The nature and accessibility of technology today easily can form us into perpetual observers of other peoples’ lives and listless consumers of information.

It is almost a cliché at this point. Yet, the metrics on my own phone show me that, to my horror, six hours of my day are dedicated to Instagram, YouTube and other corners of the internet. On social media, curated influencers pepper my feed with sourdough starters and gym routines, which are followed by news reports about ICE, controversy around the latest sporting event or reality show or chilling tidbits on the Epstein files. It should feel overwhelming to consume this amount of content all at once. And yet I don’t stop because this is what online culture has trained us to do.

Because of the sheer volume of media to be consumed, too often, instead of becoming venturing drivers of our own lives, we have turned into hungry spectators of others’. This is the problem from which I am trying to fast this Lent. The problem is less about social media content and more about what it results in: passivity.

Digital interfaces inherently separate us from the lived experience of the world and situate us safely behind glass. At times this means we are exposed to the lived chaos of others while personally suffering little real consequence ourselves. It is a form of life by proxy. But neither is it fiction. Those stories, those people exist somewhere. Yet by consuming such content, it is easy to blur the lines of what it means to be connected to other people, indeed even what it means to be an embodied person.

Watching ICE raids on my phone is safer than knowing my immigrant neighbors. Tracking government disorder is safer than attending public civic meetings. Even spending hours on the couch scrolling through vlog content from picture perfect influencers is safer than confronting the imperfect relationships in my personal life.

Yet there is a real cost: perpetual unease and a paler version of existence. When I am a voyeur toward the real world, I betray my own body. I fail to give my embodied self the chance to do what it was created to do: live in it. This results in a sort of dissonance; and when there is dissonance, there is anxiety.

When the Epstein files dropped, I was glued to my device, deeply disturbed by each droplet of information bleeding from the internet. And yet, I knew there was little I could do about it. The digital sphere has expanded my awareness of threats, but also has shrunk my sense of agency. I perceive the world as scarier, bigger and farther away, and my part within it feels smaller.

To be fair, there really is little I can do about the Epstein files. But I cannot let that knowledge paralyze me from being an active participant in life when there are ways in which I can make a difference. Remaining stagnant doesn’t make me stronger; it doesn’t make the world greater.

I have made an effort this Lent to block half of my apps for at least a portion of the day. It is not simply be an act of “fasting from the digital world,” but a deliberate effort toward taking action. If I turn off my phone but never reincorporate myself into the lived world, I will have missed the point. What I hope to receive out of this experience is re-connection with my body, with my neighbors and with my community.

Christianity was never meant to be a spectator sport. When Jesus pointed out that loving God and loving our neighbor were the two most important commandments, he made it clear that they were embodied acts from which every other commandment flowed. 

We don’t watch the Mass. We participate in it. We recite Scripture verses; we kneel and stand and make the Sign of the Cross. We both receive the Eucharist and live as the body of Christ. We enter the confessional and assume a posture of humility. We are asked to give to the poor as an extension of love and almsgiving. We are actors in salvation history, not audience members.

It is possible to veer far in another direction; but ignorance is not the answer to spectatorship. Information and storytelling are necessary for empathetic connection, for us to love one another truly. I constantly need to remind myself that I must never act as if the world is happening to me instead of something I’m responsible for and living within. 

I no longer can sit and watch. I must have faith, pick up my mat and walk. I want to know the names of my neighbors. I want to bake for my mother more often. I want to call my friends from college who I know are going through periods of suffering and need a familiar voice.

And I know, God will meet me in my action and God’s grace will act upon me.

Imagine if those six hours of daily screen time were allotted to my integration within the world instead of simply observing its horrors and beauties from afar. What I’m asking of myself isn’t simply an act of removal but of true action. This also includes using the information I am privileged enough to know because of the internet to create doable goals.

Because I know more deeply what is happening in the world—including both its horrors and its potential—I am better positioned to work within it. And I can remember that prayer is a form of action, too: I can pray for Epstein victims, for our government, for all who suffer. I can carefully choose where my dollars go and more carefully choose how and with whom I spend my time, speaking with the people in my parish, and genuinely get to know those who are different from me. Technology can become a useful tool if properly wielded. 

The Incarnation is proof that God himself did not save us from a distance. He stepped in to be among his people. And if I’m to imitate Christ, then I cannot sit back and observe. I, too, must engage.

Ariele Lee earned her M.F.A. in writing from Emerson College and has worked in marketing as an art director.