Empty Streets

Author’s note: Today’s contemplation ties into many of my past writings. The ideas I explored in “Distraction and Escape”, “Sleepwalking”, “Be Real”, “The Busyness Epidemic”, and “Sisyphus” culminate in this essay.

It seems an impossible thing to listen to the chirping of the birds and not be delighted by their song. Likewise, it seems impossible to stare up at the stars and not be struck by awe, to stand in the rain and not feel alive, or to sing out loud and not feel joyful.

We are treadmill walkers.

Seriously. As a society, we have become treadmill walkers in every aspect of life.

We have taken walking, the simplest way to experience the world around us, and turned it into a monotonous task. We tread the same eight feet of rubber at a constant speed over and over again. And while we do this, our senses are held captive. Our eyes are locked on the phone, watching others live their lives. Our ears listen to their laughter. Our skin feels no breeze, no scratches from branches, no bugs splatting against us. Our lungs breathe in the same air they just breathed out.

And we care more about the neon numbers that the treadmill spits out than what we experience. Minutes, miles, steps … we need to complete this task so we can move on to the next one. Where is the adventure in this?

We are able to hike mountains, run through fields, and climb trees. We can swim rivers and yell at the top of our lungs.

But no.

We prefer to silently walk the treadmill – the Sisyphean path of rubber.

To be clear, I do not want to discourage people from actually walking on a treadmill.

What I am doing is using the treadmill as a metaphor to show what we have become:

Task-Achievers

…instead of what we could be:

Life-Experiencers

The treadmill is a simple and understandable image demonstrating the disconnect between who we are and who we could be.

Consider these observations for a moment:

• I went shopping the other day and did not talk to a single person.

  I entered the store, quickly collected the produce I needed, headed to the self-checkout line, and was on my way after a few minutes.

• I went to the gym yesterday and did not talk to a single person.

  I was surrounded by men who share the same passion for training as I, but I did not speak to any of them. Each was in his own world, wearing headphones.

• As I stepped on the bus, everyone was staring at their phones, avoiding eye contact.

• I went to a restaurant, ordered my food on a screen, and shared a quick thank you with a worker to complete the transaction.

• I took a walk and I did not see a single soul. Cars passed by me carrying busy people heading somewhere too far to walk.

• I no longer have to sit and ponder or discuss topics because Google has all the answers.

These are all things I have observed recently, and honestly, I do not like them.

Has it always been like this?

Didn’t people used to shop at small local grocery stores where they knew everyone by name? Surely, they didn’t speed in and out with their heads lowered. They interacted. They heard about the new baby born in town, met friends they loved, and endured long-winded stories from people of whom they weren’t particularly fond.

And I have no doubt that shopping took longer back then, but at least they were experiencing it.

Now we go to warehouse-size grocers where we become numbers that treat employees like robots. Shopping has become a task that must be completed as quickly as possible.

Didn’t streets used to be alive with chatting townspeople and friendly faces? Or have they always been abandoned? Have people always been holed up in their offices, cars, and houses?

Where is the humanness?

When do we finally stop checking off boxes and start experiencing? … perhaps when we sit down in front of the TV at night?

Has it always been about getting things done as quickly as possible so we can move on to the next task?

It seems that, in the name of efficiency, we truly have become simple task-completers.

And we have entirely forgotten that we could be life-experiencers.

Allow me a moment to point out the absurdity:

We complete a task quickly so that we can move on to the next one, which we again must complete quickly.

The cost of this “efficiency” is human interaction. It gets sacrificed, and we become robots who, in turn, treat other people like robots. What is the purpose of this?

It seems to me that we have indeed become treadmill walkers.

And by the sweat of our brows, we try to raise the numbers staring at us from the screen.

Why do we care about those numbers?

Do we think they represent health or happiness?

Who is happier? … the man on the treadmill staring at his phone, or the one walking on a small path through the forest, listening to the birds?

Who is healthier?

Some final questions to consider...

• What experiences have you turned into tasks?

• What treadmill numbers are you trying to raise?

• What is the next, simple thing you can do to truly experience the beauty surrounding you?

Author’s final note:

I am fully aware that there is considerable nuance to this topic. Sometimes, we have to hurry; we have responsibilities and must complete tasks. That is simply a reality of life.

I also know that it could be that people have always had difficulties becoming life-experiencers. Perhaps it was not all that different in the past, and we have always been task-completers.

But, I can think of several contributing factors that would move us to be so task-oriented. One in particular stands out: false priorities… or, if I were to articulate it more precisely: a hierarchy of priorities that does not accurately reflect the true value of things.

Furthermore, I am not simply pointing my finger at society, saying things must change. I have observed these tendencies within myself and have begun to amend how I do things, as I try to become more of a life-experiencer. Let me tell you, I love the changes that I see in myself so far!