At the
beginning of every school year, I hold up my apparently antiquated, seven year
old slide phone for my students' parents at back-to-school night and explain,
"This is my phone. No, it is not smart. No, just because I can't email you
back immediately does not mean I am ignoring you. I have a life, just like you.
And having a life makes me a better, happier teacher." They always chuckle
good-naturedly, reassuring me that I can survive another school year without
the expectation of instantaneous emails.
I wouldn't classify myself as
technophobic, but I pride myself on being able to genuinely thrive an
increasingly technology-dependent world without being constantly tethered to an
electronic device. At heart, I am a wilderness aficionado who can spend weeks
at a time backpacking in the solitude of the mountains, connecting only with my
immediate environs and a few other trekkers who share my passion for the
secluded wild. Stripping down to the bare minimum is more than a mere choice,
it's a necessity in backpacking; and finding supreme happiness while disconnecting
from civilization is a strong persuader in favor of simple living.
Even my more urban hobbies of city
running and swing dancing rarely require the use of handheld technology.
I live without the latest tech trends
decorating my purse, my ear, or my house. Until recently, I sported that seven
year old slide phone, a device that didn't even offer internet access. I rarely
watch television, and I own an iPod because my best friend gave it to me as a
birthday gift.
In fact, the only reason I have any
modicum of expertise in anything technology is because I work at a high
performing school that is leading the way in digital learning. This year, we
are expecting one-to-one digital devices for all students grades six to twelve,
which means that we, the teachers, must become proficient in not only their use
for teaching but also in educating students in how to use them for learning. Honestly,
I had never even touched an iPad, much less used one, until last year, when all
of teachers at my site were given one with the caveat of becoming tech masters
within one year. No pressure.
Lest I dwell too much on Apple
products, let's turn to the purpose of this narrative. Early in 2013, one of my
good friends from dancing arrived at our local venue wearing a curious,
electronic contraption across his forehead. As he excitedly described his
headwear as Google Glass, a small, just-above-eye-level computer that acts as
both phone and computer, a litany of less than polite phrases dashed through my
mind. Cyborg. Weirdo. Tech addict. Stalker. Self-absorbed. Oddball. Extreme
geek. Mindless drone.
Being proud of my tech aversion, I
immediately disdained Glass for being, to me, a more efficient tool for gratifying
the insatiable impulse to Google everything and for staying relentlessly connected.
Plus, it just looked weird, some unsettling but miniaturized hybrid between
Iron Man and Terminator. I also questioned the social implications of a device
that would seem to perpetuate, even exacerbate, the rudeness that so many
people exhibit when they can't seem to put down their phone to enjoy real human
interaction or a genuine life experience. I thought to myself, is he filming me
with Glass? Is he looking at emails while we're talking? Is this just some
bizarre meeting of tech obsession and desperate attention seeking? Because with
that contraction on, he stands out like a pee stain in a field of snow.
Fortunately, I acclimatized to
Glass. If he took a picture or video, he told me in advance; his interactions
with the device were quick and generally nonintrusive; and, I inured to its
physical appearance. I can't say I yearned for one myself, but it had some advantageous
quirks, such as navigation, voice command texting and internet searching, and
first person photographing.
Needless to say, when that same
friend extended one of his three invites to me to join the exclusive group of
Glass Explorers and own a Glass device myself, I felt as shocked as I felt
confused. I have never been shy about expressing my affinity for a relatively
technology-free life, and with only three invites to give and an entire
community of eager technophiles dying to receive such an invitation, I felt
this offer to be ill-judged and, frankly, ridiculous. Would you give an
airplane to someone who fears flying? Would you give a set of steak knives to a
hemophiliac?
I immediately demurred, breezing
past the already expressed philosophical issues and reminding him that I didn't
even own a smart phone, a necessity for Glass to function. Besides, the cost
was too high for someone with only a vague curiosity. My friend shook his head
and stated that he figured as much. It was a lovely thought to include me, but
what a preposterous idea!
I went to sleep without a second
thought to the whole business. However, sleep and dreamland can do funny things
to an unsuspecting mind, and I somehow woke up to thoughts about Glass. As with
most mornings, my mind turned to teaching as well, and soon, the two trains of
thoughts collided. I never even thought about how Glass could affect me outside
my usual hobbies of backpacking, running, and dancing, and here I was, at six
in the morning, already envisioning some amorphous ways to incorporate Glass
into education. Education, more than anything else, is my passion, and in the
midst of laughing at a waste of an invite on tech adverse me, I forgot that,
for eight hours a day, I am immersed in a digitally-dependent world.
Naturally, after ruminating over professional
implications, I reverted back to how I, personally, could apply Glass to my own
life. Somehow, in the light and freshness of a new day, I could somehow fathom
the use of Glass in my social and personal spheres. They weren't revolutionary
thoughts - navigation purposes, internet searching, emailing and messaging -
standard fare for the average user. But I could imagine more, such as
translating foreign languages and a check in app for hikers and trail runners.
At this juncture, where I could
feasibly imagine Glass's potential roles in my life, I began to understand my
importance in the Explorer program, whose user base is slowly diluting from
developers to average users. I thought, how can someone like me utilize a
device such as this? Can this improve my quality of life? What do I need that
this device does not yet provide?
I couldn't name many specifics, but
I started to realize that I may have given up on a golden opportunity. I spoke
with my mom, a few friends, and several coworkers that morning and found that
they each had great input for the use of Glass. There I was, surrounded by
people with superior ideas for technology I did not yet understand, and while I
may not be the innovator Google wants, it became clear that I could be a nexus
for suggestions and improvements for to their latest device.
To make a long story short, I called
my friend and managed to reinstate my invite. Two weeks later, I sat at the
Google campus in Venice Beach trying on my cotton Glass, scared of looking like
a cyborg but excited to be an ambassador of this technology. At times, I wonder
if I'll make a difference in the development of this historic product, but
mostly, I am excited for the unknown and the novel. I have the support of my school
site, my district, and the few family and friends that know I am taking on this
opportunity. Those who know me best question how someone who is usually
technology avoidant, whose hobbies are not conductive to the latest and
greatest devices and gadgets, will utilize Glass in daily life. The honest
answer is that I simply don't know. And that's kind of exciting.
