It’s time I face the music. I know what you’re thinking, “But Pattyboy, you’re the most spectacular, the most sharp, and the most humble kid I’ve ever met. What could you have possibly done?” The truth of the matter lies in my headphone usage. Sometimes I intentionally put in my AirPods as I walk around campus so I don’t have to talk to anyone.
This all changed, however, a couple of weeks ago when my AirPods broke. I wasn’t exactly thrilled with the situation at first. “Music is such a convenient escape for me,” I thought. “Yes, I don’t have to talk to people with my headphones in, but it also calms me down during hectic times. What do I do now?”
Well, now I realize how fortunate I was that my AirPods broke.
The first thing I noticed without my headphones was how dependent I am on the distraction of music. I live in a quaint and homey Mod, and even something as simple as walking to the Walsh laundry room—a one-and-a-half minute journey, at most—always required my AirPods. I grew uncomfortable doing so without them. The walk was shorter than the length of a song, yet I loved the reassurance that I would not have to talk to anyone I ran into.
A few days later, I felt a sense of peace. I am someone who is constantly thinking. My mind races and repeatedly jumps around from one thing to the next. Because of this, I occasionally find myself grimly focused on what I cannot control. I’ve always told myself that music is a way of controlling this negativity, yet in reality, it does exactly the opposite. Hearing everyday ambient noises—the wind, the crumpling leaves, and all that other jazz—made me realize how quiet my mind truly is when my brain isn’t between two pulsing earpieces.
I also noticed how effortlessly friendly everyone is—including myself. With my headphones in while walking around campus, I would always pull the classic silent wave when saying “hi.” The maneuver is undeniably easy, and it spares you from conversations you might not be in the mood for.
Without the noise-canceling barrier, however, the “hello”s seem to carry a little more weight. Half the time I found that the “hello”s would lead to obligatory conversations with other headphone-less people on campus. “Hey, Pat, that’s a nice flannel.” “Pat, I’m excited to see you later tonight at that club meeting.” I even found myself going up to the people tabling in the quad! “Hey, what’s all this for?”
There’s nothing wrong with being introverted. The older I get, the more I realize how tired people can make me, and I find myself needing a meal or two alone every week. To be clear, there is also nothing wrong with wanting to listen to music or a podcast, especially on a nice stroll around campus. Yet keeping our headphones in becomes an issue when the practice makes us see each other as nuisances rather than fellow human beings.
I know there’s probably already a lot of research on the “dangers” of headphones, social media, AI, and most modern technology. But when I’m reading those studies, all I’m thinking is that the article’s prehistoric author is envious because he or she needs hearing aids to listen to music. I see that there’s so much good in all these new developments that often seem overlooked by older generations. Only after my headphones broke did I start to realize all that technology took away.
I feel so strongly because it quickly changed my behavior for the better. Being AirPod-less in an elevator helped me understand this change. I realized that I was more willing to hold my arm through the door for the person behind me straggling along. I was more apt to ask “What floor?” as someone would walk in behind me on the elevator. I became a more considerate, conscious, and intentional member of the community.
These don’t seem like major changes, I know. But looking back at how I would interact with other people under the security of headphones, it is slightly alarming. Holding the door for someone who is clearly trying to get somewhere doesn’t take much effort, and neither does asking for their floor. Devices like AirPods let us fade into our own world. We often forget that being kind doesn’t cost a damn thing. It’s what has kept humanity afloat for thousands of years.
That’s why I have to start reminding myself it takes two to tango. Sure, the other person, but, more importantly, me.
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