Can’t explain the aversion to phones—of any shape or form. In fact, my cell is in a drawer, keeping socks company.
Maybe it’s that I’m a writer and do better with the written word. I’m not as quick on the draw when it comes to speaking, but I’m a whiz [and wit] with the keyboard and pen.
Maybe it’s that I don’t have that much to share. I see little merit in revealing all that’s been done during the day. My life is quiet, uneventful. Life in the fast lane fizzled out years ago (thankfully). Rushing to Nordstrum’s or Crate & Barrel isn’t a priority, nor is visiting the trendiest restaurant or sampling the best Riesling of the month. And if one was of such urgency, I can’t see needing to describe my experience to anyone.
Maybe it’s that I don’t have any close friends. I love those who are in my life, but they’re not emergency-call close buddies. Nor am I to them. It is what it is. A comfortable arrangement between casual acquaintances.
Maybe it’s that it’s annoying to be yammering so much and so often. I know people who can’t leave their cell phones off for one minute. Are you that important? Really?
Maybe it’s that I relish solitude. Once upon a time, silence was golden. Not sure when that was, but it had to be before the invention of the phone and technology. There were moments, hours, maybe even days when there was an opportunity to reflect, relax, and enjoy quiet. Absolute, unadulterated stillness.
Cell-less: yes, and happily so. Clueless: far from it.