My iPod

Like most people, when I walk there’s something in my ear. I avoid cell phones. I just want to listen. I don’t want to talk. So at first, it was my MP3 player pinned at my side, the black headphones in my ears. Now, it’s an iPod with white cords dangling, unless I feel “watched” and fear an iPod nabbing fast approaching.

There are times when I feel guilty walking around listening to something other than the sounds around me. I feel especially guilty when I’m out walking the dog because face it, this is the time I’m supposed to be “at one with the dog.” Still, I love my dog as much as I love music so it’s a toss up most days and inevitably I end up with something other than my dog’s clanging tags in my ears.

He doesn’t seem to mind. I still talk to him. “Good dog. Good right here. Good boy.” And his tail wags as much if my ears are free or if they’re not. He’s just happy to be heading somewhere. Preferably the lake. Preferably the green corner of the park where we play “chuck-it.” Preferably up the street to the neighbor’s house where his best dog-friend lives.

Years ago, when I used to ride the transit more and before MP3 players and iPods, boom boxes were popular. At the back of the bus, questionable youth would sling huge music players onto their shoulders and slide down the aisle on their way to their next stop. Everyone got to hear the music and sometimes musical selections competed with each other. Then the Walkman was born and headphones vibrated out the heavy beats of the Beastie Boys.

The headphones have gotten more elaborate and the “players” more inconspicuous, but now you can’t seem to travel anywhere without someone listening to something either on a cell phone or through their own personal listening device. Last summer, while stuck on a plane on an O’Hare runway I walked to the bathroom and counted only one person not on a phone or without headphones. Everyone, and I mean everyone was listening to something other than the pilot who was once again apologizing for the delay.

I worry sometimes that I’m disconnecting myself from the world around me by going on long walks plugged in, but I don’t worry enough to stop from doing it. I grew up in a musical family, my parents both music teachers so it only seems appropriate that music is a lifeblood of sorts for me. Yet here I am writing about something that seems as acceptable as it is ubiquitous.

What does it say about Americans that we have checked out, isolated ourselves from the sounds of the world with sounds from another world? It says a lot, of course, but I’m only concerned about what it says about me, another uniquely American quality I suppose.

So on my walks, the dog swinging his happy self at the end of the leash, this is what I think my iPod says about me:

I am well enough off that I can afford an iPod. In addition, I am well-enough off that walking for an hour or two is something I can afford. There are no kids to pick up from daycare, no second job to which I must attend, no bus I have to catch, no appointment I have to make.

I care about my dog. I’ve come to learn, after meeting many other dog owners that a lot of people don’t walk their dogs at least not for a long time. They may take Fido around the block for his daily constitutions, but they don’t just walk so the dog can get exercise. Some just throw the ball at a dog park or worse, just let the dog loose at the dog park and hope he or she gets enough exercise playing with other dogs or sniffing around off leash.

I care about my dog enough that if you were to watch me every day for a week you’d see that the dog walks (as do I) anywhere from 4-6 miles a day. Rain or shine. Furthermore, I care enough that when it’s raining my dog wears a raincoat. Another sign of my affluence or perhaps compulsion – either way, I care.

My iPod says I’m up on current pop culture. I own one where a lot of people my age (almost 50) may not or if they do, aren’t exactly sure how to use it. My iPod says I’m not living as a neo-Luddite. I know what an iPod is and I know how to use. Of course, if passersby could hear what’s on my iPod they would know a lot more about me than what just meets the eye.

I like folk music. There’s a lot of new young folk singers out there and I search, online at the iTunes store for quirky musicians that most iTuners don’t listen to. I know this because there’s nary a review about the CDs I download. Radio stations generally don’t play what I listen to so finding new music is a bit like searching for the Holy Grail – I may not find exactly what I’m looking for, but along the way I learn a whole lot about different artists.

My iPod says I have time. My iPod says I struggle with boredom. In the past, walking the dog was enough, but now walking must be entertaining, more entertaining that watching the dog chase leaves that blow by in windstorms.

My iPod says I can no longer run. I used to run with my iPod, but now my back aches and my knee is “crunchy” every time I go up or down stairs. I’ve given up running, which was very hard to do and the subsequent 20 pounds I’ve gained frustrates me to a raw nerve, a raw nerve that I soothe by listening to music or occasionally a recorded book I’ve downloaded temporarily on my iPod.

I never listen to my iPod while riding my bike, though I have a number of friends who do. I cringe when I see them. I don’t care how low the volume, you miss hearing certain sounds when you’re tuned in to music or even a story.

Some days I don’t listen to my iPod though and I suppose that says a lot about me too. Like I can be forgetful or that some days I need something other than music to bring me back to center. A walk in the rain will do that. A walk in the summer heat will do it as well.

While I may forget my iPod or choose not to take it, I never forget the dog. He could care less if I’m listening to music. He just loves to get out and my life seems all the more important when he’s at my side.

And what my dog says about me perhaps allows a more in-depth view of my psyche.

But I’ll leave it to him to tell that story.