In Pursuit of Lost Time

We have all read the good old tale of Alice in Wonderland. In pursuit of the white rabbit with a watch, she decides to jump into the unknown—a rabbit hole from which there is no way out. I have always been curious, like Alice, about why the white rabbit looks so intently at his watch and hurries somewhere. I could never imagine that the time on his watch represents the time of my life, which, like sand in an hourglass, slips away right before my eyes. Before I could even blink, I found myself in a rabbit hole, surrounded by people entranced by a metallic device with a glass screen. They stared into it, oblivious to the real wonders unfolding all around them. They walked past the Cheshire Cat, the caterpillar, and the very rabbits I sought, lost in a world that exists only in the flicker of a screen. In this strange wonderland, life unfolds in the fleeting moments between glances at their devices, as if the real magic has been forgotten. In this wonderland, people do not see real wonders at all.

Yet, I am not Alice, nor did I dream of this peculiar world. Falling asleep and waking up early in the morning, the image of the white rabbit holding a watch flashes before my eyes. I try to calm him down, telling him that in our world, this is normal—that the metal thing called a phone does not control me at all. I only go there for three, four, or five hours a day; others generally sit in it all day. He is silent in response, and his gaze falls on the hands of the clock, where my life is ticking away. Every day, I stifle the growing urge to escape this hole, feeling the weight of the unseen chains that bind me. The people around assure me that there is no issue—that such are the rules of this new age. But deep within, a question gnaws at my soul: is it possible to win the war for your own time? In the shadows of this wonderland, where reality blurs with illusion, I wonder if I can break free from the grasp of this ever-ticking clock. What lies beyond the confines of this rabbit hole, waiting for those brave enough to seek it?

The average adult spends 4 hours and 37 minutes looking at their phone every day. That quickly adds up over time to about 1 day every week, 6 days every month, and 70 days every year. The average American will spend 12 years staring at their phone screens over their lifespan. And even knowing this horrifying statistic, our hand still continues to reach for the phone. The rules of the new world dictate it as a necessary tool for existence in society. And in fact, this device is capable of miracles, its camera can capture the Cheshire cat and even call the Hatter, who may be on the other side of the world. It is a gift and a curse in one bottle, too much of this mixture can become a true poison. We can easily lose ourselves in the endless scroll of notifications and updates, trading genuine interactions for fleeting likes and comments. As we engage with our phones, we must recognize the risk of disconnecting from the world around us. It’s important to find a balance, using technology to enhance our lives without letting it take over. In this digital age, we have to be intentional about how we use our devices, ensuring they serve us rather than control us.

I decided to start the war for my own time by keeping a journal, where I document my discoveries, hard-won victories, and obvious missteps. This journey is clearly challenging, especially as I navigate college, where most assignments are online, while juggling three jobs that require me to check emails and messages from my bosses every few minutes. My goal is to transform my phone from an enemy into a friend, but that line between the two is incredibly thin and fragile. The first chapter of my journal is titled “Awareness.” The main issue with any addiction lies in a lack of awareness. Every article online talks about the amount of time wasted when you’re glued to your device; it’s a concept we hear repeatedly throughout the day. My awareness of the problem of phone addiction came when the first image that popped into my head at the word “time” was not a clock face, an alarm on my phone, or a calendar. Instead, it was life. Time is intertwined with my first memories: the moment I saw my dog for the first time, the breathtaking sunsets by the sea, and the excitement of my first day of college. The problem isn’t the phone itself; it’s that we’ve lost the true meaning of time—it feels endless. I used to hold this perspective until I encountered the challenges of maturing. As a child, every year on my birthday, while blowing out the candles, I wished for just one thing: that life would be generous enough and grant my mother more time. The day she passed away from cancer, I learned the most important lesson of my life: there is nothing more precious than time, as it is synonymous with life itself. We open our notifications and scroll through the hundreds of TikTok videos because we want to escape from time. We strive to confront it ruthlessly, even if we’re afraid to admit this to ourselves. In the article Validity Test of the Theory of Planned Behavior in College Students’ Withdrawal from Smartphone Dependence, we delve into the Theory of Planned Behavior (TPB), a powerful psychological framework for understanding intentional action. The link between phone usage and the power of intention is striking. A strong intention to cut back on phone use often leads to success, but intention alone isn’t sufficient. If individuals lack a clear understanding of why they should reduce their phone usage—be it the detrimental effects on mental health, strained social relationships, or academic performance—no amount of willpower will drive meaningful change. This highlights the necessity of both intention and deeper insight in tackling smartphone addiction.

References

“Validity Test of the Theory of Planned Behavior in College Students’ Withdrawal from Smartphone Dependence” Springer Link. 16 September 2020.

*TO BE CONTINUED…I focused on a single reference instead of two because I wanted to fully express the personal significance of the concepts discussed in the text. There’s an abundance of dry statistics and academic articles on this subject, but I aimed for something more vivid and relatable. If you’d like me to adjust this approach to make it more grounded, just let me know!