there's something happening here.

We took a plane over a week ago, dashed headlong into Alaska. Got swallowed by its darkness, packed with snow and ice and wind and cold. The family whirled around us, cooking pancakes and pizzas. Little Dax wore fur, strapped to backs, tucked in a snowsuit and giant fur hat, his little red cheeks rounded and pushed up against his eyes.

I am thankful his grandma & uncle & grandpa want take him outside, walk him to meet the horses & the goats & the sheep & the cows. I am thankful for his interest in them and his slow approach. I am thankful for the walk we took, just my son and I, when the day light shone. We watched the light grey trees (those bare giants) against the bright white sky. We listened to the crunch of the snowboots, the rustle of puffy polyester leg against puffy polyester leg. After a mile or so, you fell asleep. The quiet of your face with the quiet of that snowy tree-lined road. That's the moment that Life Is.

I worry about us, as a people. On the plane, they now hand out these digital players that come with music & movies & the like. The girl next to me, who taps her foot while fussing with her phone seems relieved to receive her player. She orders a movie and after 32 minutes, decides against it. She quickly orders another. She zips between the movie and something on her phone for the next two hours. When the credits roll, she anxiously plays solitaire. And I'm not trying to pick on this girl--the whole planes' faces are bathed in the white artificial light of screens. People mindlessly wormholing into digital mazes.

Can't we Just Sit There anymore? What, I wonder, is this doing to our brains? Our interactions? Our relationships? Everything is so quick & fantastic & bright & big & frantic & violent. It seems so addictive & impulsive & gross, this behavior of ours.

It's getting worse too. Why must there be a television EVERY-FUCKING-WHERE?!  At the gym now, they are attached to the cardio machines. The users look like wired mice. I wonder if they are even getting a workout, since their minds are so far removed from their bodies? Doesn't anybody want to feel anything anymore?

I took Dax to zpizza the other day, a treat (for me really). We sat there eating, when I noticed him gazing off in the distance. I followed his eyes to a television in the corner. I felt so sad then. First off, he's one years old. One. Years. Old. Which, according to the AAP, children shouldn't be watching any television until they're two. (Mind you, I have been known to throw a little Curious George on when trying to cook dinner, but at least the viewing and content is under my control as a parent). How would I be able to avoid television & its seemingly unchecked content if I tried? Televisions are in airports & malls & cars & restaurants & every other damn place you can think of now because apparently we can't even stand to speak to each other anymore.

I am not immune, especially to the internet. I am amazed sometimes at how some hours can go by in browsing time and nothing accomplished, not a stitch closer to my dreams & goals. How dare I say, 'there's not enough time?' How much of itdo we buzz away? And after I am off the internet, how do I feel? Anxious. Tired. A little Frantic. It certainly doesn't relax me. It doesn't refresh me (although writing does).

But sometimes I simply crave a mindless crawl through fave websites. I am familiar with this thinking/feeling/needing from an old ex-addiction to cigarettes--I would THINK a couple cigs would relax me, but truly, every puff would make me more anxious, more needy, wanting more. Is there enjoyment? Yes, of course, trust me I loved my cigs, but long-term happiness? Heck no.

 I saw a girl on the swing the other day, looking at her phone and texting. She was missing it. The whole part of swinging where your mind gets all freed up & you can feel your body & your smile and the wind whooshing between your teeth. These are the moments that regenerate the brain. The ones that help us think deep & clear. Without them, what kind of citizens will we be?

It makes me scared & sad & mad for Dax. I don't see kids playing on the street here (a nice safe suburban neighborhood, easily walkable).I don't want him to miss out on all the beautiful things that surround us, calm us. My whole childhood was about the woods and the sky and the lakes and the rivers--I found solace there, freedom, repose. Where will he find his peace of mind? The backdrop of his memories? A google search?

I am afraid for him to grow up with peers whose attention spans are .02 miliseconds. How much can a parent really do? I can field damage control, of course, but in a world like ours where it seems so many people are accepting this new life of ours and not asking questions. Where the business owners are tacking televisions in every corner. Where every new car comes equipped with a television, so kids don't even stare out windows anymore. They just listen to the soundbites, get all jumbled up by The Noise.

How can I tell my son: There's another way, 
When the whole world seems to be telling him otherwise?