Coping With The Tsunami with My IPad 2.

Our inventions are wont to be pretty toys, which distract our attention from serious things…
Henry David Thoreau, 1854

Two weeks ago I stood in line for 3.5 hours at a huge shopping mall to be one of the first to have the option to purchase the IPad 2. My wife and I arrived to the mall one hour before the unit went on sale and found we were already placed behind almost five hundred other “second edition early adopters.”

“Let’s just give it a little while and see what happens,” I suggested to my wife who had already started to slow her pace to a resistant crawl.

“Really? You can’t wait a few days and get it later?”

I smiled sheepishly and grinned.

Within minutes, we had struck up several conversations with our “line mates” who all had interesting stories to share about their first this or that’s. We found an instant kinship with those who also wanted their IPad’s today, not tomorrow.

Ironically, the IPad 2 was released on the same day as the worst disaster in Japan since WW2. In the midst of the excitement and privilege surrounding the purchase of a generally extraneous piece of technology, I periodically checked my smart phone for updates on quake victims, tsunami damage and the threat of leaking radiation.

Perhaps it was my way of staying in touch with reality; perhaps it was a way to assuage inklings of guilt that crept up knowing that I was buying a fancy, expensive toy on a day when people across the planet were in absolute terror and chaos. Perhaps, it had nothing to do with anything.

Two weeks later, I love my IPad. I use it to read the news about the disaster in Japan and then I play Angry Birds. I use it as an aid to facilitate change and transformation in sessions with clients and then I read a comic book.

Sometimes I think about the people of Japan and the fear they must feel regarding radioactive leaks from nuclear power plants and then I don’t think about them. I don’t want to think about their pain sometimes. It’s terrible. I think about Libyans who are afraid to speak out against their crazy leader and then I stop thinking about them because it can become overwhelming to think about them for too long.

I think about the ways I compartmentalize my life and there is a tidal wave of consideration that sweeps through me, recalling moments of trauma and grief in my past when I opted to go sit in a movie as a way to “detach.” I consider moments when I was stressed out about something and I ate three donuts instead of finding a healthy way to confront my anxiety.

What is the appropriate or healthy amount of thought, consideration, commiseration one must offer to another in their grief? Is there such a thing as the right amount?

I feel good about showing up for my IPad on game day because it brought me joy and continues to do so even though people are suffering on the planet.

It is a fascinating process being alive at this juncture of time and space. It is fascinating to even have the opportunity to consider such things.