Avoiding Irradiated Gonads and My First Electronic Leash

The following story may help you consider a relationship that affects all others.

Someone who loves me shared a social media post earlier this week. Well, that’s not accurate; It was sent quite a while ago, but I don’t check these things often. In the post, a woman narrated an animation of a cell phone in a man’s pocket with the field of radiation made visible.

The woman explained how the area’s dielectric constant, or the ability to store electrical energy, is relatively high due to the water content of the nearby organs. She gave a reading of the bone exposure as well.

With this idea now introduced and working through my mind, I had to dig a little. I have learned well that the popularity of shared information does not equal its accuracy.

In short order, I found a wealth of information on the subject. Radiofrequency electromagnetic radiation (RF-EMR), it turns out, decreases testosterone in eighty-five percent of animals tested, can cause cancer, and impairs brain function.

I didn’t need to see the studies, however. I am a licensed ham radio operator and did a fair bit of studying on the subject to pass the exam. I understand the logic. It’s not a matter of if these waves cause issues. It’s a question of how much radiation and prolonged exposure are necessary for an effect to be measurable. The video also pointed out that all safety testing for cell phones is done with the phone in a holster, not a pocket.

As a man, my front pocket is home to my phone. I don’t carry a purse, and  I have refused to surrender to a holster on my belt (so far). Indiana Jones did carry a satchel, however. These are some of the things I ponder. Where would Indiana Jones stash his phone while running into the store to grab adventuring supplies? I know the answer. He wouldn’t go to the store or carry a phone. He’d have Short Sound, or Sallah do it.

I was reminded of a term from my teenage years. Some of my friends began getting pagers. Prior to this, it seemed these devices were carried only by doctors or drug dealers. A small plastic box clipped to your belt, if you were a doctor, and inside your front pocket with the clip showing if you were a teenager looking cool.

If you are unfamiliar with the operation of a pager: a person would pick up the landline and dial a person’s pager number. The phone would ring, followed by a beep. Then the caller would enter their landline phone number and hang up. The pager would beep, and on the screen would appear the phone number that had been entered. The owner of the pager would know to call the number back. Half of my friends got pagers; the other half called them an “electronic leash.”

I have found myself feeling this same way about my phone, but I am realizing that this is not due to the phone itself, which should be a tool used to get in touch with my family and friends. Some of the habits I have formed have made my phone more of a psychological woobie.

With my thoughts now on the potential altering of my body at the fault of the latest electronic leash, I needed to get that thing out of my pocket.

Turn the phone off. Leave it behind. Get rid of it. Easy answers. As much as a part of me longs to do this, I am on call as part of my work. I am also the father of a teenager who calls me when she needs to be picked up. My family and friends know they can contact me if they need help, and I’ll be there. I often get a call when someone has a question about something broken, basic medical issues, or other such things. Being there for those calls is a part of who I am. A large part of me does miss the era of having a simple landline without an answering machine, but that genie is out of the bottle, and I am responsible to a generation of people I love that know the world with a cell phone.

The challenge to keep up with my phone without losing it and without carrying it in my pocket began. It became a fun game. I welcomed the information that motivated me to make this change. I realize that with any finding, legitimate-looking sources will always claim that results are inconclusive, but I don’t care to enter the debate. A pocket of one of my jeans had recently torn out due to being unable to handle my activity combined with my phone in its bulky case (I am rough on things), and that’s enough evidence for me that a change must be made.

At home, this was easy. I took the phone off vibrate and placed it on the counter. Done. In my truck, also accessible.

I have developed strong feelings about phones being away while driving. The only legitimate use for a phone while driving is for navigation, only in a mount. Hearing about teenage deaths and wondering if it was drugs or texting is heartbreaking. Also, I am always teaching (they are always watching). My kids watch me drive. They watch me put on my seatbelt. They learn without realizing it as they see how I interact with bad drivers in the world.

My demonstration is far more powerful than any lecture on driving do’s and don’ts. Things learned through regular observation are emulated without any thought. This means that our mannerisms or outlook on life, behaviors, and habits are absorbed on such a deep level that they exist within our kids on a pre-thought level. I am given sixteen years to demonstrate good driving habits. No class or lecture will match the power of that long-term deep teaching.

But what about when it’s not life or death? What if it’s a compulsive habit? I am still teaching and have begun to see how my relationship with my phone impacts every other relationship. Would I honestly hold my phone habits up as an example to emulate? The answer doesn’t matter. I already am. I found this to be more motivating than wayward radiation.

Being out and about is where I found the challenge. It occurred to me that I don’t need to take my phone with me to run into a store. If someone calls, I’ll see it in a few minutes. All that is left is what to do when I am out for a longer period or moving from one location to another. For most of this, I have been putting it in my back pocket, irradiating my butt until I get that Indiana Jones-style satchel.

With these simple changes, I noticed something else. Without my phone assessable in my pocket, I didn’t check it. This drew my attention to a feeling of wanting—a need to check – something.

 I became more aware of the strange dependence I had formed on my phone. This awareness motivated a decision. To quote Doc Holiday, as portrayed by Val Kilmer in Tombstone, “It seems we must redefine the nature of our relationship.” In this case, my relationship with my phone.

The first couple of days of no phone in my pocket, putting it on the counter was a conscience and deliberate act. Its absence created a sensation of uncertainty. But within a week, however, quicker than I had projected, I found myself more in the moment and engaged in life. When something required my phone, it took me a moment to realize I had no idea where it was. I also found myself out and about, needing to make a call to see if anyone needed anything and realizing I had left it behind without thinking about it. The habit was broken, and I was absorbing less radiation (maybe). An unexpected win was finding myself more connected to those around me and my inner world in those moments when I may otherwise have given in to a compulsion to “just check something real quick.”

Brief moments of discomfort are forks in the road of my day. With the ability to mentally disappear removed, I repeatedly chose the more challenging path. These tiny deviations from the comfortable add up, becoming a chasm between me and an alternate reality in which I’m oblivious to moments of bliss that pop up like mushrooms along the path commonly overlooked. In a social situation, this may be choosing to connect and deepen a relationship with a person rather than getting lost in email. Alone I have found myself quietly reflecting more. I think of the hero in a video game getting pummeled by bad guys. If he gets away and hides behind a rock for a few quiet moments, his health regenerates, and he’s ready for more.

I have missed those brief unscheduled times of grounding. Rather than escaping emotional awkwardness as it creeps up, I lean into it, thus allowing the mini turmoil to sort itself out, often having no idea what it was all about or how it heals exactly, like cleaning a wound and allowing the body to work its magic.

Redefining my relationship with my phone from appendage to tool has cascaded benefits to everyone in my life.

Is it time for a personal audit of your arrangement? Have you become Bilbo Baggins asking yourself, “Why shouldn’t I keep it (with me all the time)”? Do you pick your precious up to walk downstairs to get a glass of water just in case you need it in that next minute and a half?

I recommend you take a deep, undistracted look and make those uncomfortable adjustments. At the very least, keep that thing out of your front pocket.