The technology virus continues to spread, infecting the minds of the meek and lost. Today, cell phones have become an unnecessary distraction in the classroom. Coming from a place where this only became relatively normal after the pandemic, it shocked me to see how much this 'virus' has impacted schools in the Western world. Today's teenagers live in a world controlled and ruled by technology, affecting every aspect of their lives, including education.

We sit in classrooms that appear full but are virtually half-empty. Teachers struggle to connect with their students because of the constant distraction of screens. Learning is halted, and focus is diverted to everything except the task at hand. The minds responsible for our future are absorbed in likes, comments, and reposts. Isn't this a threat to our evolution?

We remain stagnant, absorbed in our devices, allowing them to consume us. This virus has ravaged the minds of our future, infecting them at the source. When will we stop its spread, or at least mitigate its effects? Is it already too late?

In today's fast-paced world, it's easy to feel overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information bombarding us from all directions. Amidst the incessant stream of data, the finer details of what we observe often get lost in the shuffle, leaving us mentally adrift in a sea of distractions. From scrolling through news feeds to swiping through endless content, the demand to consume is relentless, leaving little time for meaningful reflection.

I, too, found myself caught in the whirlwind of information overload, struggling to maintain a sense of presence amidst the chaos. I felt merely a spectator in my own life, hurriedly moving from one task to the next without truly engaging with my surroundings. The disconnect between mind and body left me feeling disjointed, and I long for a way to reestablish that vital connection.

Thus began my quest for a solution—a way to reclaim my sense of self and truly engage with the world around me. As an artist, I was naturally drawn to observational art, where closely observing and interpreting the world takes center stage. While traditionalists may emphasize realism, I've come to appreciate the beauty of abstract and impressionistic approaches, each offering its own unique perspective. However, for those less inclined toward artistic pursuits, fear not—another technique is promising equally transformative results. I call it "Looking.™"

Have you ever truly looked at something, taking in the intricacies of your surroundings with intention and curiosity? Whether gazing out the window of a bus or observing the hustle and bustle of a coffee shop, there's a world of wonder waiting to be discovered in the everyday moments that often go unnoticed.

I vividly recall a recent afternoon spent in a cozy coffee shop, seeking refuge from the demands of daily life. Amidst the gentle hum of conversation and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, I found myself immersed in a scene that felt both familiar and profound. As I took a moment to pause and observe my surroundings, something remarkable happened—I began to see.

The woman across from me, her long brown hair cascading in loose waves as she savoured a bagel and scrolled absentmindedly through her phone. The man with salt-and-pepper hair, lost in the pages of a well-worn book, his espresso cup emitting a soft clink with each sip. The baristas' movements were fluid and synchronized as they expertly prepared each order with care. In that moment, I felt an undeniable sense of connection—a shared humanity that transcended the boundaries of individual experience.

And then there were the two friends, their animated conversation punctuated by laughter and shared gestures of camaraderie. As I watched them interact, I couldn't help but wonder about the stories that brought them together—their shared history, their hopes and dreams for the future. In each person, I saw a reflection of myself—a reminder that we are all interconnected, bound together by the tapestry of human experience.

As I sat there, savouring my own iced latte and relishing the warmth of the surrounding community, I realized something profound: true understanding begins with observation. By taking the time to truly see—to engage with our surroundings on a deeper level—we open ourselves up to a world of possibility. No longer mere spectators, we become active participants in the unfolding drama of life, each moment infused with meaning and significance.

So, I invite you to join me in embracing the power of observation—to look not just with our eyes but also our hearts and minds. For in the act of looking, we discover not only the beauty of the world around us but also the beauty within ourselves. And who knows? Perhaps in the quiet moments of observation, we may find the answers we've been searching for all along.

A few weeks ago, for nostalgic purposes, I restarted an old TV show from my childhood, a silly sitcom-style Disney show in which there's a new event every episode. The kind of show where the two-parter episode at the end of a season was a significant event to discuss at school the next day. I watched episodes from the first season over several evenings, and began wondering when the end would arrive, excited to see how much the actors would age between seasons. And so I watched, and I watched… and I watched, and the finale just wasn’t coming. I checked my phone for information on the show, and it turns out there were thirty-two episodes in the season. No wonder I wasn’t used to waiting so long for a conclusion: I had been watching shows with a maximum of eight to ten episodes for the longest time. 

My surprising impatience made me wonder when it became customary for television shows to be so short. Every day, you hear about how this generation is living in a time of shortened attention spans and can’t focus on anything longer than a TikTok video, and while there may be some truth in this idea, the research shows that short attention spans are connected to one’s focus for a single sitting. Yet, in television, the model from my childhood of short and long seasons has been replaced by the current production pattern of longer episodes and shorter seasons. That description resembles the mini-series more than a serialistic television show. However, for most of the past and up to the age of streaming, a regular television show followed the format of a single storyline per episode, with only loose season-length story arcs necessary to maintain audience interest. Television shows thrive on the audience's ability to be drawn into a slow-burning narrative and the dangling of a reward for long-term commitment. 

Mini series’ are considered a type of prestige television: they have well-written, complex stories and higher production values, making them more appealing to mature audience members and leading to deep, thoughtful discussion and Emmy awards. These productions seem like a worthwhile way to spend your time rather than just wasting it on the mindless, repetitive single-story format. While there’s nothing wrong with celebrating prestige television, creators have learned the wrong lesson. The focus for new television shows is not the higher quality production and complex narrative but rather the limitedness of the series, leading to an epidemic of television in which both the episodes and the season are short. This format forces shows to compress their plots, leaving characters, relationships, and even ideas underdeveloped. It further hurts the product and the audience’s experience that there are often long wait times in between seasons and that more shows get cancelled after incomplete runs, causing television media to die. 

It is also important to point out that the disappearance of everything other than prestige television turns media consumption into an elitist activity, potentially creating a more significant divide between the everyday person and the media they are taking in. Relatability is essential for the everyday watcher. Our lives are long, our work can be tedious, and even everyday family life can seem monotonous and drawn out. Watching someone else’s long, drawn-out life - a life that’s just a little bit more unbelievable than our own - may be what we need to calm our minds down from the world's bustle. Senseless enjoyment is, nonetheless, still enjoyment. 

In this day and age, the only opportunity for mindless television intake seems to be for the sake of nostalgia, looking back on shows ten or more years old. Watching for this purpose, though, makes it more than mindless because the purpose is no longer relaxing; instead, it is tapping into old memories to create emotion. 

Not all media needs to be drowned in a sense of prestige, special event, or even nostalgia. We should allow the old format of a regular, serial television show to find its place in the modern world for those who don’t always want to think about what they’re watching. There will always be a need for a show that is simply mediocre because not having to pay attention can actually feel like a luxury. Also, we need to protect opportunities for feelings of nostalgia. Without the joys of accepting and appreciating everyday mediocrity, nostalgia seems less accessible. There is something about nostalgia that feels like reaching back into a sense of coziness, innocence, and the security of knowing that even if you miss a week of television, you haven’t lost the plot. The same basic storyline will be there for you next week.

So, I am going back to try and finish the second season of that nostalgic show that maybe goes on just a bit too long and hope that one day I’ll be able to pick up a television show from the modern era where - if I see fit - I have the leisure to skip episodes.