Working from home. In self isolation. Mask on.
There is no such thing as a mobile device anymore.
The brilliant and indispensable Apple iPhone, the primary device I use all day that’s always by my side (unless I’m using a Google Pixel 4), has lost all of its original meaning.
I can carry it around in my house during a lockdown, but the question is — why would I do that? If I have a laptop in the kitchen and in my bedroom, and a desktop in my office, there’s no need to “go mobile” when I visit my garage or the porch.
Obviously, I’m joking — I still use my iPhone for notifications, making calls and playing Pinochle. I probably use it more than I did before because I’m trying to stay in contact with people.
What’s really surprised me, now that almost all of life outside of my own family is digital, is that I’m using the phone as a second screen for the first time ever. I don’t mean that it is handy or that I use it once in a while. I mean it is a second screen — it’s propped up facing me, showing notifications or a Zoom call. It’s always on.
Before this, I would never bother. I’d sit at my desk for a few hours, grab my phone and head to a coffee-shop. I’d use the phone at airports and the library when visiting family across town or at the local sporting event.
A phone was never a second screen. It was the screen when I was mobile. Or it was always around at my desk, waiting for me to pick it up.
That has shifted lately, at least for me. Given the choice between a 28-inch monitor in my office connected to a high-end laptop — both a few steps away from the den — and a small screen that literally mirrors everything I do at my desk (email, social media, and Zoom calls), I’ve been picking the big screen and the powerful laptop.
It’s a bit perplexing to me. A second screen this small? I’ve never bothered to do that because it seemed like too many digital tools in my life already. I have propped up my phone showing a recent LinkedIn chat with Bill Gates. I have watched an Instagram Live for the first time ever on my phone as I monitor emails at my desk. This is all because of the confinement. I’m now looking for more ways to stay connected, to multitask (even though real multitasking is not possible because of how our brains are wired to pay attention to one thing at a time), and to learn.
It’s crazy because I’ve had the second screen all along. The reason I never bothered to actually use it was because I viewed my phone as primary as well as mobile. It has shifted slightly to secondary, and this shift is making me rethink how I work. With the second screen so handy and useful, I have now adjusted my notifications so I don’t ever see Slack messages. I never see a Trello notification. Why would I need those? I’m on Slack and Trello on my desktop. The desktop is always a few feet away. It’s a paradigm shift that is interesting after so much time using mobile devices.
It’s working.
During the Instagram Live session, I found myself reacting and interacting with my iPhone in the same way that I might have a news station on in the background. I listen in once in a while to a livestream, grab the phone, and make a comment.
Even weirder, I have started doing one Zoom call with a colleague on my phone while there’s a Zoom call running on my laptop. That would have been unheard of before this.
How I use it as a secondary screen is also interesting. It’s propped up in my field of view, easily viewable for quick glances and to see if there’s a text message from my wife — who is in the other room. I’m typing this while monitoring the Bill Gates livestream — which I know I can watch later — because I want to keep working on the primary computer. It’s odd because I also know I could use a tab in Chrome to watch it in a smaller window. Yet, I’m paying partial attention to my phone in case Gates says something profound (he has, several times).
What does it mean?
For one, I wonder if app developers will take note of this. I still use my phone on walks, but honestly it is not a mobile device anymore because I’m not mobile.
What is it exactly? I’m starting to wonder. It’s closer, more useful — but different.