On more than one occasion, I’ve opened up a new tab in the frontmost browser and started typing. In the most unconscious way possible, I would start typing the first few letters of Facebook before catching myself, or not. Due to this constant realization, in October of last year I decided to make a change. I wouldn’t post about quitting the social network, thus sealing in my faux moral superiority to the more than 1.2 billion commoners. Nor would I delete my account. I was just going to stop going.
It lasted for three months. The first two weeks were beyond difficult. Regularly I would catch myself opening up that distracted tab ready to get that rush of adrenaline learning about the useless drivel that exists on the social network. In that time period I learned that keeping the app on my phone and tablet was a recipe for disaster. I found delight in the separation of the messages app so I could technically still communicate with my extended network of virtual people.
I recently read a piece in the New Yorker titled The Useless Agony of Going Offline. In the first section of the article, he recounts what I can only assume is a normal day in his life. While explaining the multitude of electronic devices that he and his wife have their attention on, the background story of a man who fell to his death seemingly because he was distracted by an electronic device.
More more more and then more more
more more more after that
and more more more after that