Everywhere that I went yesterday, I met people on cell phones and laptops and tablets, hammering away with intent looks.  I heard one woman make three calls to people whom she called “baby” while her two children stood in front of her drinking whipped-cream-laden drinks from Starbucks.  I joined the foray, with my laptop, the little 7-inch tablet that we got free from Google Fiber, and my smart-phone, each providing distraction, convenience, or notifications in their turn.

This barrage of modernity prompts me to be grateful for the times when I sit talking with friends, oblivious to the chimes of text notifications, the ding of the e-mail program as it receives updates, or the recurring blips from Facebook.  Oh, don’t get me wrong.  I am grateful for technology, too:  Including Facebook, which has given me a chance to reconnect with many people from long ago, keep tabs on my family, and share my friends’ lives when circumstances prevent face-to-face contact.  But today I feel thankful especially for the quiet times when I sit beside someone, listening to their account of their day, reaching out to touch their hand, feeling the warmth of their gaze and seeing the curl of their mouth as they smile.

I am particularly grateful to still be alive to experience the splendor of human contact.  I wrote an essay over 40 years ago entitled, “The Virtue of Pain”.  I theorized that we needed pain to appreciate pleasure.  Perhaps in a similar way, we need the hustle and bustle of city-life and technology, to provide contrast to the simplicity of analog experiences.  Today I find myself thankful for both; but more for the times when no little flashing gadget stands between me and the person with whom I am conversing, or the music I am hearing, or the stillness of the room around me where I sit and reflect on all that I have been given.