This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at UCSB chapter.
Losing a finger at a party would be a real bummer. I would have to take time
to mourn, accept, and adjust, but eventually I would adapt to this new life with
less limbs. Gloves would be awkward, and maybe I would lose the ability to snap,
but I could probably get by. Until a couple weeks ago, I would have made similar
assumptions regarding the hypothetical loss of my Smartphone. I mean, it’s not a
body part, so how bad could it really be to no longer have one? One careless decision
answered this question: It can be quite terrible indeed.
I remember the last moment I held it in my hand, taking it for granted as
always. Like some sort of airhead I set it on a shelf to pursue my desire to decorate
myself in body paint, and when my masterpiece was finished, my poor phone, in its
lovable bright blue case, was nowhere to be found. It has not been seen since.
The events of the subsequent week proved to me the dismal truth that I was
hopelessly dependent on my cell for almost everything. I was lost without Google
Maps, disoriented by a foreign alarm clock, unable to take advantage of cellular
coupon downloads at stores. Coordinating plans with friends became exponentially
more complicated; it’s never fun to be the one stranded alone in Silvergreens
because the meetup spot changed last-minute to South Coast.
The most concerning observation I made during this grim interval was the
extent to which even my subconscious had grown accustomed to having my cell
phone. Each morning, I rolled over in bed, reached out and grappled blindly around
my desk with a vacant, groggy mind. It took a few seconds each time to realize what
my hand sought, and then to register that this object was no longer there. This same
phenomenon would happen while studying: I would periodically reach over next to
my computer, where my phone normally was, to grab an unknown item, before
realizing what I was doing. Apparently part of me has been set on autopilot to
constantly check texts and missed calls, and this part is beyond my control.
This phoneless week taught me a few lessons:
First, it is extremely important to take some time to disconnect. Many people
are probably just as horrifyingly intertwined with their cellular life as I was, and
are not even aware of it. The beginning of the week was filled with anxiety, which
faded to relaxation by the end. When I left the house, I was on my own. No one could
contact me, I had no sense of time, I was free. It was like camping but in the real
world, and it was surprisingly refreshing.
Second, take nothing for granted. Everything I have complained about here is
repulsively superficial and unnecessary, and highlights just how privileged I have
been. I appreciate my replacement phone more than I did my previous one due to
what has happened, and I am more vigilant regarding its whereabouts. I am lucky to
have a phone, and it is my responsibility to hold on to it.
Those of you with cell phones, appreciate what you have and what it provides
you. Whether you believe it’s good or bad, our generation relies on the airwaves,
and everyone is wired up and plugged in. Without a phone, “Call me, maybe”
becomes “Email or Facebook me, maybe, and who knows if by the time I get your
message it will still be relevant”, and that is not nearly as catchy a tune.