When I was in kindergarten, I had a pet snake—it wasn’t really a snake, it was made out of wood. But it was real to me. My snake was always with me, and I named her ‘Shaky.’ This very original name was coined from how often I would shake her, back and forth, over and over again. When I was doing homework, shake. When I was eating dinner, shake. Until one day, she snapped in half.

That was the first time I became aware of death. It may seem silly, but my favorite toy died that day. We tried to glue it back together, but it wasn’t the same. Shaky would never shake the same way again.

It was embarrassing to admit how close I was to this snake, so I didn’t let anyone know how upset I was at losing her. Instead, I moved to the next toy, the next show, the next book that would satisfy the urge that I would have to focus on something.

In our social media-obsessed society, our focus has been diminished severely. The instant gratification of social media rewards quick content that’s easily consumable. Every video, every photo that we scroll past, scratches our brains in the same way that my wooden snake did. It becomes our comfort, something that we have to have with us always. Something that makes every social interaction safer, every uncomfortable moment easier. It’s easier to escape in a world that we’ve curated for ourselves.

Of course, this isn’t all bad. Technology and social media have allowed us to reach people that we never would’ve reached before. People make careers out of the content they consume. Friendships can form across continents. This is a beautiful thing.

But every time I catch myself scrolling too long on TikTok, I remember the times that I spent holled up in my room reading Harry Potter. I’m transported back to the bands that I would make fan pages for until I didn’t care about them anymore. This was a natural phase of growing up: finding what I’m interested in and trying to navigate what was worth sticking to.

However, I was able to figure this out before I had any show I wanted to watch at my fingertips. Before I could look up anyone and connect with them with a flick of my finger. I grew up while the internet was changing into the beast that it is today.

What we fixate on aren’t our personalities. They are important to us, but they’re not who we are. This has taken me a while to reconcile with, since I’ve based so much of who I am with what I love, what I’m passionate about. I know I’m not alone in this. We live in a hyper-consumerist culture that rewards it when we move on to the next thing. It’s time that we sit with ourselves and ask what’s beyond our media addiction and attention economy. What do we love, and how can we stick with it? It’s time for us to sit with ourselves, examine ourselves, and just slow down.

An Ode to The Things I’ve Loved to Death