We wake up to a raft of notifications, feel obliged to apologise if our reply time is too long, and subject ourselves to a wrath of guilt if a message goes unnoticed. In today's digital climate, being chronically online equates to merely staying afloat, and going even remotely off-grid is no longer a possibility. The crux of the paradox is simple: we want to throw our phones into the abyss during a time we depend on them the most.
No one knows this predicament better than Gen Z, who have grown up within digital confines, with mobile phones becoming almost a rite of passage. Our earliest interactions – from Kik chats to the first Instagram posts – shaped how we learned to socialise, communicate and present ourselves. It's an understatement to say we're well-versed in broadcasting the trivialities of our lives online, from keeping tabs on people from high school whom we haven’t seen in 8 years (and if you're anything like me, respectfully have even forgotten existed), to being in the know on the intimate details of people’s lives with whom we have no immediate connection. It's a reality we're now well-acclimatised to – albeit a notably hellish and arguably dystopian one when examined more closely.
When we feel the weight of looming notifications coupled with the dearth of silence, we look to the final boss of digital privacy (Apple's 'Do Not Disturb' function) in an attempt to keep the world at an arm’s length and create space to be alone with our own thoughts – a rarefied experience. But even when we are offline, we are somehow still online. In a desperate plea to have personal space, 'sleep mode' is flicked on during our moments of rest, and whatever updates we have missed, we're immediately bombarded with the minute we open our eyes. As a result, our boundaries are left in a constant tug-of-war, blurred to the point of near non-existence.
Struggling to find the time to respond or feel like you’re a bad replier? You're not alone. It seems as though we are trapped in a Sisyphean loop of missing a message, feeling guilty, apologising to the sender, and then repeating the cycle. Of course, as with most things, there are two sides to the coin, and digital overwhelm can't be the default excuse for not showing up for your people when they need you. My downfall is, however, that I will either reply in three seconds or three days. My mum falls into the former, and a group chat, the latter.
Gen Z are the first generation where analog workspaces are on the verge of extinction, where apps like Slack, Teams, and Outlook mean work and all its demands are never truly escapable. Similarly, in many fields, the gap between personal and professional is becoming increasingly narrow, with Instagram functioning simultaneously now as a professional portfolio and a place for the occasional thirst trap.
There is an expectation that we have all internalised (most likely out of politeness and courtesy) that we should be able to recite the rulebook on replying, and be well-versed in all of its contents. And to an extent, it is now second nature: we cast an eye over our phone when a notification comes through, we open an app for the sake of opening an app, and immediately conjure up a response when the subject of the message isn’t even remotely urgent. Try hard as we might to resist it, there's always an invisible pull dragging us back to our screens.
Knowing when to log off is on par with knowing when to Irish exit a party – both are imbued with elegance and self-care. If you're reading this, do yourself a favour – disconnect and go touch a blade of grass.
Feature image: IMDb
