We have the entire world at our fingertips.
Anything we could ever care to want to know is quickly and easily accessible. Anything we could ever want or need to buy can seemingly be found—likely with no more than two-day shipping. Anything we could ever want to document and preserve forever is as instant and effortless as the tap of the finger.
All of this is possible simply by reaching into our pocket (or purse, backpack, etc.) and grabbing a device most of us never keep more than an arm’s length away. Of course, I’m referring to cellphones.
Modern cellphones truly are a marvel of human engineering. Despite fitting easily within the grasp of one’s hand, most cellphones now boast computing and processing capabilities much faster and more efficient than a high-end computer could have even just 20 years ago.
Cellphones have usurped a number of other devices that used to be commonplace in our lives. For that reason, I guess it makes sense that cellphones have become such a core part of our existence, but it feels kind of like we’ve gone too far.
I recently had a conversation with my colleague and fellow reporter, Trevor Sherman, about this very topic. It’s something that the two of us have discussed several times over the course of our time working here at the paper together. These exchanges always seem to follow a similar pattern: We weave a tapestry of existential angst on the current state of affairs, long for a simpler time that will likely never return, shrug it off and then move on with our day.
After our most recent conversation, however, I continued to dwell on it for quite some time. I left the office to get food and ended up dining inside at a local establishment, where I sat alone. I resisted the urge to pick up my phone. Instead, I chose to fill the time between placing my order and receiving my food just merely existing.
I looked around the restaurant as people at other tables sat with friends, family and colleagues as they waited for their food. Many of them had their gaze sternly fixated on their phones. Others picked them up, checked them and put them back down. Some just left the phone laying nearby on the table, as if just being able to physically see it was comfort enough.
It didn’t end there though.
As I drove back to the office, I could see the silhouettes of people holding their phones up to their face as they sat waiting at a red light. As I walked into the office, I witnessed a person waiting in their vehicle in the parking lot while completely engulfed in whatever was on their phone screen. As I sat at my desk, I felt the pull to check my phone and—almost instinctively—went through the motions of picking it up, unlocking it and opening an app, which I then mindlessly scrolled through before snapping back to reality.
It happened without me even thinking, as if I had somehow been programmed to give it my attention unwillingly.
I assume it was likely a similar situation for all the others I had noticed during my very brief sabbatical. It seems to have become second nature for the vast majority of us. But, it is obviously a problem.
Far too many of us live within the virtual world we’ve created for ourselves, becoming more connected than any other time in the history of human civilization while also simultaneously being pulled further and further apart.
I believe it is time for each of us to take back our lives. I believe it is time to reinstate our sense of community. I believe it is time to redefine what we see as “the world” and start engaging in real, meaningful interactions with the people around us.
It may be true that what you project out into the digital space is what will live forever, but who you are in real life and how you are remembered by those around you is all that truly matters.
