I grew up in the time of cord-tethered telephones, where this wonder of communication commanded a whole table of its own as its docking station, sometimes with a seat attached, and usually in a draughty hall. I came late to mobile phones (I was in my thirties before I actually owned one). I thought I understood ‘mobile phone separation anxiety’, otherwise known as Nomophobia, or FOMO – Fear of Missing Out. I didn’t really, as I didn’t think I was susceptible.
Until last Tuesday…
It started on Monday night. On scrolling through my Facebook news feed, my phone’s screen decided to freeze. Despite trying to switch it on and off, nothing would thaw the thing out, so I fell asleep to a bright, always-on image on the screen, knowing by the morning it would be as dead as a dodo, and it was.
I use my mobile as an alarm so Tuesday dawned dully, and not being able to set it the previous night, I woke up late.
I had an appointment with a friend at eleven-thirty in a lovely Italian cafe in Bray, on the now-fashionable-again Albert Walk, arranged last week. I charged the phone just to see would I get any vital signs out of it. No, my phone was blank, it was depressing looking at the poor, lifeless thing.
I then started to feel it…
Just a trickle at first, a sense of unease, disquiet. Then the thoughts started to make themselves heard.
- I didn’t text my friend over the weekend as I had been away
- I didn’t text her on Monday evening as I’d planned, to say, ‘are we still on for tomorrow?’
- I can’t text her now
My son said, ‘you can use my phone’, ‘great, thanks!’ I said, but then realised I don’t know her number. It’s on my contacts, on my inert phone.
‘I’ll take the battery out and reinsert it’, my daughter said. Nothing happened.
‘Or I’ll put your SIM in my phone to get her number.’ Didn’t work.
‘Oh, I know!’ I said, ‘I’ll email her!’
So I cranked up the laptop, searched her address, not there. We don’t communicate at all on email, I realised. Facebook? She’s not on it, rare breed that she is! So nothing for it but to proceed to the front door.
My sense of unease was mounting. Now, not only was I late, I was anxious. As I got into my car, I felt like I was missing something. I even went through the normal rituals of keys, wallet, and phone but I had to put the phone back. It was useless to me as I still could not raise it from the dead. So off I went, discombobulated in the extreme.
So this is it. This is the separation anxiety the twenty-somethings speak of, FOMO at its height, the psychological syndrome of Nomophobia. This is ridiculous! I thought. I am actually fretting over a digital device that has just let me down after three years of unwavering service. Also, I am too old to feel this!!
So I calmed myself by driving ‘mindfully’ to Bray, deciding that I would keep the appointment with my friend – as in actually turn up to the agreed venue at the appointed hour – and take the chance she would do the same.
I walked to the cafe, went in, sat down and waited. What was the worst that would happen? She wouldn’t turn up as she had forgotten the arrangement as we had both reneged on our digital duty of texting in the interim.
I could have a lovely solo Italian coffee and a read of the amazing old books lining the walls of the cafe while dreaming of pre-war, Mussolini-led Italy as per the 45’s record sleeves of Mario Lanza, and the orange and cream-coloured Decca LP album covers, adorning the walls.
Or she would do as I had and actually pitch up.
I had just started to sip my coffee when I heard a bell as someone was walking into the cafe (or maybe this was just in my relaxed, imagination-filled mind, as it sounded like the bell on Kathleen’s bookshop door in ‘You’ve got Mail’)
I was at the back of the cafe so I couldn’t see who it was but I was hoping it was my friend.
And it was!
We debriefed. She had sent several texts to my obsolete phone, wondering why I hadn’t replied, as this was not like me. She then had the precise thoughts I had had. She decided to keep the appointment whether I showed up or not.
We then chatted for god-knows how long, and my disquiet at not having my digital friend comfortably weighing down my pocket was totally forgotten. We both agreed that it had felt like a bit of an adventure, and actually a bit exciting, as in ‘will she/won’t she’ be there! Is this missing from assignations in the mobile phone dimension? Has society lost this gift?
On my way home I went to check the phantom device to see was anyone looking for me, and of course I couldn’t. I reflected on my mobile-less state.
On the outward journey I had let my thoughts go to the ‘what ifs’:
- What if my car breaks down, as it’s an old car, I don’t have the breakdown-assist number, I don’t have the phone to switch on my data to google it
- What if I feel sick and I can’t contact anyone for help
- What if I crash the car, no will know where I am
On my mindful drive, in a car that didn’t choose today to be the day it stopped working, I realised that the whole world around me is bristling with mobile phones! Someone would ring a number for me! I also remembered I had a scrap of paper in my wallet with my life’s VIPs written on it. If the car crashed, one of the many bystanders would ring an ambulance and/or the police with their phones.
And surely if I had a breakdown (the car, not me!) someone would use their data and get AXA’s number for me, as I would do if I happened upon such a scene, without question.
And the coffee with my friend? Well, we both reminisced back to the times before mobiles when you made arrangements and you stuck to them. There were no texts to cancel – just because you could – at the last minute. We both wondered about the ‘get-out clause’ this allows people to use, making us less mannerly and not as considerate of others.
We reflected on the ‘always-available anxiety’ being a mobile phone user causes.
Just because you have a phone strapped to your person constantly does not mean you have to answer it, or reply to messages and emails as they ping into your inbox. You don’t have to check your Facebook notifications on the trot, they are really not that important.
You still retain the right to make the choice of if, and when, you respond but we all act like it has to be instantaneously. And this is not only work-related, it’s in our leisure-hours too.
How many times have you seen a woman frantically root in her voluminous tote bag to find the offending handset, only to grab it as the ringtone rings out.
Oh the stress!!!
I for one will be behaving more like my Albert Walk morning from now on. I owe it to my nerve endings and my heart rate.
I told my twenty-five year old daughter the story. She was surprised we had both turned up. She is the same age as the Internet. Go figure. It seemed an alien concept to her not to be in constant communication. My story struck her as almost quaint.
Pre-mobile-phone times were simpler times. Maybe try to give yourself a well-deserved break. Pretend most days you have actually lost that phone, or maybe try and leave it behind, or just switched off for an afternoon. Be okay with that as the world doesn’t stop. Stop and smell that Italian coffee.