Beyond the Blue Light: A Reflection on Tech Addiction and the Lost Art of Being Alone

My parents gave me my first cell phone when I was twelve years old. It wasn't a fancy iPhone or anything; not even close. Just a simple black flip phone for when I needed to call or text them after school. Despite the fact that it lacked all the bells and whistles, I loved that phone. It made me feel like a grown-up—responsible, trusted, and mature.

As the years passed, my devices evolved. I moved to a Blackberry Bold, then a blue LG Xpression slider. For the longest time, I thought I was above the iPhone craze. I didn't care about games, touch screens, or selfies. If I could text and call, I was set. Plus, I had my iPod Shuffle for music.

But at sixteen, everything changed. I realized my world had moved on without me. My friends weren't calling or texting anymore; they were asking for my Snapchat. To keep in touch with people I might never see again, I finally "bit the bullet" and got my first iPhone at eighteen.

I enjoyed the app at first—the silly filters and the stories were fun. But that one download opened the floodgates to Facebook, Instagram, and eventually, the addictive worlds of iFunny and TikTok.

What began as a tool for connection has turned into a daily ritual born out of boredom. I hate the term "doom scrolling," but that is exactly what it is. Whenever there is a free moment, the phone suddenly develops its own gravity. It appears in my hand before I even realize why I'm checking it. I spend my days staring at a laptop screen for work, only to spend my nights staring at a smaller screen, protected by blue-light glasses that barely give my eyes a breather.

Where does this attachment come from? I see the algorithms working their magic, pop-ups populating every corner of my vision. My phone knows my interests and tastes better than most people do. It’s frightening. Looking back, I wish I had stuck to my guns and never downloaded those apps.

While I enjoy the memes and the sense of community on platforms like Vocal, I still don't know what to make of this online world. I fear it’s a place we endlessly try to navigate, but it will never give us what we’re actually looking for. Belonging, validation, connection—the digital world seems to be tearing those things away rather than providing them.

Every scroll and every message has a toxicity we all try to ignore. I know I try, yet you’ll still find me scrolling through TikTok before bed, unconsciously glancing at my phone just in case there’s a text. It is draining and mind-numbing, yet we are all part of it. We have created a world that is hard to exist in unless you are connected.

I think it’s time we change that.