This is on us

In the sum total of human history, few inventions have reshaped our social landscape as profoundly as the smartphone. 

And it happened so quickly. 

Just twenty years ago, as hard as it is to admit, I got my first cellphone, a clamshell from Verizon, to keep up with my friends. 

Like many people I knew back at Niagara University, I had a dumbphone. I could connect to the internet but why would I? It took forever and it wasn't that interesting. And my laptop was better at it. 

15 years ago or so, like many in my generation, I got my first smartphone in my mid twenties and a few years later an iPhone. The first of six or so. 

By the time I hit 30, smartphones ate the world. 

Now at 40, these pocket-sized marvels, mini supercomputers once heralded as great connectors, now stand accused of eroding the very fabric of human interaction. It's a paradox worthy of a Greek tragedy: the tool designed to bring us closer is pushing us apart. 

Consider the absurdity of our current predicament. Rochester, New York, my hometown - now proudly holds the title of second most clumsy city in America - we're dropping our phones in toilets with alarming frequency.

I kid you not. It's as if we've collectively decided that even our most private moments are incomplete without the warming, comforting glow of a screen. I’m certainly guilty of it. Its Pavlovian.

The solution? Not to put the phone down, heaven forbid, but to buy a smartwatch, as a AT&T executive told WHEC, a station I used to work at many, many moons ago. I hope AT&T gave him a bonus or something. Because apparently, the only thing more important than hygiene is making sure we don't miss a single, earth-shattering notification about our friend's cat's latest adventure on yet another smart device.

But let's not mistake this for run of the mill clumsiness. This is a symptom of a deeper malaise, a societal addiction so pervasive that we've normalized it. We're like lab rats, constantly hitting the lever for another hit of dopamine, oblivious to the world around us. FOMO: the fear of missing out, has transformed into the fear of missing anything at all, no matter how trivial, tepid or stupid. 

And the consequences? Well, they're as predictable as they are alarming. According to recent findings in The Wall Street Journal, there's a growing trend of younger generations struggling with fundamental interpersonal skills. The report suggests that many young adults are finding it increasingly difficult to navigate even simple social situations. Colleges are now offering remedial training in - you guessed it - talking to other human beings. It's as if we've stumbled into a dystopian novel where the art of conversation has become a poorly attended elective on a Tuesday night.

In an age where we can instantly connect with someone on the other side of the planet, we're losing the ability to connect with the person sitting across from us. You can see it at any cafe, or restaurant and most dinner tables.  We've become so adept at crafting the perfect tweet or text that we've forgotten how to craft a coherent sentence in real-time.

Consider the plight of Claire Ralph, a Caltech lecturer who told KTLA that her students couldn't even manage a professional cover letter. "Hey wazzup y'all" might be an acceptable greeting in a text message, but in the professional world, it's about as welcome as a butt fumble in the AFC Championship game.

But perhaps the most troubling part of this digital dilemma is the disconnect between perception and reality. While college seniors rate themselves as communication virtuosos, employers are decidedly less impressed. It's a reminder that in the real world, emojis and hashtags and such are poor substitutes for genuine interpersonal skills.

So, what do we do? We can't simply wait for colleges to teach what should be as natural as breathing. The solution must start earlier, and it must be more comprehensive. 

This is on us. 

We need to foster environments where face-to-face interaction is not just encouraged but required. 

This is on us.

We need to create spaces where phones are put away, and conversation is the main event. 

THis is on us

We need to loosen our grip on our children’s experiences and allow them to interact with the world.  

This is on us

We need to teach our children that there's more to communication than crafting the perfect Instagram caption. 

This is on us

We must rebuild third places, you know, not work, not home but third places where we can learn how to interact with other people. 

This is on us. 

Because we can't and we shouldn't expect or trust tech companies to create machines or any product that isn't built to exploit us. 

This is on us. 

In short, we need to rediscover the art of being human. As Douglas Rushkoff once put it, “being human is a team sport.”  In a world increasingly mediated by screens, the most revolutionary act may be driving over to a friend’s house to break bread and look someone in the eye to engage in that most ancient of human rituals: a conversation. 

The stakes are high. If we continue down this path, we risk raising a generation incapable of the very thing that helps that team function, the very thing that makes us human: meaningful connections. And no amount of likes, shares, or retweets can compensate for that loss. 

So the next time you feel the urge to check your phone in the bathroom, remember: the most important notification might just be the one you're missing in the real world. Put down the phone, step away from the toilet, and for the love of pete, talk to someone. Your future self - and your dry phone - will thank you.