我獨(dú)自坐在一個(gè)黑暗的房間里，一只手拿著裝水的高腳杯，另一只手拿著iPhone。屏幕中放映著斯派克·瓊斯導(dǎo)演的電影《她》（Her）。電影中的人類西奧多和軟件薩曼莎之間的浪漫故事，正在我的眼前徐徐展開(kāi)。
然后我突然想到：我就是西奧多，我的手機(jī)就是薩曼莎。我正在跟我的手機(jī)熱戀。
這種類比十分不可思議。我手中的這臺(tái)設(shè)備儲(chǔ)存了我內(nèi)心最深處的秘密：關(guān)于我父親逝世的真實(shí)感受，初為人父的掙扎，每天努力擺脫的自我懷疑，婚禮時(shí)的照片，女兒第一次走路的視頻。我的手機(jī)對(duì)我最精彩和最黑暗的時(shí)刻都了如指掌。
在電影中，軟件薩曼莎不斷用語(yǔ)言描述感受，形成觀點(diǎn)。如今的手機(jī)與此有些不同。我的手機(jī)需要我不斷點(diǎn)擊和滑動(dòng)屏幕，以獲取儲(chǔ)存于其中的內(nèi)容。我們很容易把這看成一種單相思：通過(guò)按鈕和點(diǎn)擊，我不斷把我的感情傾注在這臺(tái)手持設(shè)備上，卻得不到回報(bào)。但實(shí)際上并非如此。我只需要打開(kāi)手機(jī)上安裝的眾多程序，就能滿足我的情感需求。Instagram和Facebook的“點(diǎn)贊”功能可以給我?guī)?lái)無(wú)限的自我認(rèn)同感。（而如果沒(méi)有得到“贊”，這種感覺(jué)則會(huì)缺失。）Twitter給我提供了一個(gè)平臺(tái)，讓我發(fā)泄感情，或是開(kāi)一些大多數(shù)人覺(jué)得不好笑的玩笑。Safari能夠解答我現(xiàn)有或者即將有的一切問(wèn)題。游戲則讓我有了個(gè)暫時(shí)能夠逃避現(xiàn)實(shí)的地方。
當(dāng)然，我無(wú)法滿足手機(jī)的情感需求。但我可以保護(hù)它。我會(huì)給手機(jī)的軟件升級(jí)，在晚上給它充電，再買個(gè)手機(jī)套免得它磨壞，而作為回報(bào)，手機(jī)承諾會(huì)為我保密，并成為我無(wú)止境、無(wú)條件的情感宣泄口。
意識(shí)到這一點(diǎn)，讓我嚇了一跳。我每天從早到晚都在和手機(jī)互動(dòng)。身處喧嘩之所時(shí)，手機(jī)就是一片寧?kù)o的港灣。當(dāng)我不小心拼錯(cuò)了單詞，手機(jī)也會(huì)自動(dòng)糾正我——它總是無(wú)私地以我的最佳利益為優(yōu)先考慮。
當(dāng)你把手機(jī)交給其他人的時(shí)候，有沒(méi)有感覺(jué)到一絲焦慮，就像你把自己身體的一部分交了出去？這種猶豫源于害怕被暴露。這不是說(shuō)我們要隱瞞什么——好吧，對(duì)許多人來(lái)說(shuō)是這樣——但是讓其他人用你的手機(jī)，就如同你打開(kāi)了思想的大門，并允許其他人隨意進(jìn)來(lái)看看。
《她》中有一個(gè)片段：西奧多拿著手機(jī)，閉著眼睛，聽(tīng)從薩曼莎的引導(dǎo)，走進(jìn)一場(chǎng)狂歡中。你下次到公共場(chǎng)所去，可以看一看周圍。你會(huì)看到多少人在做同樣的事情？唯一的區(qū)別只是，我們沒(méi)有閉上眼睛，讓聲音來(lái)引導(dǎo)，而是讓屏幕來(lái)引導(dǎo)。我們用來(lái)感受當(dāng)下的主要工具，不是我們的眼睛，而是我們的手機(jī)。無(wú)論誰(shuí)在我們旁邊都是如此。
在電影最后——盡管這是一部2013年的電影，不過(guò)如果你還沒(méi)有看過(guò)，你可以跳過(guò)接下來(lái)這一段，以免被劇透——薩曼莎宣稱她要走了，感謝西奧多教會(huì)她如何去愛(ài)。科技教導(dǎo)這部電影的主角如何去愛(ài)。而如今的科技也已經(jīng)如此強(qiáng)大，足以告訴我們?nèi)绾紊?、?ài)、歡笑、寬恕、悲痛、遺忘、渴望、烹飪和其他一切你輸入搜索欄的東西。
我對(duì)手機(jī)的感情之深讓我震驚，但在短期內(nèi)，我不打算與它斷絕關(guān)系。（我的妻子必須得理解這一點(diǎn)。）然而，我確實(shí)計(jì)劃跟它分開(kāi)一段時(shí)間。自從我2004年買了Sidekick 2起，十年來(lái)我從未這樣做過(guò)。
我最近宣布，每周日是我家的“無(wú)屏幕日”。在這一天中，我們可以做我們想做的任何事，只要它與屏幕無(wú)關(guān)。孩子們不可以看動(dòng)畫(huà)片，我的妻子不可以看Kindle電子書(shū)，我也不再在Twitter和回復(fù)郵件上浪費(fèi)時(shí)間。這一切都得等到第二天再做。結(jié)果就是，我們一家度過(guò)了眼神不斷交匯，充滿歡聲笑語(yǔ)的一天。
這一次，我的手機(jī)沒(méi)有攙和其中，甚至連相機(jī)的角色也沒(méi)有扮演?；钤诋?dāng)下的感覺(jué)實(shí)在太棒了。（財(cái)富中文網(wǎng)）
譯者：嚴(yán)匡正
I was sitting alone in a dark room, a tall glass of water in one hand, my iPhone in the other. On the screen in front of me was the Spike Jonze film Her. As it played, the romance in which Theodore, the human, and Samantha, the software, found themselves unfolded.
Then it hit me: I am Theodore. My smartphone is Samantha. I am in love with my iPhone.
The parallels were uncanny. Deep inside the device in my hand, my darkest secrets are stored: My true feelings surrounding my father’s death, the struggles of being a parent, the self-doubt I shrug off each day, photos from my wedding day, a video of my daughter’s first steps. My phone knows the finite details of my brightest and darkest moments.
In the movie, Samantha constantly verbalized her feelings and formed her own opinions. Today’s phones aren’t like that. Mine requires me to tap and swipe across its screen in order to access the information stored within. It’s easy to see this as a one-sided relationship: Through snaps and taps I’m constantly pouring my heart out to my hand-held device and get nothing in return. Actually, that’s not true. I only have to open one of the many apps installed on my handy device and an emotional need is met. Instagram and Facebook provide endless self-worth support with likes. (Or, in their absence, not.) Twitter gives me a platform to vent, or crack jokes that are by most estimates not funny. Safari holds the answer to every question I’ve had or will ever have. Games provide a momentary escape.
I can’t fulfill my phone’s emotional needs, of course. But I can be its protector. A software update, a nighttime charge, a case to protect its beauty—I provide for my phone, and in return, it promises to keep my secrets safe from the outside world, and provide me with an unending, unconditional emotional outlet.
This is a terrifying thing to realize. I begin and end my day interacting with my phone. When chaos arises, my phone is an oasis of relative calm. When I fumble in spelling a word, it automatically corrects me—a selfless act to keep my best interests in mind.
When you hand someone your phone, don’t you feel a hint of anxiety? As if you handed over a part of your own body? And yet the hesitation comes from a fear of being exposed. It’s not that we have something to hide—well, many of us, anyway—but to grant someone use of your phone is like opening a door to your mind and allowing someone to freely browse for awhile.
At one point in Her, Theodore holds up his phone, closes his eyes, and listens as Samantha guides him blindly through a carnival. Take a look around the next time you’re in a public space. How many people do you see doing the same thing—only, instead of closing our eyes and letting a voice guide us, we let a screen be the guide? The primary object through which we are experiencing the moment is the phone, not our eyes. And certainly not whoever happens to be with us.
At the end of the movie—and though it’s a 2013 film, if you haven’t watched it, you should skip to the next paragraph to avoid the plot details I’m about to reveal—Samantha announces that she is leaving and thanks Theodore for teaching her how to love. Technology taught the movie’s human protagonist how to love. Today’s tech is already this powerful. It can teach us how to live, love, laugh, forgive, grieve, forget, desire, cook, and anything else you enter into a search bar.
How deep my feelings are for my phone has shocked me, to say the least, but I don’t plan on breaking up with it anytime soon. (My wife will just have to understand.) I do, however, plan on taking prolonged breaks from it, something I haven’t done in the last 10 years, not since I owned a Sidekick 2 in 2004.
I recently declared that every Sunday would be “No Screen Sunday” in my home. For the entirety of the day, we can do whatever we want, so long as it didn’t involve a screen. No cartoon marathons for the kids, no reading on a Kindle for my wife, no wasting time on Twitter or answering e-mails for me. All of it would have to wait 24 hours. The result was a day unbroken eye contact, laughing, sharing, and enjoying each moment as a family.
For once, my phone wasn’t part of any of it—not even as a camera. It felt fantastic to live in the moment, instead of through it.
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