In the year 2000, I acquired my first BlackBerry, the RIM 957. It had the ability to receive real-time emails from my work account, constantly buzzing and flashing to alert me of their arrival. It was a device that injected digital events into the mundane world, signaling the birth of constant online connectivity. However, at that time, smartphones were predominantly used by executives, government officials, and those who perceived themselves as important. As a software developer, I fell into the latter category. My co-workers and even my wife were repulsed by my attachment to the “CrackBerry” and my compulsive need to always have it in my grasp, similar to Gollum with his ring.
Over the years, I continued using keyboard phones until they were eventually replaced by the iPhone. I have memories of using a Palm Treo on the train and my BlackBerry during lunch throughout the 2000s. But I cannot recall how I used to spend my idle time prior to these devices. What did we do? The answer eludes me.
Certain aspects can be reconstructed from that time. Email was primarily received at your desk, so it didn’t interrupt your lunch or time outside the office. MapQuest existed, but you had to print out directions before going anywhere. Photography wasn’t as prevalent without the presence of social media platforms. Some basic phones had cameras, although of poor quality, and standalone digital cameras were expensive and primarily used for printing images.
Attempting to understand how people filled their time before smartphones is crucial, as excessive smartphone use is often blamed for contributing to anxiety, depression, and compulsive behaviors. Furthermore, smartphones are accused of disconnecting us from the world and from one another. Instead of fully experiencing moments like lunch or tourist attractions, people capture photographs with their smartphones, seeking validation from their peers who are also consumed with their devices. Sociologist Sherry Turkle famously lamented how smartphones encourage individuals to live “alone together.”
I asked some middle-aged friends to reflect on life before smartphones, when we were truly connected as a society, and to share their memories. One friend responded, “What the heck did I do?” It seems that while we can recall fragments of our childhood, such as playing basketball or passing notes in class, we struggle to remember how we spent our idle time as adults. Even surfing the early web, which is comparable to scrolling today, was tiresome due to slow internet connections. Other activities also took longer, such as consulting a paper map or engaging in conversations with salespeople when selecting appliances. Mundane daily activities, like waiting in line at the supermarket or sitting in traffic, were different experiences, often worse.
This revelation is spine-chilling: we cannot recall what we did because there was nothing memorable about our actions. We did nothing, and it was dreadful. Filling the void with any form of activity became an incessant exercise. Phone conversations were one way to pass the time, though they too had their drawbacks. Phone calls were a means to escape whoever else was in the vicinity, just like text messaging is today. They filled the empty hours, even if they created a social bond. However, they could strain relationships due to long-distance charges or the challenge of reaching someone when they were at home, tied to a landline. Old-fashioned telephones also caused longing and a sense of waiting.
Television was another way to kill time, and we watched a lot of it. Game shows, daytime soaps, sitcoms, and the evening news were constantly on in the background—when people were present to watch. Television was also omnipresent in places like airports, doctors’ offices, and laundromats. Some train and bus stations even had small, coin-operated televisions attached to the seats, demonstrating the desperation people felt when confined.
We used to acquire ambient information by flipping through pages of newspapers, magazines, or catalogs. Just like smartphones today, these materials offered a glimpse into something new while waiting for the next event. Periodicals were scattered throughout waiting rooms, airplane seat-backs, and park benches. Free alternative weekly publications and classified ads were a godsend when no other options were available, such as during a lengthy wait for a restaurant table or while stuck at an auto-repair shop. Before social media, people cared deeply about the mundane things they encountered because there were no alternatives.
It’s important to highlight how little there was to do before smartphones became commonplace. Long stretches of empty time stretched out, whether waiting for the bus, for someone to return home, or for the next scheduled event. There would be no notification if someone was running late or taking longer than expected, so we’d anxiously stare out the window, hoping for any signs of activity. We’d pace, sulk, or stew.
The despair that accompanied these moments of dead time often led to an existential orientation towards life itself—absurd and meaningless, a never-ending sea of monotony. Perhaps my generation’s propensity for malaise is a direct result of being alone with ourselves without purpose for such extended periods. We’d read pamphlets about oral hygiene or shampoo bottles. We’d watch the slow rotation of clock hands. Yes, there were other, better, and more productive activities available, but only if we knew exactly how much time we had to waste, where we were, and the circumstances. Unfortunately, we were never aware until it was too late.
Before smartphones, people didn’t utilize their in-between time to forge social connections or engage in self-improvement. Instead, they endured the constant and endless boredom. Therefore, let us not mourn or criticize the time we spend on our smartphones, at least not to such an extent. While it is harmful to be consumed by arguments, conspiracy theories, shopping, or mindlessly scrolling through doom and gloom, it was equally detrimental to experience the terror of monotony. Now, there is an excess of stimuli, but before, ugh, nothing ever happened.
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