Managing Miracles

When I was a little girl, my father bought a device with which to play music in our home.  It was about three-and-a-half feet tall and six feet long.  It had two heavy lids that you had to lift up in order to access the equipment, and then hope that the hinge caught and the wooden lid wouldn't crash back down on your head.  It held.a turntable for records, a stereo radio, and an eight-track player. 

This was a major piece of furniture.

On my last birthday, my son sent me a package.  I opened it to find a little clear box.  Inside the small box was a device the size of a postage stamp.  

I stared at it, not believing my eyes.  It looked like an absolute miracle.

I opened the box and turned the device over in my hands.  There was a little card with instructions for a beetle to read.  

I put everything back in the box and placed the box on my dresser.  I knew my son would be in town in a couple of weeks and could help me with this new bit of technology.

The other day, I brought it to him so he could help me with my new device for playing music.  He got it out of the box and explained things to me.  With a bit of a laugh on his face, he showed me there was an instruction booklet.  On one side, it said, "Start here."  I looked from that back up to his face.  His face, I can read.  His voice, I get. His statements, I trust.

He took me over to my computer to help me set things up.  I listened to him talk about iTune accounts and other things I had no experience in until I felt like I was in the middle of a dark sea without a paddle--that I knew how to use, anyway.

"I've gotten too old for this world," I mumbled.

"No, you haven't," he said.  "Just don't be afraid of it."  He continued, "There are people your age who don't even know how to open an icon on the computer, and there are people your age who know more about computers than I do."  I was glad he placed me somewhere in the middle.

It was still a little hard to believe that this postage stamp could play two days' worth of music, or that I would ever feel I needed it.

I see people at the gym--and at work, for that matter--with ear buds glued in, and I respect that.  I know there must be some allure, but I'd never felt the need to have music running through my head constantly. When I work out, I make up games in my mind or calculate how long the workout will take or how many calories I can burn in the time I have.  I listen to classical music in the car, because traffic is boring.  More boring that life.  But, the rest of the time, I actually prefer being tuned in to the world around me, aware of other people, or enjoying silence.

But I appreciated the gift, and the time my son spent helping me set it up.  I fastened my iPod to my gym shirt and turned it on.  The glorious voice of Susan Boyle filled my ears.  Instantly, I was transported to a world where a middle-aged, frumpy nobody could come out of obscurity in a triumph of polished greatness.  I listened to her all through my workout and switched the iPod to my business jacket after my shower, then listened to her for a good part of the day at work.

Not only did I feel pretty darn with-it, I enjoyed it.  I may be hooked.

And I noticed some things.  It did make exercising less boring.  It engaged my emotional system into my workout along with my respiratory and circulatory systems so that I believe I worked a little harder and my workout was more effective.  It was fun to find that turning off the car and standing up from my desk didn't turn off the music.

And I can see how it could come in handy to be in my own head when someone is in a bad mood or I'm trying to concentrate amid noise.  I could also be more serene but less helpful during piano practicing.

I also noticed that turning my hearing of the world off by diverting it into my own private world of music was both freeing and isolating.  As an introvert, it was a bit of a relief to be more caught up in my own head than usual and excused from tracking other people's doings, needs, assertions, and attitudes.  It was easier for me to ignore people.  I realized then that going around with an iPod could become very comfortable for me, in a way that would make me uncomfortable with myself.  I could see how much effort I have been making in the last few years to be aware of and involved with the people around me.  I could easily lose that ground I've gained.

I also noticed that, at home, I am more cued in by sound than I would have thought.  Wearing my iPod, I couldn't as easily track when the dryer stopped, whether the washing machine sounded right, who was fighting with whom and how to judge that, who was being waaaaay too quiet.

But I love it!  So, as it should be for all owned technology, I'll enjoy and manage my use of this miraculous metal postage stamp at my discretion.