A farewell to goodbyes

A few hours into a recent trip across this land I got a call from a friend asking what was new. When I told him I was driving through another state he asked why I had left without saying goodbye. I felt bad about forgetting and gave an excuse, but the truth was it didn’t really seem necessary. Here I was talking to him anyway, no matter how many miles away.

Almost all of our social norms seem to be in a transitional period with the birth of so many new communication technologies. My aunt gave an apologetic disclaimer for the informality of the e-mail announcing her engagement, but many people probably wouldn’t even think twice about it. The acceleration of the instant lifestyle will likely become even faster, since it’s no longer generation gaps that divide revolutionary advances but a matter of months.

The Law of Convenience states that once something is made eaiser, it is not likely to become less easy voluntarily. We get what we want and we want everything faster. Whatever the causes, we’re hopped up on speed and I’m driving 90 miles an hour with a phone to my ear. But not all the time; I also enjoyed the scenery as it slid past my windows at a nice pace. In some places the open land seemed to stretch out untouched for miles, but only because I couldn’t see the road I was looking out from.

So I half-assed a classic, life-changing journey of self-discovery. I told people anecdotes in real time, then accidentally repeated them on the postcards I sent home. I snapped digital pictures of breathtaking vistas and shortly thereafter felt like I was done looking at them. I often used interstates so I could be home in time to file my taxes, and when the night sky fell on top of me I turned on some familiar music.

I was grateful for my phone when my tank was on empty in the hills of Mojave County. I figured worst-case scenario I could call information for a tow-truck company. But then I thought of the Oregon Trail folks, and the American Indians who traveled before them, before even horses. I thought about illusions of control, about gasoline and electricity. I didn’t think to look at how many bars of reception I had when suddenly divine providence smelled my fear and gave me the bright dots of civilization over the next hill. I coasted in toward the pumps and smiled like I knew something new.