Randi Kreiss

Is anyone tracking you? I certainly hope so.

Posted

I like to know where my people are.

In my mind’s eye, I watch my son as he goes about his business in another state, in and out of his car, down to take a deposition in Miami, up to interview a client in Palm Beach. It’s more than just thinking about him; I’m tracking him, emotionally, as best I can at any given time, with consideration for his right to privacy. It isn’t an obsessive activity; it’s more like checking in on his life occasionally during the day. And, of course, I can be wrong about where he is at any given time. Still, this is where my mind goes.

In my mind’s eye, my daughter, on another coast, moves from helping in her daughter’s classroom to seeing patients to jogging to hiking with Grandma (the dog) to standing at her kitchen counter sautéing some onions for an escarole soup. Thinking about her helps close the distance between us.

In my mind’s eye I track my husband, dashing through New York City streets, slightly atilt from the weight of his attaché case. I imagine him walking in the roadway, because the streets are too crowded for his Type A walking pace. I can see him edging backward in the street, as he sometimes does, trying to hail a taxi.

There are others, too, in my tracking system: my sister and our parents and some friends. As you can imagine, this takes a fair amount of mental energy, but it comforts me to know approximately where my peeps are and that they’re safe. One part love, one part anxiety and one part magical thinking, this tracking system feels right to me.

Don’t get me wrong; I don’t call loved ones to check up on where they are or what they’re doing. Since I know their routines, mine is mostly an exercise of the imagination.

Tracking and lack of privacy have emerged as critical life issues. On the positive side, I can track a package from the time it leaves the store until the hour it arrives on my doorstep. Hidden cameras and webcams help us witness formerly inaccessible natural wonders and animal behavior that has remained elusive and secret.

On the downside, five minutes after I order a pair of shoes online, my computer blasts out numerous ads for other footwear, other colors of the same shoe, with lures and discounts to tempt me to surf for other products.

My iPhone keeps asking me if Google or Words With Friends or Waze or iTunes can use my location. I know that at any time and in any place, if I carry my phone, I can be located. That’s both reassuring and alarming.

Sometimes I really want to be alone, so I leave my phone in the house and go — somewhere, to the beach or for a walk — simply to disappear, to own my time and space for a while. But those occasions have become personal indulgences.

And even when I do get lost for a half-day or a few hours, there are usually a few people who know where to find me. These are the family members and friends who track me the way I track them. They have an interest in knowing my whereabouts, and they know me well enough to make an educated guess about where I am, even if we haven’t spoken.

In this way, I wish everyone could have someone tracking him or her.

I suppose there would be a certain liberating freedom to being entirely off the grid — any grid. Come and go, do or don’t, and move about one’s life as one wishes without intersecting with anyone else’s interests or concerns.

Or, that could feel uncomfortable. I had a day like that last year. This newspaper asked me to get a new headshot for my column. I found a photographer who worked out of his home about 45 minutes away, in a town I didn’t know. I made an appointment, and was driving there when I realized I hadn’t mentioned it to anyone. My husband was out of town, and it wasn’t something I would necessarily share, so I was alone on my outing. At first it felt like a bit of an adventure, and then I wondered if it was entirely safe to go into a stranger’s home to be photographed.

At that exact moment, my mother’s tracking system blasted out a psychic warning signal, and I realized I should tell someone where I was going, so I called my sister and gave her the guy’s name and his address. It was all fine. But the comfort was in knowing that someone who had my safety and well-being at heart knew where I was.

I cherish those who track me. We touch base often. The beauty of it is that we are invested in one another’s lives. And the return on the investment is human connection: what makes life worth living.

Copyright © 2016 Randi Kreiss. Randi can be reached at randik3@aol.com.