Call of the Child

The notification popped up on my phone, like it does every Monday around mid-morning.

"Your screen time was up 14% last week, for an average of 4 hours, 18 minutes per day."

Oof.

I stared at the number for a few seconds, then literally dismissed it with a swipe. Nothing new there.

I'm a teacher by trade, and while you would think that most of my time is spent talking to students, crouched over desks, scribbling on the whiteboard, marking in books, and managing squabbles in the playground, these days it seems like I can't get away from my laptop.

The email stream is endless; a never-ceasing flow of information. Just like Hydra- cut off one head, and two more appear. I try to read and respond/delete as promptly as possible, if only to keep my head clear, but you know more are coming. Sometimes I just tap out and let them pile up, knowing that most of them don't really need to be read.

Marking has for the most part, moved from paper to screen, meaning more time caught in the deathly-blue hue. You lose the satisfaction of seeing papers pile up in a stack, and the sound of turning one page to another, trying desperately to decipher the hieroglyphics of a Year Nine.

Powerpoints are everywhere, gamification is all the rage (if I say Kahoot the music will probably pop into your head), and our students are fully embracing the digital age. They watch, they hear, and they absorb, locked in on the colours and sounds of more learning apps than you could name.

But it's not just at school.

I couldn't let my occupation take all the blame, especially when I'm a serial scroller. I get home and plop on the couch or bed, and how do I recover from a long day at work? You can guess the answer, I'm sure.

Instagram Reels, YouTube shorts, Messenger group chats, Spotify podcasts, Facebook browsing. A quick look turns into an endless roll of information, and a few minutes jumps to an hour so easily it's scary.

And that's without even bringing in TikTok. At least I have the self-awareness to know that I can't ever download that one. The algorithm would be brilliantly-tailored to my tastes, that all chance of productivity would cease to exist immediately.

Don't get me wrong. There are huge upsides to living in a tech-heavy world.

I now have the power in my hands to contact my friends or family from almost anywhere in the world, at any time. Considering that we used to print out my older brother's emails that he would send home every few weeks while he was at university or travelling, I'd say we've come a pretty long way.

Making my morning commute slightly more bearable is the prospect of listening to the voice notes I get from friends, some overseas and some in the same city. We can have the closest thing to a conversation, without actually being in each other's presence.

I'm able to send and receive videos and photos in an instant, which makes missing special occasions not quite as sad. You can replay funny moments, or poignant ones, and have a life's library at your fingertips.

That's really only scratching the surface though.

I can make a dinner reservation without talking to anybody. I can buy plane tickets in a jiffy. Don't even get me started on what you can get off Amazon. Carry a library card around- why bother? Live sport? Just stream it instead. Keeping track of my fitness goals has never been easier. I can read, watch, chat, and shop all at the touch of a screen.

Even a pandemic couldn't truly separate us. The very mention of Zoom gives me shudders, but what would we have done without it?

Here's the kicker though.

I'm over it. All of the screens- the phones, the laptops, the televisions.

In the age of information, I'm tapped out. It feels like my brain is being rewritten, and maybe it is.

My attention span is all over the place these days. Films don't hold me like they used to, and I'm always listening to a podcast while doing something around the house. I need to have something on in the background, constantly. It's like the fear of missing out has been turned up to eleven, and I can't switch it off.

What if I don't see their story? What if I forget to reply? What if I miss the trailer for that game? What if I don't catch the sports recap?

I struggle to do one thing anymore, and just one. I'm so used to a never-ending stream of data pouring across my face that its absence feels off. Like a baby without white noise, I'm accustomed to the sheer presence of the thing, even though I don't actually want the thing itself.

Is this how an addict feels? You're self-aware to understand that you don't actually need it, but you're powerless to act (or not act) on the impulse.

Once every couple of days I'll feel an overwhelming urge to throw my phone as far as I can, or to break it in my hands. I never do, though.

This isn't new- we all know that we're on our screens too much, and we all know that we aren't really doing anything about it.

But I want to.

Maybe in order to forward, we need to go back.

I want the thrill of reading a story again, locked into the plight of the character, turning actual paper pages over in delight.

I want to curl up in some corner, nestled into an armchair, with my phone far away, and stick my nose into a good book again.

Like I used to.

I miss the sheer physicality of holding a book against my side, thumbing through the pages, putting in a bookmark, turning it upside down on my desk when the sun starts to make the cover curl.

I miss imagining the characters rather than seeing and hearing them.

I miss being lost in a world that someone else had created, but I alone was in.

How can words compete against the flashing lights, the catchy music, the clickbaity headlines in our shows and movies and shorts?

Honestly? I don't know.

But I know that I can't stay here. Too many seconds wasted letting reels drip across my face. Too many minutes squandered switching between dozens of tabs that are still open. Too many hours consuming entertainment that I don't really care for.

I need to break out.

A child's mind is a wondrous place. They are capable of so much distraction, but also an intense focus when they really find something they enjoy.

It's time to take a step back, and find that part of me again.

The laptop screen needs to go down, popped into my bag where it can wait until tomorrow morning, along with a bunch of emails that don't require my immediate attention.

The TV can stay off, maybe covered with a cloth like it was growing up, so that I don't even consider the idea of slothing through a rewatch.

And the phone, that constant weight in my pant pocket, that entices me to check and see whether anything has happened in the two minutes since I last looked, needs to be out of reach. Hidden under a shirt, or behind a door, or even just switched off.

And I need to re-learn how to read stories. How to lie on the floor and dive into another world, and stay there, without thinking about dinner, or plans, or bookings, or the goings on of a world that quite frankly, can spare me for an hour or two.

How to concentrate on just the one thing, just one. And when that thing is over or done or I need a break, then something else can take my attention.

One thing at a time. One story at a time. One page at a time.

It's time to be enthralled once more.