Mere decades ago, people looked ahead to our day and age and predicted fantastical, scientific breakthroughs—holograms, teleportations, and hovercars streaking through the air faster than the speed of light. They suspected that we would be an advanced society, living alongside intelligent, near-human computers—robots, even— in a world vastly different from their own. Today, of course, we laugh at such ideas. Sure, our technology is certainly advanced, and continues to do so, but time travel? Visiting other galaxies? Inconceivable.
But the thing is...I live in a world of robots.
Don't understand what I'm saying? Consider, for a moment, the typical college student of today: the young person constantly, mindlessly sucked into the virtual reality of advanced technology—the smart phone. I can't go anywhere without seeing one of my peers using one.
I can't go anywhere without feeling like I am surrounded by robots.
What happened to the quiet, in-between moments of everyday life being spent in contemplation, study, or meaningful, in-person conversation? Really. Because now, in lieu of such pastimes, it appears to me as though every spare minute of the day, and, increasingly, even the minutes when we should be focusing our attention elsewhere, must be spent on a phone. Because apparently, retreating to a quiet place to ponder about your life, observing and being aware of the world and people around you, or simply paying attention to your friends, (your 'real life,' tangible, in-person friends), is not as important as scrolling through a social media app or getting to the next level of Candy Crush.
I must admit that I recently found myself wanting a smart phone. I was hoping I'd get one for Christmas, actually. But since then my feelings have changed, and this occurred mostly because I've analyzed why I wanted one:
Was it to simplify my life? No.
For documenting every single meal I ate? No.
To have everything in one place and therefore limit the amount of devices I use? No.
I wanted a smart phone because I felt disconnected from a lot of my friends.
I didn't have a snapchat, I couldn't be a part of the legendary "group message," I felt as though I was missing some sort of elusive ingredient that I believed would magically improve my relationships with people. I would be more "connected" with them and not feel like such an outcast because my phone has a sliding keyboard and just so happens to be more than six months old. *gasp*
What I have come to realize is that if that's what "being connected" is—sitting with a group of friends, each glued to his or her smart phone and being mentally and emotionally elsewhere instead of enjoying each other's company— then I'd rather be "disconnected" any day. ANY day. And I'm certainly not bitter at all—on the contrary, I feel more content and emboldened than ever after coming to this realization.
Because real life? Observing the great big world around us? Actually talking to people face-to-face instead of constantly taking selfies to shoddily replicate that interaction? All of that is so much better, so much more fulfilling than whatever is found on a three and a half inch screen.
But then of course, I wouldn't know— I'm not a robot.
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