"My Wallet, or my Cellphone?"

On Friday, in my rush to make a 7 a.m. train from Chappaqua to Manhattan for a partner breakfast meeting, I left my wallet in my car.

I didn't know I was "naked" until we neared Hawthorne and I heard the conductor coming down the aisle asking for tickets. As I reached for my monthly pass (housed in a special pocket in my wallet), I instantly realized what I had done. Terror set in. No train pass. No cash to buy a ticket on board. No credit card. No business card or any form of ID to offer the conductor as "collateral" of my good faith.

The conductor came to my seating group. When he looked at me, I said "I don't know what we're going to do with me... but my wallet is in my car...together with my credit cards, cash and ID."

I held my breath. My heartbeat sped up.

He looked at me and simply said, "okay," before moving on.

Crisis averted. And then I thought ahead to what the absence of my wallet meant. How to pay for breakfast. How to enter my office building. Who's paying for today's staff lunch. How to get home tonight. I thought about exiting at White Plains, grabbing a northbound local and starting all over again. After all, that's what I did a couple of years ago when I left my BlackBerry in my car.

On that occasion, I had similary weighed my options. Client calls? They'd go unanswered. Family calls and emergencies... no answer. Text messages...forgetaboutit! Facebook..LinkedIn...Twitter...other apps... no... too scary... I couldn't make it through the day. Back to the parking lot to get my phone. Not even a second thought.

Yet here, in 2011, I knew I could get by without my wallet. An email to Christa and Savannah, my work colleagues, produced two offers of we'll meet you at the restaurant to bail you out. And with that, I knew I could make it through the day.

Breakfast with Lito Bunag, of the Phillipines, went off as scheduled. When Christa walked to our booth, and discretely slid $80 and her gold AMEX to me, I noted the puzzled look on Lito's face. I explained my morning's angst and he smiled and said, "I was paying for breakfast anyway."

The security guards at 245 Park Ave. were sympathic but officially needed someone to vouch for me. But then, they noted that my staff had guest-signed me into the building. They produced a temporary paper badget. I was in!

I made it through the day without any other surprises. Lunch -- no sweat. New client meeting -- positive. Christa's micro-cash loan worked fine to buy my one-way ticket back to Westchester. My son picked me up with my car and I was finally reunited with my wallet.

So, in my own modern version of Frank Stockton's short story "The Lady, or the Tiger," my cellphone wins. I can make it through the day -- with a little bit of help from my friends -- without a wallet. But touch my cellphone? We need to have a serious conversation about that!

There Is No "Steph" In Team

After Henry Feintuch and I worked together for the first time 12 years ago, I went on to have several other PR gigs. Most of my time was spent working from a home office for my financial services PR consultancy. I represented companies based all around the world but worked mostly on my own.

In the beginning, I felt like a crazy cat lady. I was convinced that clients would assume I was at yoga or having my nails done if I didn’t answer the phone and I would keep the occasional telemarketer on the line because I needed human (if merely telephonic) contact.

In a word, I had turned into a wacko.

Over time, I became more relaxed about my situation and after comparing notes with my buddies at traditional day jobs, I learned I often did more in a day than they did in a week - even with a noon yoga break – because I didn’t have the distractions or the chatty colleagues that come with a communal work environment.

When we started Feintuch Communications in January I had a "lone wolf "work style that needed to be modified if I was going to make an effective team member. Used to taking total responsibility for both my successes and my failures, it was a completely foreign concept to have people to bounce ideas off of or share my work.

In June, my industry’s largest trade show came around. I had two major clients with big announcements and way more work than one woman could handle. I was forced to delegate editor and analyst calls that my colleagues would have had to pry out of my cold dead hands in the past. And, I even relied on them for some sensitive strategy decisions.

As far as I was concerned, the end was upon us. I was positive we were going to be fired by everyone as soon as the show closed …

On the contrary - and typical of having dedicated and talented colleagues - everything went swimmingly. Clients were happy, editors and analysts didn’t hang up on the Steph Johnson imposters who called them and the world continued to spin on its axis.

Steph Johnson ... a team player?

Baby steps, my friends … but at least I’m making progress!

My New Cult

They were everywhere. I saw them in banks, in cars, walking down the street, in meetings, at Starbucks, in elevators, at lunch, in bars, at conferences and at work. It was like Invasion of the Body Snatchers: First, I noticed a few of them acting curiously. Before I knew it, the world had been overrun with shells of former people thumbing furiously at their BlackBerrys.

Although PR requires you to stay up to date, I never felt at a disadvantage. I did my job; I worked hard and excelled; but at the end of the day, I was able to disengage from work and put my personal life in a non-contiguous compartment. Initially, I was put off by these mindless creatures, this cultish Blackberrati (As you can see from today’s feature story in The New York Times, I’m not the only one: http://bit.ly/n8oTP). They were slaves to their electronic extensions, unable to extricate themselves from the ever expanding web of digital communication. I felt sorry for them. Then, I got one.

As part of my employment package at Feintuch Communications, I was supplied with a new BlackBerry (I opted for the Bold). In a matter of days I went from mild curiosity to rabid support, likely to sacrifice non-immediate family members if it were necessary to save my 9000, my preciousss.

This weekend, I was swallowed up by a vortex of texting, BlackBerry Messenger and App World. I lost track of time, like a Native American on a Peyote-induced vision quest, only to emerge on Sunday, realizing that I was texting, BBMing, Gchatting and emailing a childhood friend of mine all at the same time in order to work out the logistics of meeting up for lunch. When I realized what I was doing, I closed all my applications and, with the unsteady hand of withdrawal, called my friend up. We settled on a place in ten seconds tops.

My body is snatched. I already feel it. I am one of them. I am part of the Blackberrati. But while I already see the enormous potential this device has to support my professional development, I will do my best to remember that sometimes you need to pick up the phone to get the job done.