it.
Although perhaps I should whisper that last sentence. I wouldn’t want the gods of technology to overhear and decide to teach me another lesson.
Sometimes I’d much rather curl up with an Agatha Christie mystery or spend a quiet afternoon working a Sudoku puzzle.
No passwords. No verification codes. No spinning wheels.
Just me, a good mystery, and the delightful possibility that the only problem I need to solve is who murdered the vicar.