A few weeks back, my wife and I were at some cafe somewhere. A group of twenty-somethings sat nearby, chatting.
One of them raised her voice. "I'm tired of having a fake life online; I want a REAL life!"
I wonder if those words caused a tremor in the Force over at Facebook HQ. Aren't kids supposed to stay attached to their digital umbilical cords forever?
There's a whole world on the networks that I don' t know: a world of friending and liking and texting and twittering and OMGing and apps -- 24/7/365 on your smartphone or tablet or handheld. Kids get so sucked in that they text while riding bicycles. Once seen, never forgotten: the original accident-waiting-to-happen.
And this is supposed to be the way that things are going to be from now on. But I'm not so sure.
A few days later my wife and I visited yet another cafe. We like cafes; we both work, and 45 minutes of cooking and cleanup at the end of the day doesn't always appeal.
Near us sat a young couple who were, we surmised, on a blind date. Nothing else could have brought those two together.
The young man? Oh, mid-twenties, long and silky hair, neatly trimmed 'stache and beard, round face, and a loose, suede open-necked shirt. He was adorable. His hands flew through the air as he talked about himself, animatedly and with expression.
Unfortunately, "himself" was all media: his favorite science fiction movies, social networking sites, fantasy characters, online games, and on and on. It became clear that he, personally, had never done much of anything. He interacted with the world through proxy characters and telecom personas.
The young woman? Dressed for the office in a modest skirt and dark jacket, and sensible shoes, her hair worn short for easy maintenance. I said that nothing but a blind date could bring these two very different people together, but that's not true: he might have paid her to prepare his taxes, if he pays any.
She sat there silently, smiling and listening. And as the young man endlessly described his fantasy life -- the only one he had -- she clung that smile for dear life. It was a struggle. After a bit her face began to break out in little creases.
Mixed relationships don't work: not between those who have real lives and those who don't. The young woman was engaging the world; the young man was still too dazzled by his toys to move on. He's stuck in the fake life.
I work alongside young people, and plenty of them keep the fake life at arm's length. I could be wrong, but I think that the online world is like a lot of other flashy, superficial activities: when you've got no life of your own, the online world expands to fill the gap. And when you finally get something going in your life, online -- the fake life -- shrinks down to make room.
For some, that's a big "if." Even back in the day, I knew guys who grew to middle age with a house full of baseball cards and nothing else. But I'd like to think that most will make the leap from fake life to real life, given the chance.
Because real life, out in the world, is a lot more fun. A couple of weeks back, my wife and I fled to the beach on Sunday afternoon to watch solar eclipse: not total, but 85 percent. The beach offers a clear horizon, and it's a nice place to hang.
The sky was bright and clear that afternoon, but as the moon moved in front of the sun the light grew dimmer and redder; the shadows, blacker; and the crimson sunlight made every color blaze, every person and building pop out from the background like some object in a 3D movie.
And people pointed at the sun -- some pointed with beer cans -- and studied the eclipse with pinhole viewers and high-tech plastic filters and through other safe means. And they all laughed and were amazed -- picnickers and volleyball players, school teachers and college kids and all.
Though there was one person who'd brought her Kindle. And her other Kindle. And her iPad. And her Blackberry. She was so connected she couldn't move. There's always one.
The next day at work I had an early meeting with a young woman who had some questions about the software that we use. I went to her cube and we both sat down in front of her computer.
"Thanks so much for coming," she said. "Did you have a good weekend?"
"Yes. We went down to the beach to see the eclipse. It was a lot of fun.
"An eclipse? Really?"
"Yes. It peaked around 6:30. The light went dim, and all the colors changed.
"We noticed that!" she said triumphantly. "But we didn't know what it was. I've got to tell my mom!"
And then and there she whipped out her smart phone and tapped out a text to her mother. "T-H-E-R-E W-A-S A-N E-C-L-I-P-S-E Y-E-S-T-E-R-D-A-Y!"
Maybe I shouldn't be such an optimist.