an essay
Life surrounds us, continually moving through space and time as we sit in front of narrow windows displaying pixelated fantasies to our already beleaguered senses. I think about this myself as my fingers once again obey what feels like automated motions, swiping along on the phone to move onto another image, another video, each painstakingly catered to garner my attention. Yet, I find myself painfully bored. Boredom in a way differing from the boredom driving one to sit idly while sipping bourbon, dreaming of some fantastical world or reminiscing on grander times of yore. This boredom is the slow death of meaning, a creeping disconnection with the very things around us… life.
Countless videos, essays, blogs, social media posts, and more pontificate on the ails of modernity, with all of its empty shininess. While I could add my own thoughts here, it is more my emotions of late that capture my attention. How I feel, like actually feel has crept up to the forefront of my conscious thought, pushing aside any of those studied, scientific views of how screens and phone use impact this or that, being our attention, our cognition, our perception, and on and on.
In a way, it feels very much like an ill-fitting shirt set of clothes, where it scratches and sits all wrong. Still, no matter how many times I take these clothes off, I wake up suddenly to find them on me again, as though someone is watching me, waiting for the moment I rebel only to drug me and put me back in.
Blame can be given out en mass, but who does it benefit? Me? Am I an indolent victim here, unaccountable for my own actions? Because no matter the conspiracy, choice still remains, and we all would like to believe we have some autonomy otherwise one can simply count us as machines. Despite the attempts at it, I continue to find myself numb and bored, as excited fingers eagerly search for the next fix, the next meme or captivating video.
Often, boredom spurs action, where one might be inclined to do otherwise, thus it is truly a useful emotion. It urges exploration, the pursuit of novelty or challenge. Pedantic as they might be, social media and the dopaminated pixelated world shown through the glass of our phones often fills that idea of novelty. Even I can see the illusion of it all, the almost uncanny valley of most of it, how it treads ever so close to reality but staying out of reach by barely a finger’s touch.
Yes, there are indeed real people posting “real” reels really reeling real reels really all in the hopes of reeling you in. (And here you thought this essay was wholly really serious.) Reality is a tricky thing, as there are plenty of lies which appear real, that don the trappings of what could be seen as truth, yet they are nothing of the sort. Uncanny valleys form all around, where things look almost like reality, but even worse, they distort the genuine, making us question that which exists outside of this digital space. We doubt the world around us, pushing us further into this illusion all the while we end up more disconnected, lonely, and anxious.
Why can’t we escape from it? Why do we have to place such a monumental effort into breaking free from this digital facade, to live in the reality of Earth, air, water, and life?
Knowledge in and of itself is insufficient here, given how I am in full awareness of how I do not like social media and would prefer to be off it yet continue to find myself lured into its bright embrace. Even as a writer or an artist, I find the encouragement online that needing a social media presence is a quintessential vector towards success, as I watch countless accounts flounder in converting likes to sales. Followers and likes just don’t seem to translate to sales, because social media is not reality and the venue it provides simply does not translate to readerships. Even still, bringing myself to ignore the idea of using social media to create some viral trend of one of my stories remains impossible. Despite the evidence to the contrary, I find myself in total belief that one day my social media presence will pay off.
Maybe its a want of belief, an idea that no matter what this thing really is, the time and efforts I spend on here will translate to something worthwhile, even as the general feeling I receive from these efforts is a dampening of my soul. But, this is all a digression, for I am suddenly shifting into the dichotomy of using social media as a tool and method of marketing vs the general use of these “tools” for entertainment and passage of time.
I haven’t figured out how to use social media as a tool like that. Even so, I wonder if it is all worth it, if it is worthwhile adding my content to the flood of material on there with the intention of trying to please some algorithm to fetch me readers. Yes, what I write is my own, and my goal is to have others enjoy my work, the question simply remains to be asked on whether it is the right medium to do this? Aren’t we still better off IRL?
Look at me, complaining about the fictional world being painted with electrons while I try to sell my own wares as a writer of literal fiction. I guess the difference is my fiction is up front and seeks truth while the other is deceptive and seeks lies. Maybe that is why I find myself so damned bored, why my soul feels like it is draining away as I lose myself for so many countless hours meandering the digital landscape with my fingers to move from one end of that field to the other. It might trick my eyes and my attention, my soul and emotions continue to see right through it all. If only I could understand it all before losing track of myself. Maybe then I could stammer back into reality.
Photo and words copyright © 2026 by Jeremy C Kester – all rights reserved.
Note: this is also cross-posted to Poetically Unlicensed on Substack.
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