I'm in an ambivalent relationship with my phone
Reflecting on Digital Pacifiers + Social Media in My "Month of Presence"
Ding.
Ding.
Ding.
I’m at a hockey game, settled in to Row Q— so high in the nosebleeds, there’s no one behind us. This is a surprisingly good vantage point for watching players duke it out over a tiny puck on the ice, but it’s an even better vantage point for people-watching.
Three college-aged guys are in the row below, joking about how they’re on a ‘school field trip,’ one gesturing so wildly I have trouble seeing the ice. Within minutes, three girls appear, twirling their hair and laughing, “Well, looks like you guys took our seats, so we’ll just sit here.”
Game on. With a front-row seat to an impending young adult rom com, I can’t look away.
At first, their banter is in full swing. Ding. One girl gets a notification, that leads her down a social media rabbit hole. Ding ding. The girl who had just been smiling, her hand flirtatiously on a stranger’s knee, looks down. She stops mid-sentence to respond to a text. Ding ding ding. The girl is looking up, ready to finish telling him about how they actually go to the same college, but now frat-boy is distracted by a Snap of some other frat-boy chugging beer. Meanwhile, the only girl who doesn’t appear remotely interested in any of them is holding her phone up in ‘Selfie’ mode, the background of her picture conveniently capturing the dudes she hasn’t yet bothered to speak with. She flashes them a grin, “thanks for that!” and clicks send.
What started out as the plot for a rom-com had quickly turned into a scene from some dystopian techie film, everybody so engrossed in their phones that they are literally responding to each other’s Snaps instead of looking up and talking to each other IRL. At the end of the game? They exchanged social handles. See ya on Snapchat!
It would be easy to be a curmudgeon-y old person yelling about young people and technology (and, of course, the obligatory ‘get off my lawn!’), but sitting just a few seats down from us was a 50-something year old helpfully giving everyone play by plays of the Thursday night football streaming on his iPhone. I can only imagine how anxious his brain must have been: Football- hockey-football- WAIT the stadium is cheering. We scored! Gotta get out of my seat but oh man dropped the phone what’s happening with football?!
In other words, technology is (to varying degrees) an everyone problem.
There’s a little? (big? somewhere in-between?) corner of Substack that’s super engaged in questions of what impact social media is having on society, and particularly younger generations. I don’t think millennials are at all exempt from this issue, although most of the writing has been focused on Gen Z, who are currently teens and young adults.
In this corner, there’s plenty of talk of how social media fosters comparison, depression, and even acts as a ‘virtual conveyer belt’ transporting viewers to “extreme ideas, identities, and behaviors.” Phone and social media use— along with the decline of ‘third spaces’ (places that aren’t home and work, or, for teens, school) to hang out IRL— are linked to increased rates of anxiety and depression. This is especially true for teen girls, but boys aren’t immune either. And, of course, social media is a primary driver of consumerism, with obnoxious and ever-present advertising and the amplification of all your deepest high-school fears.
But I increasingly think there’s something else going on with social media that fosters dissatisfaction: It hijacks your attention from the ‘real world',’ allowing you to pacify yourself with the click of a button. Because it’s always available in your back pocket, it’s easier— at least in the very short term— to be engaged with your phone rather than in anything even slightly uncomfortable happening around you.
Social Media expands the ‘room’
I’m not at all funny relative to a room full of comedians, but I like to pretend I can hold my own in a room full of academics (where, it probably goes without saying, the standards for humor are much lower). In other words, the bar for what we find joy, pleasure, or humor in is defined, in large part, by our surroundings.
If I pay to see a top-tier comedian and I only laugh twice, well, I’m disappointed. But if I grab a coffee with a friend and laugh twice, it was probably a pretty good conversation.
Here’s where technology comes in: Having a phone in our (literal) back pocket expands the ‘room’ we are in. forcing our friends and loved ones to compete with news headlines, Instagram reels, your fav influencer’s new skincare routine, and whatever else is blowing your phone up.
The conversation with your friend is too dull? There’s some dude cracking nonstop jokes on Instagram. Your kids are squabbling? Watch this heartwarming video of puppy adoption.
Of course, this ‘room expansion’ does lots of great things, like connecting like-minded people all over the globe and facilitating online work, like, oh, I dunno, Substack newsletters. (Without this room expansion, you and I might not have found each other! So yay for the Internet! And also please subscribe, kay thanks).
But the problem with this ‘room expansion’ is that it trains our brains to expect the extremes of human emotion. Every irritating interaction with customer service becomes fodder for ‘viral content.’ Dinner with your partner or playing with your kids is nice, but this ‘average’ interaction isn’t quite as heartwarming as the once-in-a-lifetime proposal video or 'deployed dad surprises son at school’ clip.
The problem with social media is that it trains our brains to expect the extremes of human emotion. Every irritating interaction with customer service becomes fodder for ‘viral content.’ Dinner with your partner or playing with your kids is nice, but this ‘average’ interaction isn’t as heartwarming as the once-in-a-lifetime proposal video or ‘deployed dad surprises son at school’ clip.
Want to feel angry and heartbroken at the world? The news cycle has you covered with a new headline every time you click “refresh.”
Want to feel calm? Your house might be chaos, but the lifestyle influencer always has picture-perfect countertops.
Want to feel like your no-good-very-bad-day isn’t quite as awful as someone else’s? Someone else interrupted their own no-good-very-bad day to tell you in superfluous detail just what an awful time they’re having, alternating dance moves with crocodile tears. Click love to show some support.
These issues might still exist on the desktop version of social media, but they are a heck of a lot easier to access via the glowing screen in your back pocket. Anytime I could possibly want to feel something other than what I’m currently feeling, well, the apps are more than happy to deliver my dopamine hit instantaneously. Not Snapchat, because I could never figure out how it worked (you’ll just have to text me like it’s still 2010, guys). And not TikTok, cause I’m not cool enough for that. But Instagram? Sandwiched right between the ads for dollhouses and the dozens of reels I actually don’t care about whatsoever is something that is guaranteed to make me laugh… I just have to scroll long enough to find it.
But every time they serve up a good laugh, a meme to commiserate over, or someone else’s life to aspire to, I become just a little less present in my one wild and precious life. And chances are, you do too.
Social Media is Actually Kinda Unique
Of course, other forms of ‘media’ impact your thinking too— from TV to Seventeen Magazine. In fact, that’s kind of the point of ‘media’— to evoke emotions or get you to think about an issue differently. (You’re even consuming ‘media’ in the form of this newsletter right now!).
But there’s something— or really, lots of things— fundamentally different about social media.
Social media lends itself to quick-form content— TikToks that average less than a minute, 15 second Instagram stories, Facebook posts you can easily scroll past without stopping to focus. A friend sharing a charity event in her feed even wrote “STOP SCROLLING AND READ THIS” because let’s face it… no one was gonna stop to read if she didn’t Internet-yell at them to do so.
I’m not giving other forms of technology a free pass (see: TV really can rot your brain, eek!), but the shift to receiving information in 15 or even 90 second clips keeps us from being able to concentrate on longer-form information. How many of us barely sit through a movie without doing something else? 🙋♀️ (I am most definitely not writing this with half-an-ear on the show my partner and I are ‘watching.’ Definitely not). How’s your patience for 300 page novels these days? Yeah, thought so.
I rode the flip phone train for far longer than most people I know— only caving to the smartphone trend ‘to figure out the public transit system’ in my new city in 2015. (I very nearly told you this was a ‘few years ago’ then realized that 2015 is 8 WHOLE YEARS AGO AND I BLINKED AND GOT OLD. But I digress— see, that failing attention span). And yes, the smart phone was great for that. It’s become an indispensable part of getting me from point A to point B (you might remember I can barely navigate my way out of a Target) and checking e-mail. But also, it became a tool for pointless browsing and scrolling and time-wasting, under the guise of ‘being productive’ or ‘relaxing.’
Social media also makes you feel like the comparison you’re making is between yourself and the Jones’ next door, not a celebrity or a fictional story. After all, if you run around thinking that life should be a Hallmark movie or a smutty novel, chances are you’re setting yourself up for disappointment— but most people are quick to agree that the Netflix special Holidate is fiction because, well, it is. But an influencer sharing the details of the exotic vacation… well, it’s not so clear whether her real life is actually that awesome, or only if her camera filter is that awesome.
Information Overload keeps you consuming rather than creating
This constant presence of new headlines, innovative products, a friend’s latest social media update, the e-mail marketing from companies you don’t even remember signing up for… it’s relentless. The average person sees somewhere around 5,000 ads a day (up from around 500 in the 1970s). But even that number doesn’t take into consideration the sheer quantity of non-advertising information we are exposed to. The New York Times alone, for example, publishes more than 150 articles a day. Alternatively, you could peruse content from the estimated five million new blog posts daily, or from 850,000 active podcasts.
I once heard that we are all born with a list of books we will never get around to. Now, though, we wake up every day to a news and social media feed with new content every time we hit the refresh button, ensuring we can never reach the end. The constant stream of new information to read and products to browse can persuade us that we are being productive just by scrolling. It can lull us into believing that we don’t have enough information yet to make a reliable decision— even if our decision is relatively trivial, like picking a position on the latest celebrity break-up or updating the throw pillow on your couch.
The constant stream of new information to read and products to browse can persuade us that we are being productive just by scrolling. It can lull us into believing that we don’t have enough information yet to make a reliable decision— even if our decision is relatively trivial, like picking a position on the latest celebrity break-up or updating the throw pillow on your couch.
The information overload can also appear in more nefarious ways. Have you ever noticed just how frequently you turn to Google for something obscure, or completely irrelevant to your own life?
Who’s that guy on Bridgerton?
Bachelor in Paradise spoilers
ending a sentence with a preposition
And if you haven’t noticed this about yourself, even a cursory glance at some of the weird things people Google can tell you that someone else thinks Google can answer the existential questions of life, like Is God an alien? and Can I own a Canadian? (in what sense?! What is this, ‘Google, colonialism edition’?)
Having ‘all the information in the world’ in our back pocket can be GREAT— it allows us to learn new languages, understand advanced math concepts, and get firsthand perspectives on global issues with just a few quick searches. But wading through the advertising ‘junk’ of sponsored posts and questionable content to get to what you actually need? That’s a little more challenging. Even worse, we habitually interrupt our real, actual lives to Google things that we could have just as happily lived without knowing that exact moment.
And please know, I’m as guilty of this as anyone— every time I’ve chosen to write down everything I thought about searching in a given day, the list is scarily long. But forcing myself to sit in the ‘unknown’— even if for just a few hours— helps prevent the information overload that keeps us consuming both ‘stuff’ and ‘content.’
I’m not so worried about the occasional Google as what the Google represents, though: As soon as I touch my phone to Google the thing, it’s just a few more seconds to check my e-mail. Another minute to check social media, which is now feeding me results tailored to my recent Google. A minute becomes ten minutes, and I’m down some weird internet rabbit hole about SIDS risk of baby swings.
We have a finite amount of time in every day (and, of course, our lives). Spending a little less time consuming, and more time with creative pursuits such as journaling or making art– even if your skill level is more paint-by-numbers than Picasso– have a host of benefits, from reducing stress to boosting ‘feel-good’ hormones like dopamine. When we set aside time to create– instead of just consuming content others have created– we are making an investment in our own well-being and happiness. But who has time to create when there are 7,229 search results for “throw pillow” to scroll?
When Phone Use = Human-ness
A few weeks ago, I was on a walk with my girls. It was almost dinnertime, and the day was dragging. 4:21. 4:22. Geez, still 4:22. Ughhhh the clock’s never gonna move. Just stop checking it already. My youngest decides she’s done with her jacket (never mind the 40 degree weather) and stands in a neighbor’s yard shrieking while she wiggles her way out of the still-zipped coat and lets it fall unceremoniously to her feet. Just seconds later, my oldest declares her need to potty.
So there we are, rushing (well, as much as two toddlers are willing to speed the program along), when my oldest comes to an abrupt halt. She unzips her coat, reaches into the pocket of her dress, and pulls out her wooden phone. She glances down at it for a moment, then smiles just a little and starts pressing buttons. Dumbfounded, I want to say what on this green Earth are you doing because it’s freezing outside and we can literally see our house and can we please just get inside already?
Deep breath. Deep breath again. “Hun, what are you doing?”
“I’m using my phone, just like mommy!”
Globally, humans spend an average of 7 hours per day staring at screens— and in the United States, 3 hours and 43 minutes of this is spent on your phone. (If you’re curious how your screen time compares, Apple Users can find their figures under “Settings” and “Screen Time,” conveniently broken down into categories like “Internet” and “Messaging.” Android users, pretty sure you don’t exist any more, soooo I just wasted a Google on an extinct species, but turns out you can find yours under “Digital Well Being.”)
In other words, it’s no surprise that my toddler equates using a phone with ‘human-ness.’ It’s just like a pre-historic baby equating human-ness with making tools out of stone— you learn what it means to be ‘human’ based on the society you live in and the habits and values you witness.
But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.
What is this doing to our relationships?
Of course, this impacts our shopping habits. But since I’ve self-appointed December as the ‘month of presence,’ I’m really a little more interested in the impact this is having on our relationships with loved ones.
I’m a better parent when my phone is put away— not just in my back pocket, but physically in another space. I’ve noticed that whenever my phone is in the same general vicinity as I am, I’m mentally looking for an ‘escape.’ Did I do a daily round-up of news headlines? Any messages that need my attention? This urge to ‘refresh’ and ‘check for notifications’ makes me sound more popular than I really am— and it’s a bit of a stretch to justify being connected 24/7 ‘just-in-case’ someone needs me or plans on stopping by unexpectedly.
I’ve been on the receiving end of truly horrible phone calls when my family lost loved ones, including my mom. And, I’ve had to make horrible phone calls, like when my now-husband was seriously injured in a house fire. So I understand the urge to be connected ‘just in case’— but the reality is, even if you do receive a horrible phone call, in 99% of cases, there’s no difference between you receiving the message immediately versus in an hour (unless, of course, you are an emergency phone operator)— but the ‘just in case’ connectivity alters our relationships in the here and now. I can’t in good conscience extol the virtues of getting rid of ‘just-in-case’ stuff if I’m not also willing to question the just-in-case-connection that undermines my human connections in the here and now.
We’ve all been in conversations with someone who is more committed to the conversation on the screen than the one happening in real life, with you (if you’ve never experienced this, chances are… dun dun dun, you’re the problem). The first time or two, you let it slide. But if it becomes a habit, it changes the fabric of your relationship. Because the message is clear: Whether or not the behavior was intentional, it signals that the phone is more important than you. I think it’s easy for all of us— myself included— to say, “I need to sent this one e-mail, and then I’m free again!” And that might be true. But as soon as I pull my phone out— even if it’s for just a moment, even if it’s for something I do, in fact, have to do— it ruins the magic of ordinary moments with my family.
My partner is more important than any silver box in my hand. My children are more important than any e-mail or social media notification I will ever receive. And you, dear friend, who happens to mostly hear from me through a black or silver or other-wise multi-colored box… you’re more important than the box too. And I hope that the people you know IRL treat you as such.
My partner is more important than any silver box in my hand. My children are more important than any e-mail or social media notification I will ever receive. And you, dear friend, who happens to mostly hear from me through a black or silver or other-wise multi-colored box… you’re more important than the box too.
Let’s ditch technology and run for the wilderness (JK I love you Substack)
If you have very young children, you might remember being told by a well-meaning pediatrician or family dentist to wean your child from a pacifier by a year, or “18 months at the very VERY most because if you’re using it past then it’s for you as the parent and not them (Let’s be clear: Pacifier use was pretty much always about me) and you don’t want to be responsible for their crooked teeth do you?!” We weaned our youngest from pacifiers months ago, but we don’t keep them around as doll toys or catapults or strangely shaped stress toys for the simple reason that our little one is incapable of being in the same space as a pacifier without lunging for it. In other words, out of sight, out of mind.
As adults, we now have pacifiers too, in the form of digital screens happily ding ding dinging in our back pockets, waiting to be pulled out at the slightest hint of boredom or frustration. And if you’ve ever caught yourself reaching for your phone when you just can’t deal or clicking ‘refresh’ on your news feed for the 2nd time in as many minutes, well, that’s the adult equivalent of a newborn taking out their instinctive rooting reflexes on the nearest silicone binky.
The going nuclear solution, of course, is to give up on modern society and run naked into the woods (incidentally, this would also solve the fast fashion crisis). But short of pressing that shiny red button on some of the most fundamental tools of the 21st century, we can be proactive about using technology as a tool, and not the other way around.
To be clear: I don’t think that my one human brain is in a fair fight against tools that are intentionally designed to be as addictive as possible. I can’t outsmart an algorithm that learns more about me every time my eyes linger on an image and sends me creepy targeted advertisements based on Google searches and text messages and even once, based on a random thought in my head that had absolutely zero paper or voice trail so that was super weird.
To be clear: I don’t think that my one human brain is in a fair fight against tools that are intentionally designed to be as addictive as possible. I can’t outsmart an algorithm that learns more about me every time my eyes linger on an image and sends me creepy targeted advertisements based on Google searches and text messages.
(As a side note, this is a great way to get haircut coupons…. I Google ‘Great Clips’ and within 24 hours I have a coupon in my news feed. Not convinced the cyber-surveillance is worth my $2 discount, but hey at least it mitigates inflation, am-I-right?)
I don’t have any perfect answers— I think that these are questions that I, along with the nearly 7 billion other smartphone users worldwide, are beginning to ask. For as much as tech problems seem to be getting worse— as phones and media apps become more persuasive, more addictive— I’m heartened by the fact that the concerns about what this is doing to the fabric of our societies is also drawing more attention.
What puts me in a position to be reflective about my own phone and media use is this: I’m no different than anyone else. I don’t have any big, glaringly addictive relationship to my phone that others would identify as a problem— my daily screen time is below the average and I’ve long maintained time locks on shopping and media (and, at various points, the entire internet). But I see the harm that technology is doing to relationships around me— sitting in a restaurant and witnessing a child make repeated unmet bids for their parents’ attention, watching IRL conversations flop at a hockey game. And I can feel the discomfort in my own relationship with the digital pacifier in my back pocket. I know that I’m not in a fair fight against the algorithm, and I don’t like it: So I’m opting out of social media (Facebook, Instagram… but not Substack, because, you know, girl’s-gotta-make-a-very-part-time-income) and the news for a week to see how I feel. If it feels like I’m more engaged and present— I’ll opt out for two, and so on.
Because I know this: If I want my girls to grow up believing that they are worthy of people who will give them their undivided attention when they speak, I have to put my phone away. And my one wild and precious life deserves to be lived in the wild, not just behind a screen. Yours does too.
Etc.
Time to check in on my shopping ban! A week in, and it’s been… easy. Of course, my mailbox doesn’t yet realize I’m on a no-spend spree, since I still have a few packages meandering their way through various delivery services. But it’s been refreshing to feel the pause of more presence and engagement in the moment— and since I have fewer pseudo-legitimate excuses to be on the internet, I feel less anxious as well.
I also keep dwelling on this article by Caitlin Flanagan in The Atlantic— it’s just over a year old, but who can resist a title like Sheryl Sandberg and the Crackling Hellfire of Corporate America? The last line is particularly haunting: “Here is a person who has been uniquely designed to love you. And here is Goldman Sachs.”