Many states are beginning to limit the use of cell phones in schools for various reasons ranging from their impact on mental health to being distractions in the classroom. It would be good practice if more adults followed suit.
There is a potency to putting down one’s cell phone. I experienced this power after a recent unexpected conversation with three strangers in the waiting room of a car repair shop. The experience turned into an almost sacred moment because someone in the waiting room put their phone down and started a conversation. Such a simple gesture has become a rarity, and the brief connection I made with others was a feeling that I hadn’t had in years.
I recently took my car in for what was supposed to be a quick oil change and was told that I would have to wait about 90 minutes. That day was the only day I could wait, so I decided to sit it out; I had my phone with me so I could read and listen to music. I walked over into the waiting room and saw three other men of varying ages, sitting in silence, all staring at their phones, disconnected from everything else around them. I sat down, took out my headphones, turned on some music, and began to read.
After about five minutes, one of the men looked up and said something to me, but I didn’t hear him at first. I took off my headphones and asked him if he wouldn’t mind repeating himself. He said, “Sorry to bother you, but I like your watch.” I was surprised and flattered that he noticed my old Hamilton watch. I put my phone down, smiled, took off my watch to hand to him, and told him the story of where I found it and how I restored it. He put his phone down and we started talking. In the next few minutes, the other two men had put their phones down and we were all talking about finding various old treasures at different yard sales and shops over the years.
Shortly thereafter, one of the mechanics came into the room and told another man that he needed a repair on his car, and that the cost was far greater than he had anticipated. He told the mechanic to go ahead, and the three of us could see his pain and anguish by the surprise costs. After the mechanic left, I said to the man something along the lines of, “I’m sorry. That stinks. Costs are out of control, and none of us are paid enough right now.” I could see that he immediately appreciated the empathy. Within minutes, he opened up about his family, his career, and his worries. We spoke about nearly everything—our relationships, families and children, struggles with the economy and politics, and our aspirations, successes, and failures.
Within minutes, the discussion was extremely intimate. Everyone enjoyed being able to share, connect, and empathize over our similar concerns and aspirations. When I was told that my car was ready, the time had flown by. We had exchanged our first names, but nothing like emails or phone numbers. I have no idea if I will even remember what the other men in the room looked like—but in those 90 minutes, I felt heard, seen, valued, and very much not alone or isolated because my struggles and joys were so similar to those three men. I felt a connection to the human condition and deeply appreciated hearing about their lives.
Read the rest of this piece at AEI.
Samuel J. Abrams is a professor of politics at Sarah Lawrence College and a nonresident senior fellow at the American Enterprise Institute.
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