ArcaMax

A TikTok video I saw the other day suggested that I should reclaim my attention to the present. Mid-scroll, the app that makes money off my distracted brain suddenly wanted me to log off and be present. That's like the bartender telling you to quit drinking while he pours the next shot.

Be present, as if the present is some enchanted meadow we're all ignoring. No, the present is unlivable. It's shootings in schools, bills you can't pay or don't even know about yet, climate alarms we've learned to tune out, and the elite playing Hunger Games with our survival.

Why would anyone want to be more present for that?

Yes, social media can be a trap, but it's also a shield. Doomscrolling has almost become self-defense. A scrolling thumb is a nervous tick, a prayer bead, a way to keep your brain just busy enough so you don't spiral. And the irony of the same platform telling us to reclaim our attention is the perfect metaphor for the entire attention economy: it creates the problem, then sells you the cure.

The wellness industry also thrives on this. Meditation apps, digital detox retreats, influencers who hawk mindfulness like it's a scented candle. Being here now doesn't make schools safe. Being here now doesn't stop the summer skies from filling with wildfire smoke from that enchanted meadow. You can inhale and exhale all you want; the air quality is still dangerous.

So, people retreat to their feeds. They chase distraction, yes, but also connection. We've mistaken the scroll for isolation when it's actually one of the last shared rituals we have. My parents' generation flipped through magazines and zoned out in front of sitcom reruns. Today, we laugh at the same stitched joke on TikTok, cringe at the same viral meltdown, and rage at the same outrageous headline. It's fractured, sure, but it's collective.

So the present isn't just a serene yoga mat moment; it's millions of us swiping in sync, our collective attention stitched together by algorithms. It's ugly and it's funny and it's numbing but it's an unfortunate type of reality.

And yes, we see the downsides too. Go to the summer festival and half the crowd is recording their experience instead of living it. In the desert, during the monsoon season, the cameras come out as the streets turn into rivers and everyone forgets how to drive. We point and laugh.

And, the guilt persists. The apps want us to feel bad about how much time we spend with them, because guilt also keeps us hooked and we cloak it in shame. I should read more. I should log off. I should touch that fabled grass in the meadow.

The self-loathing is built into the design. You never quite get free, and you never quite feel good about staying.

Maybe the problem isn't that we're not paying attention to the here and now. Perhaps instead, the problem is that we're unable to make the necessary changes to create a present that brings us back together. Until we can find that, we'll find each other in the scroll.

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Cassie McClure is a writer, millennial, and unapologetic fan of the Oxford comma. She can be contacted at cassie@mcclurepublications.com. To learn more about Cassie McClure and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate website at www.creators.com.

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