I was hiking up the mountain the other day, but it was snowy, and I could only get so far.

That is not true. I could totally have gotten a lot farther if I hadn’t let my legs and lungs go for the last few years. However, the snow was getting to the two-inch mark, and I know how that goes—go around another bend, and it’s four inches, and then eight, and then, because your life doesn’t absolutely depend on it, you turn around and tell people it was too snowy to keep walking. I figured I might just as well cut out the middle-rationalizer and call it quits early.

I did mention to someone later that we don’t have cell coverage up on that mountain. She was horrified.

“What if you fall and break your leg out in the wild? What do you do then?”

I would be in a pickle, I suppose. Pickles are a thing people used to get into all the time. Fact is, pickles don’t always have a good outcome. I suppose I would holler for a while, and if nobody showed up, I’d try to pull some branches over me to stay warm, or I’d pull some sort of MacGyver number with a hiking pole, a wad of moss, and a vine I tore off with my teeth, only I don’t carry a hiking pole, and I’m not that clever, so I suppose I’d just sit there and get colder and colder and then warmer and warmer and then I’d die.

Because that’s how it used to be. For a million years people would trudge up that mountain with no cell phone and some of them would flat die. For a while during the middle Holocene they did have cell phones but eventually they quit using them because there were no cell phone towers yet. But a lot of them didn’t die at all, not till later when they died of not having vaccines or armor. There were all sorts of things to die from. Today all you can die from is boredom if you’re on a mountain with no cell phone towers and you can’t find anything to look at. If you take a selfie with duck lips and there’s nobody to send it to, were you actually cute?

I’m not opposed to progress, or having good tools. They’re all good additions to the kit, but something has been subtracted, too, now that we rely so heavily on our spooky tech. I use the navigation on my phone only as a last resort. I like to call up a map and study it for a while and then drive off to my destination. Something feels bad about not having that map in my brain, as though the space it used to occupy is now a vacant lot, with discarded words and scraps of knowledge tumbling across. Because of the awesome power of our devices and a strip-mined wad of rare earth metals, we are, at one and the same time, sage and helpless.

The worst part is that now it’s considered unthinkable to do things people thunk to do for thousands of years. Like walk uphill in the snow on breakable legs.

When yet another ancient ruin reveals a special slot where the sun shines only on the winter solstice, we marvel that our primitive forebears had sophisticated knowledge of astronomy. Well, no shit. There they are having to feed themselves and clothe themselves and otherwise keep the whole human operation going, and while trying to make sense of the whims of fortune, they’re going to pay attention and piece things together. They’re going to absorb the patterns in the swing of the stars. They’re going to track the departure of the birds and the arrival of the berries. They’re going to know a lot of things, a lot more than we do, and the metaphysical rest—fortune being as whimful as it is—they’ll make up out of the big broad sky.

All we’ve got is YouTube and the Deep State.

You know what a couple friends can do with cell phones on a mountain hike? They can take pretty pictures and talk to people all over the world. You know what they can do on a mountain hike with no cell coverage? They can talk to each other. It’s wild.