Leave me alone.

In my last post I mentioned feeling "on call" with respect to my freelance work. This feeling, I realized, creeps into my non-work life as well: to be unreachable in this era of instant communication is considered, it seems, to be at least undesirable, and perhaps even rude.

I find this situation to be a major obstacle to simplification.

[Dear friends and family, please do not interpret the following thoughts as a response to our communications. I enjoy talking to you all, really.]

Because I have a cellphone, at any given time, during any activity, I am expected to be available (and willing) to take a call. If I am online, then I am also expected to respond to emails immediately and acknowledge IMs. If I've been away from my house, I feel compelled to check my voicemail as soon as I get home and return calls promptly. My time does not belong to me, or at least not to me alone. I am not a luddite — my husband and I depend on technology and efficient avenues of communication for our work, and I enjoy the convenience of having quick access to the people I wish to contact.

The problem, for me, is the expectation: if I did not give up the right to my own time, or if I were to set limits on my availability, I would be perceived as breaking some modern social contract. I'm not entirely sure when this new contract came into being; it seemed to establish itself quietly yet firmly over the past two decades. People now feel that a cellphone is a necessity because employers, among others, need to be able to reach them at all times. But was that "need" always there, or did it develop because technology made it possible? And how does that "need" effect us as humans? Are we a little more anxious knowing that we might be interrupted at any moment, that our free time isn't free anymore?

Maybe it's just me.

Lately, when my daughter is napping (oh, those precious periods of silence), I have started taking the landline off the hook and turning off my cellphone. I don't even want to hear it ring, to concern myself with who might be calling and whether to answer. I usually catch up on a little email initially, but then close my computer and read, rest, or otherwise bask in quiet solitude (even the mundane household tasks I do during this time feel more pleasant when they are uninterrupted). Why should this seem like a luxury? Aren't we all entitled to time alone?

I'm thinking about doing a once-a-week communication technology fast: no phone calls, no computing (if my computer is open, I can't help but check my email). My anxious inner dialogue pleads, "But what if someone needs to reach me?!" Well, they could probably wait a day. "But what if I'm expecting an email, or need to look up a vital piece of information online, like the name of that guy in that movie I saw last week, or that funny YouTube clip my friend mentioned?!" Well...yeah. I'm an internet junkie. Sure, some of it is educational and enriching, but a lot of it is pure time-sucking. When I don't have the option of being online (while staying at the family beach house, for example), I really don't miss it — but having the computer right there, tempting me...choosing to resist would be a bigger challenge.

Still, having one day a week of unreachability, of freedom from instant access — the thought alone seems to relieve some of the tension in my brow, the stress in my shoulders....

Ah, yes, that's much better.