No, this isn’t just another blog about smartphone or device use. We all have one, we all use them, and we need them for business, pleasure, or learning. I’m not a Luddite! I would be lost without my phone, and I also always travel with my Air pods.
What I am is a self-aware human being. So, let’s dive into how I see things.
I recently returned from a wonderful trip overseas. Mardi and I enjoyed two cruises: one down the east coast of Canada and along the USA’s New England coastline, from Montreal to New York. We spent a couple of weeks in New York before cruising to Bermuda and back.
See videos here.
Read our trip blog for New York, and Bermuda.
Our journey home stretched from New York to Canberra, via Auckland and Sydney. It was during this time that things went a little haywire. I became violently ill on the first leg of our trip, about seven hours into our 17-hour flight. I’ll spare you the gory details, but suffice it to say that upon landing, I was attended to by paramedics and rushed to Middlemore Hospital in Auckland. A severe case of suspected food poisoning, combined with a heavy bout of pneumonia, left me in the hospital for a couple of days before I was cleared to fly home. We eventually arrived home, where I spent another week in bed recovering.
I hear you asking: where do devices come in? Well, let me tell you— they are everywhere, and people seem to disregard their impact on others. The incident that inspired me to write this blog occurred in New Zealand, but I’ll share a few other instances from our travels.
While in the hospital in New Zealand, Mardi had just gone to a hotel after spending around 12 hours at my bedside. She was exhausted from both the long flight and her constant vigilance while I was unwell. The doctors assured her I had stabilised, I was getting enough oxygen, and that the worst was over. Therefore, she found a nearby hotel to rest.
As I lay in bed, moaning and groaning while trying to sleep through the pain and difficult breathing, I was in a shared ward. It was dark, and the bed next to me was empty. Around midnight, I was dozing off when a 40-something man was wheeled in and set up next to me. He chatted with the nurse about his broken leg from an accident. I tried to roll over and sleep.
Then, I heard the unmistakable sound of a television programme starting up. There were no TVs in the room. In the darkened ward, I could see the glow of a small screen through the curtain. The man was watching TV on his phone, with no headphones—loudly!
I thought to myself, “Surely not. Maybe he’ll only watch for a couple of minutes.” But no, the show droned on and on. I tried to sleep, but after about 45 minutes, I said to him, “Mate, do you have some headphones?” His response was, “Nah bro, I’m bored.” I added, “Well mate, I’m pretty crook; do you mind turning it off?” He obliged.
However, two minutes later, he got up and hobbled out, asking the nurse where the TV room was. There was no TV room.
He returned to his bed and lay there, and while I sensed his desperation and frustration, I couldn’t help but think: this isn’t a place to play noise on a device. Use headphones or keep it quiet. This is something I consciously consider in any public space, not just in a hospital.
At around 4:00 am, I got up to use the bathroom. As I entered, he exclaimed, “Oh great, bro, you’re awake.” While I was in the bathroom, he started watching his TV show again. Seriously?
As I came out, I said, “Mate, give it a break, I’m not well.” He hobbled out to the nurse’s station again, and ten minutes later, his bed was moved.
Peace and quiet returned!
This experience triggered memories of other instances during our holiday where I noticed similar attitudes. Whilst in New York, we had lunch at the Barking Dog on 49th Street. While sitting at our table, the table next to us took a phone call. The guy put his phone on speaker and engaged in a lengthy business conversation. We had to move.
As many of you may know, Mardi is neurodiverse (autistic) and is particularly susceptible to sensory overload, making that restaurant experience far from pleasant. She has said to me that the noise from a phone or tablet on speaker feels to her like barbed wire is being dragged back and forth throughout her brain.
Furthermore, while In New York we witnessed people using their devices loudly without headphones on the subway, in ferry terminals, and just walking down the street. What is going on? Had we, as a human race, suddenly forgotten our headphones? Have we forgotten to be considerate of others?
On one of our cruises, we experienced bizarre, loud, and annoying conversations on two occasions.
While cruising from Montreal to New York on Insignia, a ship operated by Oceania Cruise Lines, we were enjoying a hot chocolate in the café while reading and watching the world go by in a lovely, quiet setting. Then, about three metres away, a mobile phone screeched as a loud and animated conversation began. You know how horrible mobile phones sound when they’re on loudspeaker—the tinny, echoey resonance. The woman was chatting with her friends, relaying all the wonderful things they had done on their trip. It was wonderful… until that moment!
For goodness’ sake, go to your cabin!
She droned on and on, and we contemplated leaving. But why should we vacate our quiet space to accommodate this obliviousness? I could see Mardi becoming increasingly agitated with every “and then we did this…” As the conversation continued, other guests began to leave the area too. Finally, we’d had enough. On our way out, Mardi approached the lady and politely pointed out that her loud conversation was interrupting our space and forcing us to leave.
The lady was dumbfounded and didn’t know where to look as we departed. I presume she continued her call!
As we reached the lift lobby, about six other guests were gathered, discussing the phone call. Mardi mentioned having spoken to the lady, which elicited cheers from the crowd. “Good on you!” they said. “People can be so rude.” Mardi felt vindicated; confronting someone in a social setting about this kind of behaviour isn’t easy, especially when it challenges social norms.
The funny thing is, exactly 24 hours later, the same scenario repeated itself. This time, it was an older couple having a loud FaceTime call with their grandkids. We were seated quietly, reading and writing, and questioned why we should be forced to leave again. Everyone has a cabin for private matters, and they should use it. This time, we asked the staff to address the issue. The server in the café called over the manager, who then spoke to the couple. They quickly hung up and left.
Peace and quiet, again, at last!
Over the next couple of days, as we passed those mobile phone users on our way to activities or the dining room, Mardi smiled while they scowled in return.
And finally, and this one takes the cake – we were enjoying dinner in one of the fine dining restaurants on board our second cruise. Sitting next to us was a couple, quietly chatting. But between them and our table was a stroller. In the stroller a toddler with a device ringing out annoying high-pitched noises! Seriously!
Now I’m going to sound like an old fuddy-duddy, but when I was a kid, we were told to sit quietly. Has society just assumed that a noisy device is the solution to our problems?
In a world pulsating with the constant hum of devices, nurturing self-awareness is not just a choice; it’s a responsibility we owe to ourselves and those around us. As we navigate through shared spaces—whether in a bustling hospital, a serene café, or a crowded subway—let us be mindful of our influence on others’ experiences. The echoes of our conversations or the blaring sounds from our devices can disrupt the sanctity of these moments, binding us to a collective experience of discomfort rather than connection.
By embracing sensitivity and consideration, we can transform our interactions into opportunities for empathy. Ultimately, self-awareness is an invitation to create spaces of tranquillity and mutual respect in an increasingly noisy world, enriching not only our own lives but also the lives of everyone we encounter.
