Image from author.
It seems a bit strange for someone to call a phone a social barrier— it has the ability to connect a person with a seemingly infinite amount of people all over the world.
Our phones have redefined how people interact with each other. Mobile communication is more convenient, but it prioritizes brevity and immediacy over depth and substance. There’s a certain nuance that arrives with spoken words and dialogue. Most people are more confident on their phones: the mask of the screen gives a feeling of anonymity that people thrive behind. The spoken word, in contrast, always seems to hold more weight that people seem to shy away from.
I went to summer camp two years ago, and we were required to turn our phones in for the three weeks we were gone. Like many others, I was saddened to see it go. Conversations started off strangely, the pockets of time usually filled with a quick scroll on social media had vanished. But over the course of those three weeks, the silence was no longer awkward— it instead became a welcome opportunity.
It made me realize that the art of conversation was truly an art form, however clichéd that may sound. Conversation is something that must actively be practiced and considered, and the lack of it will eventually cause one to become inept. I subsequently noticed that the majority of my peers were not very skilled in this particular art form. A conversation begins and lulls. Instinctively, our hands dive into our pockets and we whip out our phones, and now, the time spent together is consumed by something else entirely.
We use our phones as social barriers, and they work so well we begin to not notice it. They have become so ubiquitous in today’s society that using them concurrently with conversation is normalized.
A lull in conversation is now seen negatively, but I think phones have taken away from why they are so beneficial. They’re a space for people to gather thoughts and consider words. Awkward silence does not necessarily need to be awkward, it is merely just a silence that you decide how to direct.
There’s a certain weight that comes with talking to people face-to-face. All of a sudden, your words become much more intimate, and you are surely being heard. There’s no option to hurl your phone across the room and ignore a fated notification until you’re sure you can bear it. No, the words are there, and so are you. I think that’s much more wonderful than reading them onscreen.
I don’t want to be one of those people who blames phones for everything, I think that’s a silly and untrue argument. They do have incomprehensible benefits, and have provided us with opportunities that would be impossible without them. But I also don’t want to be one of those people who choose to ignore the problem.
When choosing your phone over people, you choose to miss out on the present. Life’s most wonderful stories can start with a good conversation, and it’s impossible to know when those conversations will happen. It’s completely cheesy to say, “be the change,” and also difficult. Starting conversations, especially when everyone else is on their phones, is daunting. But say something, and force others to make conversation.
Adalyn Lowe is a junior at Washington High School, and this is her first year on The Hatchet. She moved from San Francisco at three years old, and has lived in Fremont ever since. This year on the paper, she hopes to cover social issues, youth culture, and her own opinions. In her free time, she enjoys reading, writing, and traveling. After high school, Adalyn plans to extend her passion for journalism into a career.