Connected to technology

By Catie Getches of The Washington Post

Each October, as it begins to get dark earlier and earlier, I find myself instinctively dreading the end of day. It’s a feeling left over from my teenage years, when sundown used to signal winding down and a realization that what had started with so much promise at sunrise was doomed to another quiet, boring finish.

I remember school nights in the early 90s filled with nothing to do (after I finished homework, of course). My family owned just one VHS tape (“Arachnophobia’’), my parents treated the TV as a device that entered sleep mode at 11 p.m. and my long battles of “no, you say goodbye first’’ with some high school boyfriend got old fast.

But these days, instant messaging, TiVo and my cell phone make the very notion of dismay over “day’s end” seem as old-fashioned as getting worked up over sliced bread.

Sure, the light bulb hedged daylight more than a century ago, but today’s technological advancements have obliterated the usual constraints of time and even space. As a result, 24/7 has gone from extreme to routine, and the idea of an end to the day has been replaced by an “it’s business hours somewhere’’ mentality.

A Verizon commercial I heard on the radio recently says it all: Thanks to your cell phone, “You can put Father Time in a headlock and give him a great big noogie.’’

In case you hadn’t noticed, the dead of night is suddenly alive. It’s not just clubgoers, security guards and bakers who make the most of the graveyard shift; it’s easier than ever to be an insomniac (or at least to intersect with one). CEOs e-mail their subordinates after midnight, my brother monitors his eBay account all night long and my mother-in-law keeps Fox cable news on to help her sleep. (Who knew that early morning stumbles to the bathroom could also be prime time for the latest on the Laci Peterson case?)

All it takes is some time alone, especially late at night, to confirm how much technology has transformed culture and changed how we relate to each other. That’s because being alone is not what it used to be. These days, even momentary solitude seems like something to be avoided at all cost.

And technology makes it possible: Thanks to cell phones, no one has to face that stroll down the street, the five-minute commute or the lunch line without companionship.

Even insomniacs find camaraderie in this dual universe. “Anyone out there?’’ is how many denizens of eBay’s Night Owl’s Nest (a forum for “night crawlers and insomniacs of eBay to meet and greet other creatures of the night’’) often open an online conversation.

But the highly coveted “anywhere, anytime’’ access (is there a telecom company anywhere, anytime that doesn’t use that line?) really means being available everywhere, all-the-time—but more and more, it means late and later. At least that’s what technology promotes: Cell phones are cheapest after 9 p.m., some video stores stay open all night and, at any given hour, there’s a virtual world of people you could be connecting with in cyberspace. There’s no day’s end when a.m. can just as easily be p.m.—and often is both, if you’re chatting with someone overseas. And exactly what time is bedtime when cable and network TV offer news and entertainment (nevermind the quality) in every time slot, all night long?

For the younger generation growing up today, “whenever, wherever’’ has become a way of life. Multi-tasking is so mainstream. Teens communicate when and where they choose—they’re firing off text messages on the fly, in the classroom or late at night when they’re supposed to be sleeping. They’re so wired that they make twenty-somethings like me nervous. A friend in New York recently lamented, “It’s weird, there are teeny-boppers with BlackBerrys running all over the subways,’’ he said, as if he had seen a newborn consuming Starbucks coffee instead of milk.

So it seems as if it should be easier for everyone to connect, late at night or whenever. But the more technology we turn on, the more relationships we have to manage simultaneously—and the more likely we are to ask our best friends if they can hold. I have programmable phone lists and speed dial at my fingertips, and yet I feel more disconnected than ever—somehow, it’s easier than ever to be two places at once but nearly impossible to, as my mom says, just “be here now.’’

It’s not that I disdain the benefits of the parallel universe. I exchange e-mails and voice mail with friends, and I’m glad to have been able to meet new puppies, kittens and babies in my inbox that I’ve never met in the flesh.

At the same time, it’s almost impossible to avoid the draw of the linked-up lifestyle. Many employees feel the need to be “reachable at all times.’’ And more and more companies require it.

In the era of the borderless office, the workday never really ends. Sarah Foelske, an art director in New York, says she feels “like I have to be constantly connected’’ and often leaves work after 10 p.m. “only to go home and turn on the Internet.’’ As a result she says, “e-mail and being online makes you feel lonelier in a way, trying to be connected all the time.’’

It’s so common to correspond by e-mail alone, it’s easy to go for days without actually interacting with a real live human. As a twin, accustomed to sharing everything from birth to the same high-pitched laugh with my sister, I used to hate being alone.

I remember asking my Mom if she got sad when my Dad left on business trips. “I do miss him,’’ she would say. “But I really like having alone time, it’s nice to be by yourself.’’ I think I turned around before I mouthed, “What a loser.’’

If I used to dread day’s end, now I dread the endless day. The more connected I am, the more I wish I could turn back the clock (and not just one hour). Now that I can get a call anytime, anywhere, I find myself screening my calls whenever, wherever. Who wants to waste even a few minutes on the phone to chat with someone who’s only filling time while going from one place to another?

These days, I have no problem saying goodbye first. And staying up late so I can get my real twin on the cell phone is no substitute for having her in a real headlock and hearing her LOL when I give her a great big noogie.