Stop, I said to myself. Please, I implored. Turn it off and let me sleep.
_
It was 11pm, and while
gathering the motivation to shower and clean up that day’s mess, I was
ruthlessly held in the grip of the Instagram app. It’s terrible how easy it is
to find people on there, with the accuracy and scope of the search feature. An
ex-friend or cousin: they’re all waiting, with trendy usernames, to be discovered
and professionally stalked (I consider myself excellent at finding unnecessary
information online). The ‘suggested follows’ curried me into continuing my
great crusade, and I found out lots of things: Lauren is starting a programme
at NYU this fall, Jaymee recently went to Bali, and Liam still has that golden
Lab we all forgot about. Sorry Liam.
When I finally turned
all the lights off and made the fridge stop beeping, I was surprised. I didn’t
feel empty, rejected, or metaphorically homeless – I felt inspired and
strengthened in my own beliefs and outlook. I love to find out what is going on
in the world, especially in the lives of my peers – most of whom are frequent
users of social media and technology. It’s particularly delightful to acquire
insight into the life of someone you will probably never meet – because hey
look! They have the same middle name as you and you both can’t stop raving
about bando planners – excitedly taps
like button. It’s nice to follow niche musicians and artists, that
sympathize the same emotion and impassionate qualities in their works. It’s also
encouraging to see an author post their word count, and very reassuring when
they groan about writing struggles, in tune with my own passionate complaining.
They make me feel less alone.
_
When I was planning to
move overseas for five months, I was slightly unsure. That’s a long time, and when
the prospective city is miles away from your own, you can’t just fly back when
you feel like sipping on a local brew. You have to meet new people, try new
things, and embed yourself in a new community. Terrifying, right? So just like
any sensible millenial, I messaged students doing the course I planned on
doing, and expressed all my curiousity and fear through short Instagram DM’s. These
wonderful people shared their experience, insight, and advice, even relating to
obscure however extremely important
issues (e.g. cafeteria food quality). They
made me feel less alone.
_
There’s been times when
technology has feigned connection, and shoved me into corners of isolation I
didn’t think recoverable. In my younger days, when shyness still held words
back in my throat, I used to use it as a placeholder for real conversation.
It’s easier to type words than say them aloud, and more comfortable to look at
someone through a screen than in the eye. To escape awkward situations, I’d
become busy with phone admin, even if my
phone was dead (pre-teen years are rough, man). My stark change in attitude
happened when I realized how desperate everybody is for connection, beneath
whatever façade of rudeness or arrogance they display. Also, awkward silences
will always come to an end – they absolutely do.
Sometimes withdrawal
because of technology isn’t intentional, it just happens. I rarely choose to be
distracted, I only realize it later in remorse, as I check my sudoku score in astonishment.
I don’t find it hard to put my phone down when I am in good company, though,
because the pull of an Instagram livestream is less tempting when the banter
you’re having in real life is hardly surpassable. My only question is if the
banter gets dry, salty, or unbelievably boring, does everybody reach for their
phone? I see it in class, and even in close friend groups, where hanging out is
a diverse mix of talking, meme-sharing, and scrolling.
Less real connection makes people more
alone.
_
Loneliness allegedly affects
your brain the same way physical pain does, which is reason enough for it to be
taken seriously. The causes of it are varied and traversable, but technology is
only a factor if that person has given it higher value than what it should
have. Maybe it’s just happened, and dinners without a selfie, snapchat, or
story, seem outdated and lame. Maybe we’re happier now that we’re sharing the
mundane, prosaic lives we live. Maybe it’s wonderful that your mum can’t
separate you and your pals by putting you in different rooms.
Being able to connect
with anybody, at literally any moment, has made my life less lonely. If I’m at
a party, and no one is keen on conversation, I can send videos to my friend,
and we can laugh at how awkward it is. If I’m feeling the worst shade of blue,
I know my best friend is a skype call away and that small cure is cheap, but
precious relief. I love to converse about varieties of cheese (hmu!) and it’s
convenient to do this over text, where the neccessary screenshots and gifs can
be included.
These exciting advantages
of technology wouldn’t be as fulfilling if I didn’t go round and pat their dog
sometimes. If I didn’t show them real tears, make them real tea, maybe I would
feel more alone, glued to false community and desperate cries for attention. Digital
emotion and empathy don’t exist, so I don’t look for it. I find it on
somebody’s couch, in their kitchen, or in the intonations of their
encouragement.
_
The way technology works for us and brings us into community is by enhancing what’s already there. Without
sowing into relationship, or acquainting yourself with real people, computers
will become the great isolators we always suspected. Phones will only weaken
posture and increase the cost of communicating if we’re more obssessed with a
digital reality than our own. The movement of your fingers and the direction of
your eyes are your responsibility, and they’re never idle: they’re always
invested in something.
Of course, sometimes
it’s a collective error. Groups where some can’t put their phone down might
delicately fall apart, and public transport has become an independent
experience now that everyone has gaming apps (to be honest, I’m not complaining
– I’m rarely in the mood for mid-subway small talk). From my personal
observation, there’s less spontaneous interaction and side by side commentary
from strangers. On masse, it looks like we’re accelerating away from each
other, and withdrawing friendliness as fast as bills from an ATM, which may be
true – but maybe it’s because we’re
speeding towards greater relationships with people we adore.
Fine art, that’s what it
is: a lifestyle complemented by
technology, not deadened. Some of it is out of your control, if you have
obssessive gamer friends, or compulsive feed refreshers (is this a medical
condition yet?). To sound terribly cliché, the upside is that there is a lot
you can control. There is a lot of fresh air to be swallowed, and a lot of
people to smile at. The solution for avoiding loneliness and enjoying
technology: balance. Board games,
cookies, and pool trips are good too.
_
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