By Ava Betnar
Without a car on campus, I am left, like the vast majority of us, to walk an exorbitant amount of steps to classes, dining halls, meetings and my dorm. If my 20,000 steps a day has taught me anything, it’s that “road rage” is not a phenomenon specific to driving. Constantly, I am maneuvering and dodging students so as to avoid collision with people who walk as though they are wearing a blindfold, completely oblivious to the world around them — of course, not because of a blindfold, but because of a phone.
People, myself included, are inextricably bound to their phones. Take a look around the next time you walk through campus, and you will see that a phone, along with some form of caffeine or water, is always ready at hand. The phone patiently waits to divert their attention from their surroundings to its notifications: a text from a friend, an email from a club, a notification from Canvas, a message on Slack, a follow request, a phone call. Each ring beckons to us, not so much a message as it is a distraction.
Spending so much time in the digital world, it is easy to completely neglect the real. We often bypass the natural beauty of our campus, only passively acknowledging the waterfalls, geese, sunsets and splashes of color that paint the fall foliage. While friends sit before us, we burrow our heads into our screens when we decide that a notification is more deserving of our time. The majority of our days are already spent digitally — staring at one screen, we walk to class to stare at a projected one, and oftentimes take notes on another. In this way, screens are a lens through which we view and experience life, displacing real life to the outside of our periphery.
Often, their presence offers an excuse for us to retreat from awkward interactions. Despite some of my lectures having over one hundred people, the room is largely silent before class begins. Instead of talking to neighbors, people prefer to scroll. During meals alone, rather than engaging in conversation with fellow solo-diners, we sit in solitude with our phones — allowing us to effectively avoid the company of one another. Often, I wonder what these spaces would look like without our phones. Would we be more inclined to talk to one another? How much easier and more natural would that be without our phones to use as a crutch? Would the sense of community at Cornell differ?
Phones not only isolate us from the world, but they also impose a significant emotional burden. Research alleges that excessive phone usage is linked to an ongoing mental health crisis. In his book, the “Anxious Generation,” Prof. Johnathan Haidt, social psychologist at the New York University Stern School of Business, explains that screens have exacerbated rates of anxiety and depression in teens and young adults. Coinciding with the rise of the iPhone, girls have experienced a 145 percent increase and boys a 161 percent increase in major depressive episodes since 2010.
This research is especially relevant at Cornell, where stress is an inherent aspect of our culture. According to a Mental Health & Well-Being Survey of undergraduate, graduate and professional students from 2020, “47.7 percent of Cornell students experienced moderate or serious psychological distress.” While phones are not the root cause of these mental health concerns, less screen time could certainly help alleviate the pressure.
Recognizing these harms, many states have even pursued legislative action to restrict screen usage in schools. For instance, this year the state of New York implemented “bell-to-bell” restrictions on phones with its distraction-free schools policy. These restrictions cultivate a phone-free environment by banning students from personal phone usage during the school day. Such measures aim to enhance educational engagement and interpersonal connection.
On college campuses across the country, device-free environments are becoming increasingly popular. Seán Killingsworth, former student at the University of Central Florida, launched the Reconnect Movement, an organization that provides a space for students to disconnect from the digital world so that they can “reconnect” in the real world. It has hundreds of chapters across high schools and colleges, although not one at Cornell. Moreover, in a letter to her campus community, Linda G. Mills, president of NYU, announced that the university would begin offering formal device-free zones and events across its campuses.
Spaces like these don’t outright ban phones. Rather, they provide an opportunity for students to consciously decide to be free from screen-based distractions and stressors. Cornell would benefit from initiatives similar to these as it would help foster community and mindfulness. However, the university can implement measures and provide incentive, but ultimately, it is up to us — the students — to change our individual habits.
Phones are supposed to be “mobile,” but they really immobilize us — shackling our attention with its addictive algorithms. Now, I am not the “phone police”; I am guilty of every behavior I just critiqued. But for the sake of our well-being and the preservation of authentic connection, it is essential that we spend less time with screens, and more time with our friends, surroundings and even ourselves.
When you go to the slope to see the sunset, resist the instinct to take that picture — no matter how aesthetic your Instagram story would be. On your walk to class, tuck your AirPods and phone away and listen to the rush of the falls or chimes of McGraw Tower. In the elevator up to your dorm or apartment, enjoy the company of your fellow residents and strike up a conversation — after all, who knows what friendship could blossom?
Take in all that Ithaca, Cornell and the world has to offer, because I promise you it is so much more than a six-by-three inch screen.
Ava Betnar is a first-year in the College of Human Ecology. She can be reached at aab323@cornell.edu.
