top of page

"I want to be a force for real good" - John Coltrane

Search

Waltz No.1, Collapse: Why I'm Done with the Feed

Yoda Marina
Aug 5
4 min read

ree

Look, I need to tell you something that's been eating at me for months now. Social media is over—at least for me, and maybe for all of us who are brave enough to admit we've been played. I'm 22, which means I grew up with this stuff. My Instagram account has a birthday older than my very first spotify playlist. But here's the thing: I'm suffocating in my own digital choices, and the science backs up what my gut has been screaming.

Every morning, I wake up and reach for my phone like some kind of digital addict—which, according to recent neurological research, is exactly what I am. The dopamine pathways in my brain have been hijacked by algorithms designed to keep me scrolling, and honestly? It's working. Scientists have found that social media actually triggers the same reward systems in the brain as drugs, alcohol, and gambling. Each notification, each like, each meaningless interaction floods my brain with the same chemicals that make people chase highs they can never quite reach.

But let's get personal about this. When I open Instagram these days, I'm confronted by faces I barely recognize—people I met at one house party in 2022, classmates I never spoke to, influencers selling me serenity through skincare routines I can't afford. An estimated 210 million people worldwide are addicted to social media, and about half of my feed is advertisements. Think about that for a second: I'm voluntarily consuming content where every other post is someone trying to sell me something. It's like willingly walking through a mall where every other storefront is shouting at you to buy happiness.

The community that was promised? It's a myth. I scroll through feeds of people supposedly living their “best lives,” and all I feel is this hollow ache of disconnection. Research shows that 46% of teens report “almost constant” internet use, and over half say it's hard to quit social media. We're spending an average of 2 hours and 23 minutes daily on these platforms, but for what? To feel worse about our own supposedly ordinary lives?

Here's where it gets both intellectually fascinating and emotionally devastating: the technology is working perfectly. Studies reveal that social media platforms use machine-learning algorithms specifically designed to maximize our engagement by triggering dopamine releases through personalized content. We're not weak for getting hooked—we're responding exactly as human brains have been wired to respond to variable rewards.

My childhood was steeped in wabi-sabi—that ancient Japanese understanding that beauty lives not in perfection, but in the worn places, the cracked edges, the gentle surrender to time. There was holiness in a teacup's chipped rim, wisdom in the way wood weathered and grew soft. This was beauty that asked nothing of you but recognition, that whispered rather than shouted. Social media is its opposite—a hungry, restless thing that devours simplicity and spits out spectacle. Where wabi-sabi finds grace in what is broken, these platforms demand we perform wholeness, endlessly polishing ourselves into digital marble. They have no patience for the slow art of aging, the quiet dignity of things as they are. Instead, they flood us with noise, cramming every corner of our attention with content that screams, Look here, look now, look always.

The truth is, Generation Z—my generation—is spending 39.6% of our online time on social media, and we're showing unprecedented rates of anxiety, depression, and attention disorders. We're the first generation to grow up completely immersed in this technology, and we're also the first to experience its full psychological impact.

So here's what I'm slowly learning, with the help of researchers who've actually studied this stuff: intelligence isn't about consuming more information. It’s about being careful with where you place your attention, almost like choosing who you trust with your best stories. The real connection, I’ve come to think, doesn’t come from always being online or having something to say in every comment thread. It’s about being present—really present—for your own life. Community isn’t built out of likes or quick replies; it’s what happens when you show up, in person, for the people and moments that actually mean something to you.

Maybe the real revolution isn't figuring out how to use these platforms better. Maybe it's remembering that we don't have to use them at all. When I lift my eyes from this small, glowing window, I'm struck by the sheer weight of what's always been there—a world that breathes without permission, that unfolds in its own time, unhurried by our need to capture it. It doesn't perform for us or beg to be liked. It simply is: the way light moves across a wall, the particular cadence of voices drifting from another room, the silence that settles between words. These moments don't announce themselves or demand applause, but they carry something the screen cannot—a kind of presence that fills you up rather than leaving you empty. That fullness, that quiet insistence of the real—that's what I'm hungry for now.

Sources:

Comments

bottom of page