On a recent bicycle ride with friends, we got to talking about the song “Bus Stop.”
I thought it was by the Turtles. Another rider thought it was the Hollies and that someone popular was in that band before becoming famous. Someone else chimed in that it was Sam and Dave, and the famous person was Steve Winwood. Wouldn’t that be Steve and Dave, I asked—it didn’t seem right.
This went on for a long time, a conversation the way conversations used to be: lots of half-formed notions being tossed out without anyone being sure of anything. This opportunity to wonder was afforded us only because we were on bicycles and unable to reach into our back pockets to take out our phones for immediate answers.
As an A+ rated instructor on Rate My Professor.com with a chili pepper and an overall quality rating of 4.8, I can tell you the ready availability of easy answers has in fact made us dumber. Now that students can drop into the hive-mind and find the exact unit of information they seek, no one learns anything new.
If you’re writing a research paper on the mortality rate of a cancer acquired during a tanning bed session for example, a search will give you just that number, instead of, say, other health risks that are associated with the behavior -- information that might nevertheless open up a much more interesting paper.
This loss is not a small thing. I feel like at least half of what I know I learned accidentally, looking for something else. Wondering about stuff, letting your brain look for connections that aren’t obvious, is what leads to ideas and innovation and inspiration.
That’s how thinking about Bus Stop led me to swear off the easiness of quick answers. Nice to think that that umbrella led me to a vow.
I’m Dan Libman, and that’s my perspective
