Luddite lite

It is the early nineteenth century, and a huge fire is roaring in a town square, in the counties of Cheshire, Lancashire, Derbyshire, Yorkshire. Amidst the crackling and yelling and jeering, men are throwing pieces of machinery into the flames, giving voice and visual power to their deteriorating standard of living. At the heart of the Industrial Revolution, a group of angered English craftsmen, championed by Ned Ludd, formed a counter-revolution called Luddism. They were fighting for their rights to not be replaced and made obsolete by technology. Their rebellion, peppered with human cost, was contained and eradicated just a few years later.

I've always considered myself a moderate when it comes to technological innovation and progress. The washing machine:good. Nuclear missiles:bad. And I've always been just a tad smug that I haven't succumbed to the legions of cell phone have-ers, i-pod wearers, the car users. Somehow, to me, these intentional exclusions have made a statement, that I refuse to immerse myself in the ocean of the technological frontier. I am, and always have been, content just to get a toe wet.

Only it's not just a toe. I've been in denial. Chocolate covered, smug denial. Because technological dependance has crept into my life without the flashing red lights and warning signals, and made itself at home. I have become hopelessly addicted to my computer. I originally received the computer as a gift, to get me writing. Internet came shortly after, and I set up e.mail more for the novelty than anything else. Slowly, e.mail became a shortcut to communicating with friends when travelling. It managed to maintain the relevancy and timeliness that often got lost in hand written letters. When I returned from my travels, e.mail pretty much replaced the phone. It became a way to still 'talk' to and 'love' my ex-boyfriend without all the irritants of talking to and loving him in person. It became a means of storytelling to my friends, with the added bonus of self-editing. And it had became another, more powerful extension of my voice, a voice at times too soft and timid to be heard.

The crux of my addiction became apparent around Christmas time last year. Amidst a bout of depression, I was sending e.mails fast and furious, not because I had so many things to say, but because I wanted, no, I needed, the response. I'd barely touched my phone, except to check for messages. I would check e.mail about 17 times a day. Even when I knew, in the back of my mind, no one had written me, such was my mania, my need for that fix of attention. I would get irritable and sad when there were no new e.mails. I would get angry at no one in particular; "You don't get it," I'd huff at Yahoo, "Checking e.mail is really just a pit stop on the way to Google." But I had nothing to Google. I wasn't fooling Yahoo, and I wasn't fooling myself. I needed to take a step back, cure myself, find some perspective and balance. Did the Luddites have the right idea? And did they have a website?

What would my life be without technology? It couldn't be all bad. I could teach myself macrame. I could take up the lute. I could make my own tortillas in the stone oven I'd build. I could participate in barn raisings, or write letters with feather pens and squid ink and deliver them on horseback. And yes, I could read books, and, I suppose, stretch my imagination. And really, who doesn't look better in candlelight? But then I remind myself of the rosy side of tech innovations. Waffle irons. Listening to old radio plays like The Shadow. Fish and veggies on the George Forman grill. Coffee makers. The CBC on a cold and wintery day. And keeping in touch, at a moment's notice, with loved ones, by phone, by e.mail. Because at the end of all the technological madness that can swallow us, in between lunacy and Luddism, is simply the constant and fragile human need to feel anchored by someone else. It's to accept that while we may not be able to slow or steady the manic pace of our daily lives, we can use with moderation the tools we've fashioned, technological or not, to stay close, stay decent, stay humane. The Luddites, bless them, fought for this choice and failed. We don't have to.