‘Writing in a notebook seems sneakier than sketching. If the person beside you catches a glimpse of the drawing you’re working on, it’s possible they might smile, not like if they were to see these words’
Insights from a turned off cellphone
— Jonathan Goldstein,
I’ ve recently taken to turning off my smartphone and packing it away during subway commutes. In its place, I now carry a small notebook and use it to jot down observations. It’s my attempt to be more in the moment — as opposed to staring at a phone, adjacent to the moment. Here is a sampling from this week’s entries.
Monday Almost every person on this subway car is looking at their phone. The woman beside me is using the calculator app. I know her calculations can only be about money. After grade school, what else is there to count?
The man beside her eats a sandwich from a paper bag. How hungry must a person be to eat on the subway? Especially when you consider that taste is mostly a matter of smell.
Speaking of eating on the subway, I wonder what Pizza Rat is up to. He has no idea how famous he is right now, how much he’s changed society’s view of just how much a rat can accomplish. I wonder if Pizza Rat’s dad was also ambitious. Or especially greedy.
Tuesday I eavesdrop on a woman in her twenties. She is talking about the merits of Close-Up, the red gel toothpaste. “It helps camouflage the blood,” she says. Why is this woman’s mouth bleeding? Writing in a notebook seems sneakier than sketching. If the person beside you catches a glimpse of the drawing you’re working on, it’s possible they might smile, not like if they were to see these words.
Wednesday As a child, I once read a fantasy novel in which the fantastical creatures crossed over into our world from theirs. They stood at the side of the road and watched the cars pass, wondering what species these speeding creatures were that, rather cruelly, kept their prey on display before digesting them. I wonder if a dragon would wonder what kind of a dragon a subway was.
Thursday For the past three stops, an old man has been studying the subway map. I ask if he needs help but he’s apparently hard of hearing. So I ask again, louder. He still doesn’t hear me. I wonder how loud is appropriate to get, how loud a very kind person has to be, and if I am kind enough to yell in this man’s face.
I watch him, trying to decide what to do. I wonder if for some people a loss of hearing is peaceful, like turning down the volume on the world.
Friday I’m so impressed by people who can read an old-fashioned newspaper on the train. I watch a man who does so while standing beside a pole. The key, it seems, is knowing how to fold it and this man knows how. But as he is using both hands to do so, were the train to suddenly stop short, he’d be in trouble. I guess we tend toward living our lives with the general assumption that everything will go smoothly, that the planet will keep spinning and the subway will keep running. What other choice is there? Besides, reading the newspaper on a phone just isn’t the same.