Cyborgian

I’ve become intimately aware of the ways my body is bound to technology (in a completely literal way). More cyborg than I am human.

Announcement: I’m thinking of starting a writing exchange! 

I’ve had the profound privilege of taking creative writing classes and having friends to read my work. But I also remember the isolating feeling of having none of that and how much harder it was to write then. I’ve been thinking about ways I can make this space more of a community rather than a soapbox. I am by no means a qualified teacher of writing, so this is very much a community driven idea :)

A writing exchange would involve bringing any new or old writing to the table (short form is best, any genre is welcome). We’ll have a good‘ol zoom meeting where we can discuss our writing in groups and pairs. This is super casual, but does require some commitment (aka participating). If you’re interested, please fill out the Google Form below, so I can think about how best to schedule something like this! Please share with friends who may be interested!

---

I’ve become intimately aware of the ways my body is bound to technology (in a completely literal way). More cyborg than I am human. I listen to music with earbuds while I walk with my phone in hand. I carry my computer in my backpack no matter where I go. I never know when I might spontaneously find a nice place to work (I never do). 

I rarely leave the house or even a room without lugging all this stuff with me. But on the rare occasions when I don’t have a computer strapped to my back (I still don’t leave the house with my phone), I feel so incredibly light. The cyborg mind is full of contradictions. 

I lost my earbuds about a month ago. I kept thinking they were going to appear out of the ether or a jacket pocket (like they usually do). While I waited, I conducted my daily errands without listening to music. In particular, I walked a mile to my covid tests twice a week. I’d leave the house wondering how bored I’d be. Back when I used to listen to music while walking, all sensory detail of my environment would pass through me like air. My ears were engaged, but everything else was on auto. What was life like otherwise?

In the beginning, I found myself humming or narrating life out-loud like a vlogger (side question: is the gen-z consciousness simply the voice of a vlogger?). Eventually, I’d run out of things to narrate and my mind would buzz with worries and random thoughts. 

Sometimes, a few minutes into a walk, I felt my eyes grow large, roaming and awake. I’d observe my body slowly merging with the world outside – the pedestrians walking their dog, the cars racing past, the trees wavering softly. I felt connected. And then minutes later, I’d return to my disarming vlogging persona. My attention fluctuated between the world inside and the world outside me. It was an unusual feeling, seeing my body engage and then disengage. 

But I felt like I had finally conquered the daily commute without music. The next hurdle was running. I didn’t know how to run without distraction, without taking my thoughts away from the fact that running HURTS. But, I found that it was very similar to walking, except I couldn’t narrate to myself out-loud (good riddance). Just as before, I’d have thoughts and then those thoughts would disappear. I’d engage, disengage, engage, disengage. My performance wasn’t any worse. 

Generally, my body responds to my command. But when I listen to music, my body is tied to tempo and lyrics – I cry at a sad song, I dance to a boisterous one. Sometimes we need to get out of our bodies. Music is great for that. But I depended on that disconnection to get me through the day, through every monotonous moment. I thought I was entertaining myself, but all I was doing was giving up control. This is not a novel discovery – so much of the technology we use daily is founded on the innocence of entertainment. But perhaps I thought I could take back that control whenever I wanted.

Yesterday, I bought myself replacement earbuds. Part of me knew that access to earbuds would mean I’d always choose music over my own thoughts. Despite the oddities of self-narration and uninterrupted self-consciousness, I cherished my newfound sense of awareness. What tipped me over the edge was the thought of my impending 6-hour plane ride home at the end of the semester. How could I possibly endure that without music? Perhaps I’ll never know.