I was born in 1990. I remember my family getting our first
computer when I was 6 or 7. It was gigantic, ran Windows 95, and you had the
option of starting it up in DOS. We didn't have the internet - I mainly used
the computer to write stories on Microsoft Word, paint in Paint, and to play
Pac Man.
Then, in primary school, when we moved to the suburbs from
Scarborough (east Toronto), we got The Internet. I don't remember the exact
moment we acquired it, but I remember it quickly became a big part of my life.
I remember waiting for it to dial up (I can hear the sound in my head right
now), and needing to ask mom and dad if I could use it in case they were
expecting any important phone calls. If I wanted to download anything I had to
do it over dinner when they didn't want to receive any phone calls anyhow.
I remember using it for MSN (a messaging platform from back in the
day). I remember running home from school in grade 7 and 8 to chat with my
friends, and to live my life on there, free from the prying eyes of teachers
and parents.
My first email address was broken_beyond_repair02@hotmail.com.
Yeah, I was that angsty.
My parents were practically Luddites, so we were never a very
technologically advanced family. To give you an idea, I didn't get my first
cell phone until after graduating high school at 18, and I didn't get my first
smartphone, with internet access/data (a used iPhone 4 S which I still use to
this day, thank you very much) until 2016.
I'm not going to sit here and tell you that the internet ruined my
life, or that it has ruined life in general. Since you're here with me, I'd
hazard that you already understand the benefits - the democratization of
knowledge (especially with websites for free learning like Khan Academy or Coursera); social media to connect with
family and friends who we wouldn't ordinarily be able to be in close contact
with (shout out to my fam in Australia, who I have on What's App!); making more
things more accessible to people with disabilities; the mobilization and
amplification of a variety of marginalized viewpoints that would not otherwise
have platforms; hell, there are even examples of social media being used to
organize and mobilize revolutionary and rescue initiatives.
I'm also not going to sit here and tell you that the
internet hasn't ruined aspects of [my] life.
I spend wayyyyy too much time on social media wasting my dwindling hours
endlessly scrolling through shit I don't care about when I could be doing
literally anything else; it makes me compare myself to others (to my endless
pointless suffering); it makes me feel like I'm missing out on things all the
time; it mobilizes and amplifies a lot of hateful viewpoints and provides a
platform for hate groups to organize; it spreads a lot of misinformation;
there's the idea of omniscience
fatigue wherein we are so overloaded with instantly-accessible
information that information itself becomes boring, etc. etc. etc.
I remember my pre-internet
brain. I remember playing with my friends in elementary school in the
school yard, sans phones, sans internet, pretending that we were witches or the
Spice Girls and going on crazy adventures while hopping over snowbanks. I
remember needing to go to the library and look at books to do school projects.
I remember teachers needing to ask if we had computer/internet access at home.
I remember hanging out with my cousins with all the kids on their street, and
stringing all of our toy cars and anything with wheels to the backs of our
bicycles, putting barbies and beanie babies in them, and racing down the
street, trying our best to make the toys fall out on a sharp turn. I remember
making people out of pipecleaners, attaching them to plastic bag parachutes,
and chucking them out the second-story window. I remember being excited to play
lego and creating elaborate circuses with roller coasters and rides.
Not that this stuff doesn't happen with kids these days, of
course. But I think that all of that wholesome, non-screen-related play and
discovery is important to development. And back then, it wasn't an option. It
was all we had. The negative implications for screen time on attention span,
obesity, cardiovascular health, etc. are well
documented. I don't want to be one of those old-timers who hearkens
back to the glory days before invention X or Y, but I guess that's what I'm
doing.
I think that my generation is unique in being among the few that
straddles the Great Internet Divide (I'm calling it that, deal with it). I
remember my pre-internet brain, and I didn't have the internet during many of
my formative years. At the risk of sounding prideful, I'm pretty grateful for
that. I think that I have a greater appreciation of nature, of face to face
conversation, of creating art, of sticking my hands in the dirt, of the value
of imagination and story-telling. All of this is of course anecdotal - I'm sure
there are lots of folks born after the mid 90s who can lay definitive claim to
these attributes as well. But I can't help but wonder if there's something
inherently different about those of us who grew up without the internet,
compared to those who cannot remember a childhood that was internet-free.
I think even more jarring is the fact that we grew up in some of
our most formative years without the internet, and then, boom, there it was. We
were very lucky to have grown up along with it - it makes it far easier to
understand technology and to be able to carve a worthy place out in the modern
technologized world. I'm glad to have had my years as a young tot
internet-free, and I'm also glad to have been able to learn how to live in this
internet-laden world as I grew up. It's pretty much a win-win in my books.
I think this developmental history, wherein formative years of my
childhood were internet-free, and my preteen years onward were
internet-saturated, creates a strange neither-here-nor-there-ness in my
identity. Unlike kids who grew up only knowing the internet, I feel like I long
for my pre-internet brain. I'm nostalgic for it. More was a mystery in the
world, I didn't feel bogged down with every single tragedy, and I didn't feel
addicted to something that (like every addictive thing) both giveth and taketh away. People who grew up only
ever knowing the internet may understand and appreciate its destructive
potential, but they can't yearn for a life that existed previous to it, not
having known it at all. At the same time, I am also so grateful to live in this
time where information and viewpoints are so accessible, where I can be so
connected with others, where I have access to so much.
I don't think I would give this up if I could, and still part of
me wishes that I never had access to any of this in the first place. Much
of the inner workings of my mind include coming to terms with conflicting
aspects of my identity. (Examples here, here, here, here, here, here,
and here.)
This, it seems, is no exception.
