I'm over it.

 I don't know if it's scroll fatigue or capitalism fatigue or whatever other fatigue they list in their articles trying to explain why we are all so burnt out. But, spoiler alert: I think it might be the phones.

The weight of constantly carrying my phone has become much more noticeable. I suppose that's why they are trying to make them lighter. I just keep having an exhausting vision of carrying it with me forever, and dreading that future. 

I'm not sure what level of fatigue this is. But I hate it. 

The constant push of AI content, non-stop consumption, and over analyzation of everything has made being online exhausting. I've been online my whole life. In my earliest memories, I can see myself on a computer.  I still remember the internet safety sessions our first week of kindergarten; at home I'd spend time on my family desktop watching YouTube and dreaming about the days I was adult enough to have a phone, not for Facebook or Twitter, but to call my friends, and go to the mall, and be cool the way the older kids were circa early 2010's. When I finally got one, the excitement was invigorating; the world at my fingertips.

I don't want to hold the whole world in my hands anymore. I don't want every app to know me better than I know myself. It is not the same anymore; I'm bored. I long for the lives of rom-com characters in early 2000s movies, and when short-form was normal, not addictive. They don't spend hours glued to their apps; they live in a world much more free than the one I'm in. 

The new world that was birthed by the rise of the internet and social media replaced the mundanity of humanity. This digital-only, tech-forward dream the billionaires and tech bros get wet over isn't new to me. It isn't new to most of Gen-Z. It is stale on arrival. More new phones, more new apps, more and more; while the world rushes to capitalize on it, we just want it all to quiet down. 

Models: Sophia Deaver, Hillary Castillo Marte, Mickey Tegegne Photos By Toni Desiree

To me, this isn't a new way forward; the AI bubble, the Meta glasses, the intense algorithm, all might be "new" but it's the same power, the same fates, just worse. Me on my phone forever, just like elementary school, and middle, and high school. Trapped in the confines of the digital world's whims. The fun is over, it feels like we're stuck.

I've always been in an on-again, off-again relationship with my phone. At 15, I had gotten in the habit of jumping at every snap notification, and after a stint at summer camp with one spot of good wifi, I got good at seeing my phone as a tool, not a crutch. But in the deepest days of quarantine, when all there was to do was scroll, it became clear it was hard to put it down when it was my only real line to the outside world. 

But now, after spending my summer pushing myself out into the world, doing things like going to bar trivia, impromptu dinners with friends, talking to strangers, and putting my phone away in public, the things I found myself in a loop doing - overindulging in TV binging, doomscrolling, and the trend cycles have made the “escape” exhausting. 

Everything is quick and easy; the friction of our lives has been lost to make room for the ease of the digital world, and the upcharge to maintain it has become ridiculous. Netflix (w/o ads) costs $20+, software and gaming that used to be one-time buys rake up lifetime costs, they've stopped making DVDs, and they don't want you sharing or owning any of it, paywalls restrict the internet, and the verification system doesn't even matter anymore, because you can just pay for that too. 

I've found joy in the mundanity. The slow, the simple, some might say outdated things. Picking things up myself instead of having them delivered, getting dinner recipes from cookbooks instead of TikToks, CDs in a CD player, and phone calls on a landline. Keeping my online life at a desktop, not in my pocket.

It felt silly at first, how fun it felt to feel like I exist in the world again. It's weird how warped being online has become, so much so that it's made the thing people have been doing for centuries- going outside- exciting again.

Binge-watching leaves a certain level of post-watch clarity, and taking in too much makes me never want to tune in. I miss the days of new TV, and long seasons and filler episodes; I've exhausted the classics, early 2000's teen dramas can only be good for so long, and crate-digging forgotten TV shows is becoming increasingly difficult on traditional platforms. 

Instant gratification doesn't give me the buzz it used to; instead, I get my highs from finishing a book over the course of a week. I get giddy about making my own TV schedule full of what I feel like watching that day: new episodes, old shows, and watchlist movies. Refreshing my usual TV sit-downs, keeping me more engaged and mindful, instead of stuck in choice paralysis. I love growing the patience I thought I lost, I love taking the time to read articles and find my own feelings and inspirations. I love browsing and picking out cheap DVDs at thrift stores and swaps. I love going outside and meeting new people. There's not an app for that. 

They tried, they all suck. Online can't be everything; I'd rather own a little than rent it all from them.

We are being separated.  Gas rises, flight prices rise, walkability and affordability become greater challenges across the country, and it feels like they are stronger when we are apart. I'm tired of the all-or-nothing; we know things have to change. I want there to be a future, and I want it to look like the way I grew up, I want friction and intention, I want the soft, eclectic nature that made the world feel inviting. I want it all to be real. 

Despite how much I love the internet, the moves necessary to make that a reality can't be done in the face of what has become a complete invasion of our online interests and values. I never knew when I signed up for Instagram, it would become this. What was a fun way to connect online has stumbled into something else entirely. I've lost the connection, yet there's nothing to fulfill it, so every day I stay, longing for a new place, succumbing to the idea that maybe the only safe answer is offline.