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by Jonathan Laux
Spend any time in a coffee shop, on the train, or basically anywhere there are people, and you don’t have to look too hard – chances are, there’s someone with those little white “earbud” headphones stuffed in their ears, the universal sign that this person is Plugged Into An iPod.
I’ve grown increasingly irritated of late by just how ubiquitous these little devices have become. It’s certainly not the device per se; I’ve admired Apple’s products for a long time and am writing this article on an Apple laptop. Nor is the iPod the first device of its kind: Last year the Wall Street Journal ran an article on the 25th anniversary of the Sony Walkman, the device that “started it all” and changed music from a communal experience to a personal one. But these days, the iPod stands alone in how it has been marketed, how quickly it has become an “indispensable” item for many people, and just how omnipresent it is.
To avoid coming off as a crank, let me acknowledge before going any further that I have thought several times about buying an iPod, and almost certainly will eventually own one. Not long ago, a friend was amazed that I didn’t have one already: “How can you not? They’re so cool!” Indeed. This topic is murky, and worthy of discussing in the context of Zen practice, precisely because we are all working to find a middle way between the “Zen Ideal” as we conjure it and, well, “coolness”. In many ways I understand the appeal of being plugged in; I’ve thought that way and wanted that stimulus. But I’ve also found that I don’t need it, that indeed the mind is clearer without it.
Much of my complaint with the iPod stems from how it renders music a commodity. I’ve always enjoyed the flow of a good album. But the iPod doesn’t advertise albums; it advertises “15000 songs in your pocket”. We’ve shortened our attention spans such that the whole album is now too long. Only the songs matter, which we can arrange into playlists of our own choosing and listen to again and again and again until we get bored, then listen to the rest of our 14999 songs. What do we get from listening to a song for the 10th time? The 100th? How does that help us? Perhaps we enjoy the musicianship: it has a good trumpet solo, maybe, or a lovely string section. Or perhaps it’s more like a nervous habit: something we do thoughtlessly like so many other machinations of the mind.
I remember when this seemed appealing. I discovered Led Zeppelin in high school, and remember a solid week that I had “Stairway to Heaven” in my head. Sometimes in college, I’d bring headphones on the way to class. It was cool; it made life feel like a music video. Now I catch myself--- it made life feel like a music video. Wow, that sounds far less appealing in the light of day! While I was plugged in, perhaps I failed to notice the sunlight that day, a friend trying to call my name, or the driver that slammed his breaks to avoid hitting me as I cut in front of him.
This kind of issue has helped me appreciate the “holistic” perspective in which Buddhism challenges us to engage life. Listening to an iPod cannot be seen as “moral” or “immoral”, but like all actions it has ramifications that reverberate in ways we may not see. In our moments of idleness, where does the mind go? Can we be content with the situations we’re in, or do we feel the endless need for stimulation and entertainment?
Eventually it may make sense to buy one, I tell myself. When I used to drive to work, I would often listen to music in my car; now that I commute via the train, playing music on an iPod isn’t so different... right? Moreover, after resisting the idea for some time I have become a cell phone user, which on the List of Modern Annoyances is at least as bad as the iPod, and probably much worse.
Ultimately, of course, the issue is not “have” versus “have not”, but “how much?” iPods and cell phones have made it possible to be distracted from the Here and Now, anytime, anywhere.
Instead, I just ride the train, listen to the recorded voice tick off the L stops: “This... is Howard. Doors open on the left... at Howard.” A man sits down next to me. I get out a stick of gum, offer him one too. He declines, but thanks me. A while later we reach his stop. Before leaving, he wishes me a good day. It isn’t much, but it’s some small release from the frantic self-absorption of urban living.
For now, I’ll leave the headphones at home.
Spend any time in a coffee shop, on the train, or basically anywhere there are people, and you don’t have to look too hard – chances are, there’s someone with those little white “earbud” headphones stuffed in their ears, the universal sign that this person is Plugged Into An iPod.
I’ve grown increasingly irritated of late by just how ubiquitous these little devices have become. It’s certainly not the device per se; I’ve admired Apple’s products for a long time and am writing this article on an Apple laptop. Nor is the iPod the first device of its kind: Last year the Wall Street Journal ran an article on the 25th anniversary of the Sony Walkman, the device that “started it all” and changed music from a communal experience to a personal one. But these days, the iPod stands alone in how it has been marketed, how quickly it has become an “indispensable” item for many people, and just how omnipresent it is.
To avoid coming off as a crank, let me acknowledge before going any further that I have thought several times about buying an iPod, and almost certainly will eventually own one. Not long ago, a friend was amazed that I didn’t have one already: “How can you not? They’re so cool!” Indeed. This topic is murky, and worthy of discussing in the context of Zen practice, precisely because we are all working to find a middle way between the “Zen Ideal” as we conjure it and, well, “coolness”. In many ways I understand the appeal of being plugged in; I’ve thought that way and wanted that stimulus. But I’ve also found that I don’t need it, that indeed the mind is clearer without it.
Much of my complaint with the iPod stems from how it renders music a commodity. I’ve always enjoyed the flow of a good album. But the iPod doesn’t advertise albums; it advertises “15000 songs in your pocket”. We’ve shortened our attention spans such that the whole album is now too long. Only the songs matter, which we can arrange into playlists of our own choosing and listen to again and again and again until we get bored, then listen to the rest of our 14999 songs. What do we get from listening to a song for the 10th time? The 100th? How does that help us? Perhaps we enjoy the musicianship: it has a good trumpet solo, maybe, or a lovely string section. Or perhaps it’s more like a nervous habit: something we do thoughtlessly like so many other machinations of the mind.
I remember when this seemed appealing. I discovered Led Zeppelin in high school, and remember a solid week that I had “Stairway to Heaven” in my head. Sometimes in college, I’d bring headphones on the way to class. It was cool; it made life feel like a music video. Now I catch myself--- it made life feel like a music video. Wow, that sounds far less appealing in the light of day! While I was plugged in, perhaps I failed to notice the sunlight that day, a friend trying to call my name, or the driver that slammed his breaks to avoid hitting me as I cut in front of him.This kind of issue has helped me appreciate the “holistic” perspective in which Buddhism challenges us to engage life. Listening to an iPod cannot be seen as “moral” or “immoral”, but like all actions it has ramifications that reverberate in ways we may not see. In our moments of idleness, where does the mind go? Can we be content with the situations we’re in, or do we feel the endless need for stimulation and entertainment?
Eventually it may make sense to buy one, I tell myself. When I used to drive to work, I would often listen to music in my car; now that I commute via the train, playing music on an iPod isn’t so different... right? Moreover, after resisting the idea for some time I have become a cell phone user, which on the List of Modern Annoyances is at least as bad as the iPod, and probably much worse.Ultimately, of course, the issue is not “have” versus “have not”, but “how much?” iPods and cell phones have made it possible to be distracted from the Here and Now, anytime, anywhere.
Instead, I just ride the train, listen to the recorded voice tick off the L stops: “This... is Howard. Doors open on the left... at Howard.” A man sits down next to me. I get out a stick of gum, offer him one too. He declines, but thanks me. A while later we reach his stop. Before leaving, he wishes me a good day. It isn’t much, but it’s some small release from the frantic self-absorption of urban living.
For now, I’ll leave the headphones at home.
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