For the past two weeks, I’ve been without one of my vital organs.
No, I’m not talking about getting my liver removed, or even breaking my leg…I lost my cell phone.
When it first malfunctioned, I initially was fine with it: “I can deal with this” was the thought that went through my head again and again as if to reassure myself of a fate I knew I couldn’t avoid. However, things only got worse from there.
Just like a smoker, I had a withdrawal period. I felt the ominous “phantom vibrate” almost constantly, and checked my dead phone every hour…just hoping that my good friend would’ve resurrected itself. You never truly realize how connected we are in society until you’re at the bus stop at 8 p.m. with no outside communication. No status update, no Tweets, no text messages…just silence. And somehow, this was reassuring.
But like any other individual plagued by addiction, I had a relapse. As soon as I got home from work, I was back on Facebook again – feverishly scanning the past few hours of pointless information that I had missed so much. I admit it…I’m addicted. But, as Dr. House once said, "I said I was an addict. I didn't say I had a problem. I pay my bills, I make my meals. I function."
Maybe this means I am beyond hope…but if so, I hope I never recover. Social Media brings us together; it’s allowed me to meet people I would have never met without it. I’m not addicted to my phone, I’m not addicted to Facebook…I’m addicted to information. And is that really so bad?