It was at the beginning of this semester that I realized I was addicted. For years, it had just been recreational use — nothing serious. I would just do it in the evenings in high school. By the time I got to college, though, it was in every dorm room all of the time. I couldn’t help myself. I started doing it in the morning, in between classes and sometimes all night.
Going home for break after first semester I started experiencing withdrawal symptoms. My hands shook and fidgeted from inadequate use. I even felt the peculiar, but nagging desire to shake my TV remote to prevent a screen saver from coming on.
When I came back to school, the first thing I did was turn on my computer, but the Internet wasn’t connecting and the Instant Messenger wouldn’t work. I anxiously fumbled with all of my computer settings and made sure that all of the cords were attached correctly, but still no luck.
I felt disconnected.
As young adults in 2002, we are more electronically connected to one another than we ever have been before, but do we really feel any more connected to other people?
In this fast-paced world it is easy to feel left behind. We are seeking out reminders that we matter. We are preoccupied with warding off empty email boxes and the words, “You have no new messages.”
Our away messages plead for attention. Some are witty, some quote song lyrics. All have one point: “Leave a message.” That’s all we want: a list of the names of people who thought of us while we were in class.
So we leave our cell phone numbers, too, “in case you need me.” If this person would contact you in an emergency, let’s hope that they already know your number. People aren’t concerned that you will have an emergency during the hour they’re at class.
They’re concerned that phones will stop ringing.
What it really comes down to is wanting to feel emotionally connected through an electronic connection, like we’re never really out of reach or out of our safety net. We are reaching out for someone to be on the other end of the line at every moment.
But it’s gotten out of hand. Cell phones are ringing in the middle of class, and as soon as students are dismissed, they are on their cell phones dialing away. People are always saying, “Call me later,” whether or not their lives are truly exciting enough to merit giving you an update in a couple of hours.
I went out to lunch with a friend of mine and she interrupted our conversation to answer her cell phone. When she answered the phone she got a beep from another girl, who almost immediately had to go because she, too, had a beep. With all of that beeping, you’re not making real connections with another human being. You’re not really talking. You’re tallying up the number of phone calls as a scorecard for your self-esteem.
In my middle school, balloons were the sign that we had friends. From 6th to 8th grade, girls based their self-esteem on the number of balloons they got on their birthday. A week before their birthday, they would launch a massive public relations campaign to ensure that everyone knew that their birthday was coming and everyone could buy them balloons. Then, like any good politician, the birthday girl promised to return the favor.
Now we don’t have balloons to count — we have emails and voicemail messages.
Some people only follow the trends externally. In high school, the trend for guys with baggy, sagging pants was Discmans. As soon as they got into the halls, they would listen to them for the four minutes in between classes. I always secretly suspected that the tough guys in baggy pants who moved like they were listening to Snoop were secretly listening to Celine Dion, just as I know that some of those students with constantly ringing cell phones are really getting a few calls a day from their mothers.
Maybe we need that. Maybe in this complex society we still need a call from our mother to feel special. Maybe our inner 12-year-old needs a ringing cell phone to feel cool on the outside when we’re dancing to Celine Dion on the inside.
Unless we are emergency personnel, we don’t really need cell phones and pagers. We don’t need to be available for contact 24 hours a day. We just want to be.
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