ONE recent sweltering afternoon, a friend and I trekked to a new public pool, armed with books, sunglasses and icy drinks, planning to beat the heat with a swim. But upon our arrival, we had an unwelcome surprise: no cellphones were allowed in the pool area.
The ban threw me into a tailspin. I lingered by the locker where I had stashed my phone, wondering what messages, photos and updates I might already be missing.
After walking to the side of the pool and reluctantly stretching out on a towel by the water, my hands ached for my phone. I longed to upload details and pictures of my leisurely afternoon, and to skim through my various social networks to see how other friends were spending the weekend. Mostly, however, I wanted to make sure that there wasn't some barbecue or summer music festival that we should be heading to instead.
Eventually, the anxiety passed. I started to see my lack of a digital connection as a reprieve. Lounging in the sun and chatting with a friend without the intrusion of texts and alerts into our lives felt positively luxurious. That night, I even switched off my phone while mingling at a house party, content to be in one place for the evening and not distracted by any indecision about whether another party posted online looked better.
My revelation - relearning the beauty of living in the moment, devoid of any digital link - may seem silly to people who are less attached to their devices. But for many people, smartphones and social networks have become lifelines - appendages that they are rarely without. As such, they can sway our moods, decisions and feelings.
One side effect of living an always-on digital life is the tension, along with the thrill, that can arise from being able to peep into people's worlds at any moment and comparing their lives with yours. This tension may be inevitable at times, but it's not inescapable. It's possible to move beyond the angst that social media can provoke - and to be glad that we've done so.
Anil Dash, a writer and entrepreneur, called this phenomenon the “Joy of Missing Out,†or JOMO, in a recent blog post.
“There can be, and should be, a blissful, serene enjoyment in knowing, and celebrating, that there are folks out there having the time of their life at something that you might have loved to, but are simply skipping,†he wrote.
JOMO is the counterpoint to FOMO, or the “fear of missing out,†a term popularized last year by Caterina Fake, an entrepreneur and one of the founders of Flickr, the photo-sharing Web site.
“Social media has made us even more aware of the things we are missing out on,†she wrote in a blog post. “You're home alone, but watching your friends' status updates tell of a great party happening somewhere.â€
It may be that many people are in a kind of with social media and technology, still adjusting to the role that their new devices play in their lives. One day, the relationship may be less fraught.
The influence that technology can wield over our lives may lessen with time - as we grow accustomed to our devices and as the people who use them mature. In Mr. Dash's case, the birth of his son, Malcolm, an adorable toddler who knows how to moonwalk, curbed his appetite for a hyperactive social life.
“I've been to amazing events,†Mr. Dash said. “I still am fortunate enough to get to attend moments and celebrations that are an incredible privilege to witness. But increasingly, my default answer to invitations is ‘no.' â€
Social media sites, which ask you where you are, what you are doing and whom you are with, can cause people to exaggerate or feel the need to brag about their daily lives, said Sophia Dembling, the author of the coming book “The Introvert's Way: Living a Quiet Life in a Noisy World.â€
“There is a lot of pressure in our culture to be an extrovert,†Ms. Dembling said. The trick to managing that, she said, is self-awareness. It's crucial, she said, to remember that most people tend to post about the juiciest bits of their lives - the lavish vacations, the clambakes and the parties - and not about the trip to the dentist or the time the cat threw up on the rug.
