It’s increasingly rare to meet someone who doesn’t own a mobile phone. Kids, nannas, homeless people….somewhere over the past two decades, it went from something only Yuppie Wankers carried, to rating up there with oxygen on most people’s must-have list.
Kylie Ladd, writes about her life with no phone ….
I don’t have a mobile phone. Yes, you read that correctly: I have no mobile phone. In this day and age that makes me a rarity. Statistics show that in developed countries 97 per cent of the population possess a mobile, and that includes children and the elderly. Many of my friends have two – one for work, one for personal calls – and some have given up their landline in favour of their Nokia or iPhone.To them, I’m a dinosaur, a Luddite, a ridiculous aberration in a world where every second person has something jammed to their ear. It’s not even that I’m afraid of technology – I email, I Facebook, I’ve even succumbed to Twitter. I just don’t dial. Or text. Or answer the phone in the supermarket and shout into it: “I’m in the supermarket. Where are you?”
I have to admit that there are times when I’m tempted. Having a mobile would have been a blessing when my car broke down a few weeks ago, or in those moments when I’m suddenly unsure if I’ve schlepped my son to the wrong cricket ground for his match. Then there was the time a friend of mine attended the Brownlow with her husband, a former AFL footballer. Watching the coverage at home, every time the camera swept over her table all I could see of Leah was the top of her head as she leaned frantically over her phone. I knew she was texting friends, as arranged, and I was dying to know what they were saying.
But other than that, I don’t feel that I’m missing out.
To me, all the conveniences of a mobile phone seem to be negated by the fact that it no doubt quickly becomes something else to remember, to pay for, to be tied to. I can be reached, and reach others, quite easily by email and the regular phone; if I plan, there’s never any reason to have to take anything with me for constant updates.
A new acquaintance was aghast when I told him I didn’t have a mobile. “But what do you do if you’re running late?” he asked incredulously. Try not to run late, I answered. Hope the person will wait five minutes if I do, or find a public phone to call them if I’m going to be any longer than that (pay phones do still exist).
Another reason not to buy into the mobile mania is that I detest the way they seem to take precedence over face-to-face conversation. Many’s the time I’ve been talking to someone at a cricket match or school function and that person’s mobile has rung. Even though we might be deep in discussion, it seems the norm is to simply answer the phone and put me on hold.
Even ruder are the addicts who text while you’re having lunch together, or check their emails on a girls’ night out. I don’t want to turn into one of those.
I also don’t want to be always available, always on. I spend a lot of time talking to people in my job as a psychologist and answering the questions of my loquacious seven-year-old daughter. I spend hours, too, wrestling with words and ideas when I’m writing, and sometimes I need a break from all those things – the words and the talk.
Occasionally, when I am sitting on the sidelines at my son’s swimming training, I find myself musing that it might be nice to have a mobile so I could catch up with a friend or read the paper online. But then the hour passes and I realise that I am calmer, that sometimes you need to step back, you need to be still. That’s when the ideas come and the problems are solved.
I know my stance will be challenged as my children get older and want mobiles of their own. In our social circle, the rule of thumb seem to be that kids get their own phones once they start high school. That’s only two years away for my son. I’d like to think that I’ll resist, that I can convince him that such an accessory simply isn’t necessary, that it might even, in these days of cyber-bullying and sexting, be dangerous, or at least a drain on his finances.
Still, I may have to compromise. Next month, my family and I are setting out to travel through the Kimberley and the Pilbara at the top of Australia. My girlfriends have pointed out that surely, given my navigational abilities and my spouse’s mechanical prowess, a mobile would be essential – how else were we going to be rescued when we broke down or got lost?
For a moment I thought I was beaten, until my husband pointed out that there wasn’t much coverage in the Top End, and what we’d really need was a satellite phone.
I’m not sure whether that counts. Even if it does, at least, up there, no one will ever need to hear me announce that I’m in the supermarket.
Image by Geekgirly
Do you remember life before mobile phones? How old were you when you got your first and can you EVER imagine not having it? Do you have any no-go-phone areas in your life?
Top Comments
I didn’t get a mobile until I moved out of home at 18 (2008), and am now 21. I initially bought the cheapest Nokia brick on the market and, when that phone broke, upgraded to an iPhone so that I could check my emails while I travelled overseas. I now can use my phone for work emails too, which is convenient.
My friends, through high school and college especially, were flabbergasted that I didn’t have a mobile. They’d harass me about getting one constantly – it would be so much easier to arrange to meet up, they could contact me to let me know plans when I was out and about, if we got separated at musical festivals we could meet up again – and these were all valid points. But I didn’t feel the need for a mobile, and so I didn’t buy one. On the flip side, I do now find my mobile incredibly useful. As someone who rents and moves house, it’s easy just to have a mobile instead of a landline. I love that I can check emails when travelling, text people with details when I can’t otherwise call (for example, on a bus or in a noisy grocery store), take photos if I see something interesting on the street, see what my friends have been up to on twitter or facebook while waiting for the bus.
BOTH are valid lifestyle choices.
Not having a phone did not make me anti-social or a luddite. But equally, having a phone does not make me incapable of meeting up to people face-to-face, or talking to strangers, or taking the time each day to appreciate the world around me. I used to find the outrage of my friends when I didn’t have a phone tedious, and now I find the holier-than-thou judgement of people without phones equally tedious. I think, unfortunately, the great mobile debate mostly comes down to judgement. People with phones getting annoyed at their friends who don’t have phones, people without phones getting annoyed that not everyone can appreciate the simple life like they can.
A mobile is merely a tool for communication – what’s more important than whether or not you have a phone, is what you’re communicating with them.
Melissa, if I was your age I'd do the same. I'd have a mobile and no landline. An ipod and no CDs. A kindle and no book collection. Very portable and efficient.
I'm 46. I've never had a mobile phone. Neither has my partner. When everyone was getting them my hands were full with three small children. I've never heard anyone say anything very significant into them. Now, we don't want the extra thing to think about, pay for, blah blah. We don't miss out on anything. We talk to friends, we email, we use the landline. We make plans about where and when to meet and stick to them. I carry a book with me, and talk to strangers (now, there's a lost art - most people are plugged into screens and ipods and aren't into interacting with people - I don't have an ipod either). There have a been a few times when it would have been handy to have a mobile phone, like when the car broke down, but the thing is, I approached strangers, and they helped. One time a couple let me call the NRMA, then when I asked to call home to tell the babysitter, they drove me home, and gave my partner a bottle of water for the wait for the NRMA. Good people. People are shocked that I don't have a mobile. I don't want one. My children don't want me to get one. They want my attention. We want to look up and out and hear, and notice the people and things around us.