All Thumbed Out

Reading the newspaper -- a real one, printed on real paper -- is still a ritual in our house. One of the first articles I read over my morning coffee today was this piece by Adam Bryant. (Free registration required.) It's a letter to his BlackBerry, which he seems to have stopped carrying.

It's been a few weeks since we parted company. I'm sure you've forgotten me by now and are still hard at work for my former employer.

That's good. No hard feelings. I've decided I'm actually better off without you.

Why? Because even though you made me feel more productive, I'm realizing that in fact you made me less so.

...

Sure, I'm to blame, too. I made some mistakes. I liked your alarm feature, so I kept you bedside. I'd check you late at night. I'd check you first thing in the morning. Sometimes I'd even check you on Sundays, and often regretted it.

But you gave me something to do in idle moments, while I was standing in line or waiting for a train. With you, there was no dead time. It seemed great for a while.

Living without you, though, there's more time to think.

Daydreaming is an underappreciated pastime, and I've been doing more of it since we broke up, often to good effect. The idea percolator works better with fewer distractions.

I realize that not everyone can let go like I did. People who are on the road a lot, in particular, are still smitten.

But here's a thought. What if they cooled it just for a week? Wouldn't that leave more time to puzzle through what-ifs and how-abouts, the kind of questions that help us keep a step ahead of the competition?

Spot on. Of course, continuous partial attention is the fault of the user, not the technology. (As a quick aside, when I saw Edward Tufte speak last year he noted only two industries call their customers "users": tech and illicit drugs.) These things have an off button, and the wise person uses them frequently, turning a way for the world to reach them into a way for them to reach the world.

It's sort of like the note I wrote on silence a few days ago. "White space," I call it. Long stretches of uninterrupted time to think, stretching before you like a large, blank sheet of thick butcher paper. White space. Open for anything.

In 30 minutes or so I'm going to head to the Perkiomen Trail for my weekly Sunday long run. Today it's 10 miles, which will take me between an hour and 25 and an hour and 30 minutes to complete. It's sunny today, and not too hot, and the Perky is a lovely trail that follows a wide river, runs under a nave of arching trees, along fields and through a small town or two -- it's beautiful. I'll have my iPod on and listen to some good music along the way, but best of all I'll be alone to think, without interruption or conversation, the more distracting parts of the mind focused on the small task of left-foot right-foot, for an hour and a half.

This is the best part of my week (at least, the best part I don't spend with Katherine). Somewhere today, along the trail, I will see a beautiful thing. Somewhere along the trail, the music in my ear and the light in my eye and the endorphins in my brain will combine to form a thrill of soaring emotion in my heart. And best of all, somewhere along the trail I will have a great idea. Certainly one. Perhaps two. It's the white space that brings that idea along; the lack of interruption and low level focus of the run.

It's a wonderful thing, something I'd encourage you to have, too. Find your white space. Unroll the page. Give your brain a chance to draw.

I'm In

Kate and I just registered for the Marine Corps Marathon in Washington this October. Keep your fingers crossed for a non-life-threatening performance.

We actually started training 10 weeks or so by way of getting ready for Philly's annual Broad Street Run. This event (10 miles) nearly killed me last year, primarily due to my near total lack of prep. This year was a different story, and we're off and running (pardon the pun) with the MCM as the final goal. Formal training will start July 7th (it's a 17-week program), with the PDR as a training run come September.

And about my recent absence from blogging: I had a friend and colleague send me a note asking where I'd been. Frankly, I was flattered to be missed. Here's what I said: Comes and goes, sometimes with my schedule (which has been quite busy), sometimes with the available content (which can get lean), and sometimes with my interest (which can wane). But as sure as it goes, it comes back. So thanks for checking in.