A friend of mine recently lost his iPhone. I'll call him Jack, since that's his name. (He doesn't read my column, so we're safe here.)

For about 24 hours, Jack's life was a mess. He couldn't focus on anything except his missing phone. “My whole life is on that phone,” he said. “My money, my passwords, my pictures. I'm lost without it!”

I said, “But isn't it all backed up on the Cloud?” He thought about it for a moment. He replied, “I don't know. How do I get to the Cloud?” I told him, “I think you should start with your password.” That didn't solve the problem. “I told you, David. The passwords are on my phone!”

Cutting to the chase, I'm happy to report that Jack's phone was rescued the next day from between two sofa cushions. I know, that would've been the first place you looked, but you don't know Jack.

My point is, most of us are so dependent on those devices, that we freak out if we can't find them for an hour, much less a day. I think back to my youth, when I would drive 12 hours away on a solo vacation. Millions of others did too, even though we had no way to contact our family in case of emergency. Of course, this was the case since the beginning of time, but now we can't imagine life without our phone.

Music legend Bob Dylan insists that his concertgoers hand over their phones before they enter the theater. When this happened in my town, some fans were unhappy. “How am I supposed to record any video?” they asked. That may be the type of distraction that Dylan wants to avoid. Or maybe he just wants people to focus on his lyrics. (Never mind that he's largely unintelligible. That's a topic for another column).

In April, USA Today's Blake Toppmeyer reported on a remarkable scene at the Masters Golf Tournament in Augusta. Phones are not allowed on the course, even for reporters. Much like Bob Dylan on stage, professional golfers want a calm environment as they do their job. The result? Onlookers are not taking selfies. They are actually watching the tournament.

I am still baffled by fans who attend baseball games, only to spend hours staring at their phone. I love watching film of old games, from an era in which fans focused on the field. Why would someone would pay big bucks for great seats and expensive parking to watch cat videos while Matt Olson launches a massive home run?

Some people are trying to wean themselves away from their phone. Unfortunately, this does not include those who carry on long, loud conversations in stores and waiting rooms. I don't really want to hear about Ernestine's custody battle with Basil, but I have no choice.

I know I should try a day or two of digital detox, but what if I needed to take a picture? I am a reporter, so if I was unable to get images of a newsworthy event, I would be remiss in my duties. I still have a traditional camera stashed away in a closet, but I've forgotten how to use it. Besides, that is so 20th century, right? I experienced some special moments and met some amazing people in the pre-cell phone camera days, and now I have no printed or digital evidence of it. But at least they're captured in my memory bank, while it lasts.

I certainly wouldn't want to lose my phone, but I do miss the days when a vacation was clearly defined: “a scheduled period of rest and relaxation, and a reprieve from work-related duties.” Back then, the boss knew you were on the beach, and come hell or high water, you were unreachable until you returned to work. With the advent of the iPhone, there is an unwritten rule: “We know you're checking your phone constantly, so how about helping us solve a little problem that just came up?” Taking a cue from my friend Jack, during my next vacation, I might manage to get my phone “lost” between a couple of sofa cushions.

David Carroll is a Chattanooga news anchor, and his latest book is "I Won't Be Your Escape Goat," available from his website, ChattanoogaRadioTV.com. You may contact him at 900 Whitehall Rd, Chattanooga, TN 37405, or at RadioTV2020@yahoo.com.