Inbox

It’s the cap and collar of our existence

What a sad thing the inbox is. How inhuman. It sits there, a distraction, like a pack of barking dogs. It’s a noise I largely ignore. Yet, if there were roadworks across the street, I’d move location. So, it must be affecting me in some way. With an inbox, I’ll carry it with me, often in my pocket, until the end of my days. You will, too.

Almost everything that happens in our ‘normal’ lives happens via our inbox. It’s the elixir of job opportunities, the destination of spam, and the source of all those great things we hope to do in the world. It’s the cap and collar of our existence! We can not exist beyond it, nor can we live without it. It’s distinctly un-human, yet it is foundational.

Like you, my day starts and ends with it. I consider myself productive if there are fewer things in the box left undone. I have a great sense of self-worth when I’ve gone to zero (or imagine I would!), and I question my very existence when I don’t.

I say all this because I’m in the peaks of Ticino, high above Lake Maggiore that lies, like a half-empty drink, in the pit of the valley. Cutting into the lake, the town of Locarno (with its lido’s and cafes) creeps up from the shore into the mountains behind. It’s peaceful from this distance; we hover around a kilometre above. Looking down, the Roman Catholic town is like a model on Sim City, yet everyone in it undoubtedly lives loyal to their inbox. They are ruled not by the Pope but by their notifications.

Is my life condemned to being dominated by my inbox? Is it representative of the world that we roll through that gets increasingly and needlessly busy and full?

We’re heading up into the mountains for a few days. It’s as isolated as it gets, and I’m out of signal. The great irony of writing the above is you’re reading it in your inbox. So, it’s Sunday morning. Turn off your computer and go outside - it looks glorious.