We created the information society – or, more precisely, the society of countless information – for our convenience. To know what the license plates of the taxi we are waiting for are, to keep up to date with global developments, to check the availability of movie theaters, or the existence of a salamander named axolotl, which someone randomly wrote in the “Name, Place, Animal, Thing”. We created the information society so that we would not waste our time finding the answer to each of our concerns and ended up wasting our moments instead.
We accepted knowledge to be a force and let it absorb us, which constitutes the greatest blow to every romantic soul of this generation. We have equated technology with the God we rejected. The ease of communication is often unreasonably for it: we hold the phone to our ear during long pauses because it saves us from the loneliness that ending a call entails; we forget about letters because they deprive us of the immediacy that the speed of modern society demands, without worrying about the quality of communication we are losing.
Perhaps the limitless possibilities that technological development has provided, have made us greedy. I once reflected on how often I got bored of referring to the attached links for some extra info or how many times IÂ missed the present moment in my efforts not to miss out on the latest developments. All the times I repeatedly checked the bus timetables only to confirm that time was ticking by, and the 4 minutes of waiting for the bus seemed pointlessly like an eternity of loneliness.
Meanwhile, we were also alienated from our people. We don’t seek their physical presence as often as we once did. There are, after all, phone calls, so we don’t forget the sound of their voice, and video calls, so we can watch them grow, evolve, and comment on how much their hair has grown or how they look in their brand-new coat. And we miss out on people next door. We sit in the same house with the doors closed – at worst, locked – or on the same couch in the company of our blue screens. How often have you found yourself at the end of a family outing playing alone on your cell phone with that snake who kept eating its tail because the rest was grown-up talk?
I once read in a study that the physical reaction to losing a cell phone is equated to that of a person experiencing a cardiac arrest. I could not have formulated a more apt and ominous observation than the above-mentioned since the umbilical cord was never cut; it was only replaced by our mobile phone cable, the one that ensures our 24-hour internet connection.
I wonder how we became so engrossed in human constructs that we became captives. Captives of ready-made thoughts, ready-made relationships, ready-made expenses, captives of the latest fashion and reflection trends. Consumers of the beaten path. Like other Sims, automatically directed little people, I wonder if we will someday be called upon to plan our lives in a colorful agenda to satisfy our needs, so flawlessly patterned in green bars. Clear and absolute, leaving no room to deviate from our perfectly planned routine. So, any “fast-forward” would inevitably be sought-after, as even we would not be interested in experiencing such a routine ourselves.
And I am thinking that, as appealing as the idea sounds, I will never stand in line at the kiosk to call a loved one.
Maybe we missed something along the way.
Maybe every development involves a sacrifice, as long as you make sure it is not the quality of your existence at stake this time.
It’s time you learn to balance.
It’s time to cut the umbilical cord of technology.
