The Preservation of Silence

The Law of Unintended Consequences seems to crop up with the introduction of every new bit of technology.  There’s nothing new about this; it was true long before I was born and it will persist well after I’m gone.  But the implications of this truism have more impact in some instances than others–and the degree of impact may certainly vary from individual to individual.

Sunrise, Foothills Parkway, Tennessee

For me, the “new” technology with the highest unintended consequences quotient (UCQ) is the ubiquitous nature of cellular phones.  Cell phones became commonplace in the Western world roughly two decades ago and have since become considerably more than just telephones, but the added capabilities that have appeared over the past 20-odd years have made relatively little difference in UCQ terms, at least from my perspective.

Dawn, Point Imperial, Grand Canyon National Park – North Rim, Arizona

For all the intended–and, in some cases, possibly unintended positive–aspects of the mainstreaming of cellphones, they’ve had at least one very–in my opinion–negative consequence, which stems from an ostensibly positive impact:  the ability to be “in touch” just about everywhere.  And that negative consequence?  Succeeding the ability to be in touch anywhere was the expectation of being reachable anywhere…at any time.  In theory, of course, one’s phone can be turned off, but that’s a violation of what I’ll term the new normal (though it’s not especially new anymore) of common culture:  the assumption that each of us is accessible at almost literally any instance.  And, with few exceptions, when it comes to one’s job, one’s career…if you’re not available 24/7, you’re going to pay a pretty steep price.

Fire Wave at Dusk, Valley of Fire State Park, Nevada

What’s lost?  What’s the cost of this new normal?  In my view, quite a bit:  a sense of privacy, a sense of being able to separate work and personal time…and pure, unadulterated silence.

Virgin River Narrows, Zion National Park, Utah

I’m no Luddite, believe me, but I will readily admit to having fought against the aforementioned “new normal,” and if I’ve paid a price for it (and I undoubtedly have), I think it’s been well worth it.  Simply put, I value the ability to control my own solitude too highly to surrender it.

Strait of Juan de Fuca and the Channel Islands from the Hurricane Ridge Road, Olympic National Park, Washington

I wasn’t conscious of the fact when I first became interested in the endeavor, but I’ve come to realize that one of the reasons that photographing the landscape appeals so strongly to me is that it coincides with the opportunity to be in a place where I can be alone with my thoughts, devoid of sounds other than, perhaps, the wind, running water and the distant call of wildlife.  When I’m concentrating on what I’m doing I’m not conscious of this bliss, but–invariably–between shots, perhaps–I take a step back, often literally, and allow the palpable presence of quietude to penetrate my awareness.  Whatever the cost of these experiences has been, it’s been worth it.

Coneflower Morning, Nachusa Grasslands Preserve, Illinois