Technology Should’ve Stopped at Texts
I love my phone. It’s shiny. It tells me how high to benchmark my self-esteem. It shrivels whatever part of my brain keeps me attentive. What’s not to love?
I’m a technology addict. Not in the I-am-a-tech-savante-who-dreams-in-code kind of way. More like a Curios George monkey-seeing-a-magic-trick kind of way. My daily phone screen time averages 4 hours/day in a good week, and I’ll be honest, I’m ashamed to tell you what it is on a bad week.
Thanks, Ted.
My life is undoubtedly tech-enabled. I don’t get an almanac by owl to know the weather. I read my Weather app like a grown ass adult. Every element of my life lives in an air-conditioned server room in some desert. Every person I care about exists in my anxiety rectangle.
I’m losing a teeny bit of in-person skill every time I text somebody. I stutter more post-COVID than I’ve ever before. My tongue trips over itself whenever the brain wrinkles get going. I rarely finish a FaceTime call without compulsively opening another app that I don’t need to use.
When I’m particularly disciplined, I’ll toss my phone in my hands with—you won’t believe this—the screen turned off. That’s a win. I’m fighting back. But—I haven’t been quite able to kick this habit—when my phone lights up mid-toss, I stop tossing and unlock that bad boy like my life depends on it.
I’d still pass the Stanford Marshmallow Experiment. I can hold out on the sweet treats for long enough. But self-control doesn’t really mix well with my techno aura. I’m rewarded for being online. Friends think you’re a reliable person. Work colleagues see that you’re always on the clock. Cha-ching.
And—if I’m living in the moment—what am I going to do looking out my boredom window? I end up looking at people chasing lit up rectangles held in their own hands. Why can’t that be me but stationary? Seems like less work.
For what it’s worth, I’ve never used Tik Tok. I’m taking a bold stand here. I simply refuse to download it. It’s a rare case where laziness is good; in the sea of apps on my phone I don’t know where the app store is anymore. If you’re a particular three-letter overseas organization, then those previous sentences were jokes, and I love Tik Tok more than my heart can articulate.
I miss the days of minutes. I miss having to wait until my next billing cycle to get more texts. Unlimited everything is uninspired. I can spew whatever nonsense is in my head. Curation is dead: quantity over quality in full bloom, not that I had much quality to begin with.
When I can’t think of what to write next in an article—maybe like right now—I’ll open up a soon-to-be-Terminator tool to give me some inspiration.
Er—nothing really good this time. But I really love the praise.
You know, just the other day I was walking in a serene park where I could see a rainbow, just over yonder, and it’s like there’s this phantom itch in my brain whenever my phone is out of reach—a desperate clawing for that next hit of dopamine, the validation of a like or a comment.