So I’m trying to put this theory into practice– you know learning and all. It’s kind of tough, but as I am wading through waters of “isms,” I find that I have more questions that answers and more meandering thoughts of utility–what some would call pragmatism. Am I bound to all this new fangled technology? Am I its masters or its slave? I would prefer the first, but being that I am new to instructional design, I see that I am the slave–so to speak, or at least until I have a better foundation on which to stand, and this leads me too the question of disconnect.
With all this new technology have we disconnected from ourselves and one another? I love what technology can do for us. Brings us near when we’re far. Let’s us drop-a-line as time allows. Puts a face on the book of our lives so that others might read. Stop. Think. Listen.
When was the last time you actually, really and truly connected with someone? I mean someone you value. Someone you love. Someone about whom you care deeply. Someone whose shoulder fit your cheek just right? Hmmm???
Can technology do that? Can it reach out and touch somebody’s hand? Can it wipe away your tears? Can it hold you in its arm until the ache is gone? Nope. Technology can’t do that. For all our connectedness, we seem to have lost a little bit of our humanness. I call it the great disconnect divide. So while I am all for learning, growing, developing, and using technological tools in new ways, I am far more for getting connected to people and not just ideas or flights of fancy. And No! I’m not trying to start some technological-philosophical debate. I’m only just sayin’ there is still within each of us the impulse for being “with” others and not just via wireless, bluetooth, rays of high speed bytes, and gigs.
I want to know you—not your tweet, not your facebook, not your space, nor your skype. I want to connect flesh to human flesh. Look in your eyes and see the deep—the river that runs through you, because maybe that river, or one just like it, runs through me too. Or maybe I just enjoy the sound of the waters living in you flowing out to me.
So to you my connected friends, I say, connect with me and I with you. Stop. Look. Listen. Think. Is that a tapping? A rap, rap, rapping at your door? Or is it the click, click, click—lights-dim-and-screen-closing-fade-to-black screen of that little handy dandy technological device you hold in your hand, on your desk, or in your lap?
See you on the other side of the disconnect divide.