I generally enjoy reading books on this topic, because they remind me of the pleasures of silence, deep thinking, and the dangers of a constantly interrupted mind. It's a nice meditation. I gave it three starts because I didn't walk away with anything all that profound, nor did I find it to be very engaging, but I it has its moments:
Americans tap their phones on average ~2,500 per day, "jumping back and forth so frequently the resulting disorientation has blurred into a nameless unease. We're forgetting we're lost and we're forgetting what we're losing, which is a far cry from being well-adapted." I think the point about for forgetting here is spot on. Again, it the frog boiling in water. We don't know what we're missing.
I liked the point about how GPS navigation changes our relationship with the world: "to treat everywhere but your destination as a means relegates the in-between places on the map to second-class status, and, more importantly, may relegate the in-between places in your own psyche--the curiosity, the sense of adventure, the desire to orient yourself as a a part of something larger than yourself--to second-class status as well, constantly rerouting you back towards your original destination, towards efficiency, towards no tolerance for error, which means no tolerance for wandering." I loved this. I realized I tend to hold efficiency as supreme above all else, which it isn't always. Maybe there are things to be gained by difficulty, by boredom, by having to contend with our surroundings.
A gorgeous passage about being with an ex-girlfriend after not having seen each other for a while: "We were sitting inside my father's car at this point, parked on a quiet side road beside a meadow, and I felt like I was in high school parked with my girlfriend, and also in my twenties during the summer I lived in a fancy garage nearby, and also in my thirties when the woman beside me had actually been my girlfriend, and also in my forties with the future contracting--the heat going in the car, the Monday afternoon pulling me to drive back into Boston and catch a flight to Chicago. Once we said goodbye, time would sweep forward, our daily lives would slam into gear. Her shoulder nuzzled against mine, the touch holding us together as we held ourselves back, and the moment felt almost large enough for us to live inside. But time was pulling on us--the limited time we had left together, the limited time each of us had left, apart from the other, to make a life".