Kathryn Hammond
I sit down on an outdoor chair in our backyard, letting out a deep sigh of relief. I let the fresh air fill my emptied lungs, the faint smell of flowers bringing a smile to my face. Finally, a break from math quizzes and microbio homework. I’m surrounded by potted plants, some a vibrant lime green, others a deep emerald, many speckled with brightly colored flowers. To my left, an ant scuttles across a bright red flower, sprinkled with water droplets from being recently watered by my mom. She loves gardening, and built this entire magnificent paradise herself, so seeing flowers always reminds me of her. Nearby, water trickles calmly into a small pond, built brick by brick by my mom’s skilled hands. The lotuses have already finished blooming, and now it is almost entirely covered in a variety of aquatic plants. Bees hover above the water, occasionally taking a rest on a leaf and drinking from droplets on its wet surface. The sun finally peeks out from behind a curtain of clouds, and the loud hum of crickets and cicadas intensifies with the new warmth and light. A bee buzzes by me, checking out the red flowers before changing her mind. I close my eyes, letting a light breeze play with my hair. A bird calls from a nearby tree, breaking through the orchestra of white noise created by the water and insects. I look down to my phone that I had set down beside me, its glittery case sparkling in the summer sun.
I pick it up. 3:16 pm on August 27th, 2022. It is currently 86°F outside, partly cloudy. I am greeted with a slew of notifications: a discord dm, texts in the family group chat, a twitter post suggestion, instagram replies. I tap on the instagram notification, opening up my notifications page: people liking my comments, post suggestions, ignored follow requests. I go to my feed. My friend’s adorable dog fills my screen, the caption reading: “Did someone say #internationaldogday ?! Always ready to celebrate with my best boy and adventure partner!!” I didn’t even realize it was national dog day, maybe I should post something too… swiping through the other photos on the post, a collection of adorable dog photos makes me smile. I double tap, the white heart flashing before I scroll. My friend hugs her boyfriend, laughing brightly at the camera. Double tap. Another friend poses with a drink at a cafe, her blonde hair swept effortlessly to the side. Double tap. An ad pops up for the new Samsung Galaxy Watch 5, a catchy beat accompanying elegant models demonstrating its features, using the watch to track their heart rate as they work out. I keep scrolling: a friend got a new tattoo! Double tap. A girl in a body-tight pink dress poses in front of a restaurant. Double tap. A Six Flags sponsored post reads: “Best deal of the year! New annual membership starting at $5.99/month!”. I scroll faster, but just slow enough to register faces and settings. Double tap, double tap, double tap. Finally, a pink check mark notifies me that I am all caught up with my feed. 4:06 pm. I let out a sigh of relief.
Nature is so deeply connected to the human experience, and as someone who loves being outside, I cannot imagine life without it. Being outside made me feel so refreshed and calm, and I felt present, able to tune into bird calls, insects, water trickling. Turning on my phone, my experience outside was immediately summarized as data: 86 degrees, partly cloudy. I was bombarded with social media notifications, each tempting to click on. But I easily felt overwhelmed. By the end of scrolling through my feed, I was relieved to see that I was all caught up. I felt obligated to like every single person’s post, and it felt strangely isolating to see each of them in perfect, manicured photos. I was also met with many advertisements, which at this point I scroll quickly past subconsciously, but show the amount of subliminal messaging present in social media. The stark contrast in experiences made me really appreciate my beautiful backyard, and the safe haven it provides away from the constant influx of information technology brings. I learned to remember to live in the moment and take breaks to go outside and get some fresh air, tuning in with nature.