The value of insecurity

It never ceases to amaze me how quickly panic sets in when technology doesn't do what it is supposed to. "Facebook is glitching!" "The Internet is slow!" Or, God forbid, "The power is out!"

The world we live in affords us neurotic levels of control over our every practice. We are masters of our universe. Our lives are permeated by a growing and insatiable need to rule every circumstance. I can find information faster, micromanage my image to a "t" on Facebook, text message someone to break up with them, put a smile on my face with some Zoloft, or do homework all night by popping an Adderall. And the question I can never answer for myself is, how could I have possibly lived without these things before? More importantly, is the world we live in now an undeniably better one than it was when we were excited about our first version of the iPhone?

I recently partook in what can be called a cultural experiment that allowed me to delve into these questions for myself. My classmates and I from Gonzaga's Outdoor Leadership class took a trip to the wilds of British Columbia to experience the always wet and always cold reality of winter camping. Unlike the campfire and smores that define your summertime camping trips, the winter environment is as deadly as it is gorgeous. Your only heat sources are your body and your food. The sun sets early and rises late, and you sleep all night long. Your days and nights consist of reacting to your immediate comfort levels. If you are hungry, you eat; if you are cold, you add layers. Ignorance of these things has swift consequences. Your control extends as far as the mortal decisions you are condemned to make throughout the day.

As daunting as this experience may sound, there is something comforting that develops by being at the receiving end of cosmic indifference. The desires to keep warm and fight hunger create a focal practice around which to organize your life in the wild. You receive satisfaction from seeing the either/or results of your decisions and actions. You become aware of your body again. The alienation that characterizes our cultural epoch disintegrates within yourself, between you and the people around you, and between you and nature.

Of course, I must grant that mankind has done amazing things through the self-perpetuating nature of technological innovation. But there seems to be a balance that has been thrown seriously out of whack. The quest for control must have begun as a practical endeavor, but what is the motivation for control in the 21st century? Why do we prefer Disneyland to the real thing?

To see for yourself the value of investigating these questions, and the value of getting out of the technological comfort bubble, I highly encourage students to take advantage of the bountiful wilderness surrounding Spokane and the outdoor programs here at school. For most of mankind's existence there was a lack of control and insecurity inherent to everyday life, and I think we must get some of it back if we are to truly live. Given our all-encompassing cultural control mechanism, the wilderness remains one of the only ways to truly accomplish this. As Germaine Greer wrote so poignantly, "Security is when everything is settled; when nothing can happen to you. Security is the denial of life." n