An interlude

We were having lunch at a local pub last weekend, and on a table close by sat a man scrolling through Instagram as he ate a roast and drank a pint. Meanwhile, what we presume was his daughter – age seven or eight – sat opposite, a kids’ roast in front of her, watching him. We’d heard her earlier, trying to engage him in conversation while he was reading his kindle. She asked about the characters in his book and, once he finished answering, he got back to reading about them – before grabbing his phone and directing his attention to the ‘gram.

We walked past them when we were leaving. The girl’s eyes never left her dad as she shuffled in her seat and pushed her food around her plate. And my heart broke a little bit. Because being ignored is always brutal. And because, in a world in which technology has raced ahead and is leading us blindly down a path to who knows where, I wonder what the future will hold for children of this generation. Those growing up looking at us while we look at our screens.

First up, I know it’s unfair to pick on this guy. The poor fella was probably just desperate for some time out like the rest of us. I’m aware we have no surrounding context either: he could have spent all morning doing something his daughter wanted and this was the trade-off. She might not actually be his daughter – although I’m not sure how that’d change the optics. She might have been less disheartened than she seemed.

Perhaps what got me is that a sight like that isn’t particularly unusual. I suppose the only thing that separated it from any of the rest of us looking at our phones was the sustained attention he gave it at the expense of engaging with her. Along with the fact that, perhaps unlike some other kids her age, she wasn’t in possession of her own screen to get lost in too.

When I was little, after he’d collected me from playgroup, my Grandad used to take me to Asda café. While he was reading his paper and smoking a cigar (child of the nineties right here), he’d give me the job of shaking the sugar sachets to get all the granules to the bottom so he could neatly open them. God knows how sweet he was having his coffee, because there were a lot of sachets for me to get through. To be fair, he’d always give me a tube of smarties to sweeten the deal. And I loved it: I didn’t feel shut out or needy for his attention while he was looking at something else; I felt involved.

As I grew up, I understood Grandad would often be reading a newspaper – it was just something he did. Same with my Grandma and parents. Surely it’s positive for children to see adults directing their focus elsewhere? It helps us understand that people, even our parents (shock, horror), engage in other stuff. It turns out the world does not revolve around us – and often it’s better to realise that sooner rather than later.

So for a while I’ve been wondering, what’s different? Why isn’t someone staring at their phone the same as someone reading a paper, or doing any other analogue activity for that matter? Because, to my mind at least, it just isn’t. Screens separate us from our surroundings when we spend any length of time looking at them. What’s more bizarre is that those around us – the little girl, for example – seem to stop trying to get our attention after a while. Perhaps they sense it’ll simply be too much effort to tear us away.

I find myself picking up my phone often and, once I’m on it, I waste minutes I’ll never get back looking at stuff I don’t care about. Tom will tell me off for ‘checking my correspondence’ while he’s diligently doing the dishes, or Ruby will tug at my jumper and haul me out of a scroll hole. When I emerge, cursing myself for my susceptibility, I vow to leave the bloody thing alone for a while…

Somewhat mercifully, I’ve come to realise – after a bit of research – that it’s not a weak will that sees me repeatedly enter this trap. Most of us do precisely because we are intended to. It seems the smart phone and most social media platforms are built on evolutionary truths that we are – amongst other things – innately social, self-conscious and easily distracted by shiny things.

As some of you will remember, about a year ago I carried out a survey on our screentime for a potential business idea. From the responses, it was clear that most people wanted to allocate time away from their screens. And of these people, most didn’t manage to – at least in part because they felt compelled to check their phone for no real reason.

Despite having billions of us under its spell, addictive aspects of the tech industry are going unchecked. As evidence from Facebook whistleblower Frances Haugen plays out in parliament and we try to figure out how much power these big tech companies wield, they’ve already moved onto the ‘metaverse’ (what now?!). So swept up are we in this tsunami of change and the shiny new toys brought in its tide, that we haven’t had chance to catch our breath.

We can’t possibly stop for long enough to observe all the ways modern tech is shaping our existence, nor that of those growing up in the midst of it. I couldn’t have imagined saying this back in the early 2000’s, but I’m grateful we only had dial up internet when I was a teenager – the blockage of the landline providing a much-needed barrier to an entire misspent youth on MSN Messenger. I’m thankful I went backpacking with a Nokia 3210 and had to visit internet cafés to upload anything to Facebook; I’d have missed out immeasurably if a smartphone had hijacked the experience.

As you may be able to tell – though I’ve been quite subtle about it – our rampant adoption of new technology terrifies me. Especially now I’m a parent (you may have noticed digs at our phone dependency in previous posts here and here). I keep thinking: just because we can create and integrate this stuff, does it mean we should?

Inevitably, we will, partly because we’re also innately curious creatures. So the best we can do, as the earliest adopters of the tech shaping this brave new world, is be aware of what it is costing us – not in money, but in our time and attention.

I take heart that, as we grapple with self-moderating our exposure to screens and social media, a collective will to reclaim some control is emerging. I hope we find a way to enjoy the benefits of increased connectivity without being held hostage to our devices. Otherwise, any one of us could find ourselves snubbing someone we love while we scroll through a ‘social’ feed.