The 1964 World's Fair promised a future where technology would essentially fix everything. It would comfort, protect, and even guide us toward a kind of utopia, where machines would make life easier, faster, and more connected. In some ways, that vision did come true. We carry tiny computers in our pockets and can ask Siri to play music, find directions, or tell us who invented the toaster (it was George Schneider, by the way; I just Googled it).
If I’m honest, my relationship with technology is a love-hate one. I love how convenient everything is. I use Google Docs for class, FaceTime to stay in touch with my parents in Colorado, and Canva or Instagram to create content. I’m majoring in Strategic Communication, and I also see how powerful technology is for storytelling, branding, and influence. It's not just a tool; it's a career path and a way to build something meaningful. I’m actually preparing to study abroad in Australia this May. Honestly, none of that would be possible without all the online planning tools, apps, and communication platforms that make coordinating a trip like this feel manageable.
However, there’s also the aspect I don’t appreciate as much, like how I’ll go on my phone to check the weather but somehow end up scrolling through random reels for 45 minutes. Social media can make you feel included while simultaneously making you feel completely left out. I’ve also noticed how tech influences my relationships. Some of my closest friendships have grown stronger through texting, Snapchat, and shared playlists. Yet, I’ve also had moments where I’m sitting with a friend, and we’re both just on our phones. Not talking. Not really present. That’s when I realized this “connection” can sometimes come at the expense of a genuine connection.
Regarding my online footprint, I’m careful about what I share. I try to post content that reflects well on me. I did Google myself, and nothing came up except some of my social media accounts, which I keep professional. But it was a good reminder that what we post lives on and people will look. What we share online becomes part of our image, whether we realize it or not. At the end of the day, I don’t think technology is entirely good or bad. It’s a tool, and like any tool, it depends on how we use it. Sometimes, it’s a lifeline; other times, it’s a distraction. It’s up to us to check in with ourselves and ask: Is this helping me, or is it controlling me?
Reflecting on all of this, I've come to view technology as neutral. Its impact depends on how we use it. Sometimes, it empowers us, while other times, it drains us. That’s why I’ve started setting boundaries: turning off notifications, deleting distracting apps during finals, or simply putting my phone away when I’m with people I care about. It's a work in progress, but I'm learning that being intentional about tech use can make a big difference.