Digital technology is more entwined in our personal and working lives than gadgets of the past. Each generation bemoans the impact of tech on young people, mass communication and ignorance, politics, and the spiritual dimensions of life. Ironically empathizing with these sentiments, I hope to share why I chose to let go of personalized digital tech, less through scholarship than biography and reflection – returning to what Kierkegaard held up as the ethical choices of individuals. Our digital lives may be the most effective platform for manipulation and profit; where we become the advertisement – our algorithmic, hyper-individualistic self. While we can leave behind tech, there is no escaping our imperfect, beautiful experience.

As a child, I spent hours before bed reading “Calvin and Hobbes,” playing out the characters in my head like a movie. Bedroom technology was not a thought. Ending each book was like saying goodbye to a good friend. “Too much TV for kids?” was then a common headline on the living room television, on the radio in the car.

My brother and I would look at the punk rock magazines, eyeing a band patch or sticker. Nothing more to an adolescent could express our identities like a commodity. We filled out the serial numbers, sent in one of our mom’s checks, and waited weeks for the USPS.

Our middle school had a new computer lab, a term that was growing in commonality. We learned the floppy disk, and touch typing. Our family’s home computer, a new, impressive contraption with the loud scratching and low-buzzing AOL dial-up internet that introduced us to the open world of chatroom, email, and the webpage. We “Asked Jeeves” several questions.

Entering high school, it was apparent that flip phones were more common, usually held by the well-connected kids. Already, frustrated teachers called out students for texting or playing Snake in class. So innocent. When a student got in trouble, or the class had to be reminded to put phones away, I thought, “I’m glad I don’t have one. I don’t want to face this wrath.”

One day, I asked a friend in the computer lab, “What are you doing?”

“Using Myspace, it’s not very popular yet.” He said with unknowing foresight of what lay ahead.

Myspace: the first time we created an account to make our online character. We could pick the background color, the display style, font, we learned coding for music, and developed a “page” that was “us.” This became an activity, simple and personalized, that allowed a kind of network of collective adolescent expression. We were asked to identify ourselves: job, age, religion, and sexuality. (Sexuality? Beyond jokes, this was not something I could convey with authenticity – a question I wasn’t asked before, “maybe I don’t know,” I thought. An uncertain young man attempting to navigate feelings and social acceptance.) Online identity became a norm that, with its faux liberation, would prove both anxiety-inducing and immensely profitable.

Not a few years later, a new trend emerged: Facebook. While flip phones populated more and more hands, the new Facebook platform arose as the ‘sophisticated’ social media. No more sophomoric attachment and busy “pages,” but an acceptance of the simple blue and white, your real name, a simple post and share (as adults do). Our digital self, this new necessity of after school hours was much more streamlined.

Facebook became the new normal as I entered college. Now flip phones were obsolete to the new iPhone, just hitting the market. I was behind the times. I only got the flip phone at the end of high school. I also had a small, red mp3 player that served me many long, 10-hr nights dishwashing. I used the library internet for classes, papers, searches, and Facebook updates. Many co-workers were enthralled by the smartphone – a computer in your hand.

Affording internet at home was not happening, an extra $60-80 a month was not realistic on my wage. Now, the iPhone seemed like a reality – I could get a hotspot, internet service, and adapt to the modern mode of communicating with peers. This would save money as I could adopt the convenient Apple contracts. My first iPhone was fascinating – picture quality, internet, higher-quality messages, a touch screen.

Fascination and utility were met with longer time spans using it. New and familiar headlines arose that mirrored the past. “Are smartphones hurting young people?”, “Are smartphones addictive?” Sentiments that phones and social media were making us more anxious or hurting sociability rang hollow as we were in college, a highly social space.

The opportunities of social connection moved into the quest for love and companionship, evolving from eHarmony and OKCupid to Tinder (and later Bumble). This was a greater voyeuristic experience than Facebook. We now flip and swipe through the ‘hot or not,’ ‘unique or not’ impressions. I post pictures to engage a desire for intimacy and companionship, hoping the women and men see my smile and flexing pose in the mirror, and have a “bio” enticing enough. And I wanted theirs. Often to a cycle of anxious messaging, deleting, and swiping again. Has the impersonal seeking of relationships made us into short-term “technosexuals”?

There seems to be the collective sense that this is a social media experience, in dating, in politics is unrewarding. Do we secretly hate it? One generation ago, we didn’t have common phrases like “digital detox” or a need to “unplug.” (But fear not, there are apps you can download to help manage your app usage more “mindfully.”) Now we use numerous platforms for different types of messaging to different groups of people. The text message is now as awkward as the phone call, and the email but a means to get another messaging platform. The phone number and email are now used only to verify other accounts and purchases. It’s as if we are drinking Coca-Cola to quench our thirst, only to become thirstier mysteriously.

About a year ago I got rid of my Facebook and Twitter. I did feel a sense that I missed out on something. The change was noticeable in my connection to peers, I saw them less – or, I should say, I didn’t see their profile pictures and accounts. I connected with them about as much as before in real life (or “irl”). Community networking was more challenging, as most people of all ages now get news largely from social media.

In general, I recognized that my relationship to time and awareness improved. I reflected more on things I wanted to, as well as unpleasant aspects of the mind I would rather not have – which I could have avoided by diving into clicking and scrolling. My appreciation of technology increased, and that of the imperfect, irrational aspect of my heart. I opted for the text and standard email (also designed to “hook” users).

One year later, just two months ago, I got a new Facebook account. I wanted to try again with open eyes and an open mind, now distant for several months. Upon activating and verifying my email, the unpleasantness was almost instantaneous. “Add friend,” “like,” the thought that “I need to update this so people will know I’m alive – maybe then I’ll get acknowledgement.” The realization came suddenly: this, all of this, is an activity, a hobby I’ve chosen to do. This is something we can become skilled at like juggling. Was this the greatest advertising heist of our generation?

It only took a week for me to delete the account. I lost nothing. Was the smartphone also but an activity? Does this device enable me, or does it captivate me? Does this device’s daily use become an end in itself? Further, is my work life becoming adapted for the ends of tech or is tech being used for me as a worker?

Alas, as with social media, I opted for the flip phone and email – coming full circle to the device just 20 years ago that was causing similar concern and frustration among adults.

Being away from the smartphone and social media did not bring grand enlightenment. The flip phone did not make me the ideal the ideal mate or employee. I am now, I think, more attentive and am more sensitive to what ‘attention’ means. I am more aware of patience, of simplicity – more conscious of useless productivity (but profitable) and versus the meaningful.

The critics of ages past lamented the society of spectacle, the banality of mass communication, and the culture industry. While they may have touched on aspects of the human condition, the question remains of what we want as individuals living as engaged subjects, not imposed upon objects in a world of advertising, shopping for identity, and market ideology. What I saw in modern tech industries was something that seemed obvious under the surface: they are boring.