BY KATHRYN KIELLY
GUEST OPINION
The morning of Thursday, Aug. 15, I was reading the piece titled “My new favourite superhero,” in The Guardian. A feel-good story. Yet I was wistful and sad as I read. I too was missing something that morning. Unlike the writer, whose account detailed an anonymous person locating his lost wallet, my superhero ended up being well-known to me.
My loss had occurred one day earlier. We were home from Ottawa on vacation and were hauling our usual excess number of bags down to our spot on Stanhope Lane Beach. As we unpacked, I realized my cell phone was missing.
How long can you survive without your cell phone? A long time, actually. Unlike food and water, you don’t really need your cell phone to live. Yet, in this hyper-connected world, it somehow seems like you do. If you are anything like I am, when your phone is missing, you feel its absence keenly. Your life seems empty somehow.
I pined away the next few hours on the beach. Kids having fun? Not able to take pictures. Weather forecast? Not sure. Dinner reservation? Will have to wait. Who can I text? No one.
But why was I missing it so much? Six years ago, I didn’t even have a cell phone. Was not keen on the idea. And I don’t like talking on the phone. Then I had a revelation - you don’t actually need to talk on the phone when you have a cell phone. In fact, having a cell phone actually allows you to talk to people less.
A Facebook post affords you the opportunity to virtually tell an abundance of friends and associates what is happening without uttering a word. Don’t want to talk to someone? Just text them.
Ironically, vacation time is when I utilize my cell phone the most. Our entire social schedule is engineered with family and friends as I sit in the passenger seat touring the Island. Four years ago, we secured the purchase of our current home, including an aggressive bidding war, almost exclusively via my cell phone.
So. Back from the beach to the cottage late afternoon, hopeful that my phone had just been left behind there. Exhaustive cottage search. But no luck. Checked in with the lifeguards, then staff at Dalvay gate who radioed up to the campground. I re-walked the stretch of beach where we sat. No luck.
I commandeered control of my husband’s phone. This brought some cool comfort as it allowed me to announce my misfortune on Facebook. Condolences came in regarding my loss. “Thinking of you,” . . . “glad it’s not me.”
Life went on. We went off to Old Home Week. It didn’t feel like we were at the exhibition though, because my cell phone wasn’t with me. If you are on a ride or shooting a water gun to win a toy is it really happening if your cell phone isn’t there to witness it?
After a fitful sleep, I awoke around 8 a.m. My husband said he was going to revisit the beach as he “had a feeling” and a second set of eyes might see something I had not. Fifteen minutes later, I got a call on his cell phone from my cell phone. He had found my phone on the beach, exactly where we sat, buried in the sand with about one inch peeking out. Some sand grains in there, but working fine.
My son commented that he was glad it was back, as now the whole family could go back to being happy again. So true. If momma ain’t happy... so the saying goes.
Miracles do happen. Life does go on without your cellphone. And most of all, my husband is a gem. But I kind of knew that before.
- Kathryn Kielly is a former Islander living in Ottawa who recently visited spent SOME holidays on P.E.I.
