When I was five years old, my dad, fearing I would get lost
in the golf course and nature preserves that made up my backyard, pressed a
compass and an area map to my hand and told me to familiarize myself with my
surroundings. With nothing better to do (and dreading the alternative of being
locked in my house all day with nothing but mindless cartoons), I set off
through those paths and thickets, finding my way around the trees and shrubs, differentiating
my landmarks by the type of trees in that area or by the unique assortment of
pockmarked rocks.
It was nothing impressive, being the queen of my little
vacant golf course-and-forest domain, but it was something. With that
knowledge, I began to find my way around my neighborhood subdivision, swapping
rocks and trees for neat, wide, concrete sidewalks and steeped-roofed houses.
Knowledge of nature was something innate, something that
could only be truly learned through firsthand, visceral experience. And yet,
sometime between then and now, I had lost it.
When I was about to back out of the garage the other day and
reached out to turn on my GPS, I paused for a moment. Looking down my driveway,
I realized that I had used my phone’s GPS every single day in the past four
days—and that without it, I would be utterly lost. Hit with a sense of
nostalgia and wanting to be able to navigate my way to Skokie as easily as I
had navigated my neighborhood growing up, I began to realize that in that the
ability to navigate myself around nature, once a predominant part of my
childhood, was now one step removed from my life—and that technology had
somehow filled that gap.
Does technology remove us from nature? I’m not sure. On one
hand, technology helps us map places, categorize wildlife, and see gorgeous
natural settings that would have been nearly impossible to see without the help
of a camera and the internet. But on the other hand, I realize that in our
quest to use technology to figure out nature, we’ve removed ourselves from it. This TIME article emphasizes naturalists’ fears that the middle-aged ecologists—the
ones trained before the advent of technology—were perhaps the last generation
to fully and truly experience themselves in wildlife—and not just in the
technological knowledge of it. As wildlifers spend more time analyzing nature
in front of a computer and less time actually in nature, it might diminish
their true familiarity with their field.
Technology helps us know nature and our surroundings. But I
fear that in our quest to know and not to experience, we are taking nature away
from ourselves.
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