“We no longer memorise phone numbers or passwords, emergencies no longer feel as risky with instant access to help, and getting lost has become almost impossible with maps guiding every turn,” writes PAUL DORIN. 

Humans once carried entire microcosms of our lives in leather wallets and purses, with crumpled receipts, expired coupons and loyalty cards all jostling for space.

The once-proud purse, stuffed to the brim, has been quietly demoted. The once-bulky wallet, threatening to throw your spine out, didn’t die dramatically; it simply thinned.

First the loyalty cards disappeared, then the photos tucked into plastic sleeves, and eventually, even the notes themselves vanished.

Much of that chaos has migrated into our phones. Once, standing at a checkout counter was an archaeological expedition: you dug through your pockets, carefully extracting the correct coins, praying that the fragile tower of change didn’t collapse. Coins clinked, slid, and tumbled in a jangling symphony of small economies.

Now, it’s instantaneous, tap-and-go: almost magical. The ritual of reaching, rifling and counting is gone, replaced by a sleek, frictionless convenience. We’ve traded the satisfying chaos of coins for digital order, and perhaps a slightly looser grip on what anything actually costs.

And yet, even as our pockets grow lighter, our minds bear a different kind of lightness. We no longer memorise phone numbers or passwords, emergencies no longer feel as risky with instant access to help, and getting lost has become almost impossible with maps guiding every turn.

Even as we gain time, we’ve lost it. Access to multiple apps brings a constant parade of notifications, dings, buzzes or pings, each demanding our attention and training us to check our pockets every few minutes.

Everywhere you look, heads are down, absorbed in their phones, answering messages, scrolling. Meanwhile, somewhere out there, someone is still waiting for a “like”… and we’re making sure they don’t have to wait long.

Let’s not forget the modern panic: leaving the house without your phone. I don’t even exist if I can’t be reached. No way to pay, no maps, no messages, no music, no way to take a selfie and prove you bumped into a celebrity.

Our ancestors crossed oceans with less anxiety, and here we are, stranded at the end of the driveway.

And now, the tether isn’t just in our pockets. Our wrists buzz a subtle vibration, someone needing our attention. Watches pay for things, alert us to messages, track heart rates and steps, and much more, all without lifting a finger.

Emails are efficient, cheap and instant, but the buzz of a notification just doesn’t compare to the quiet excitement of the postie delivering the day’s mail. The biggest benefit, I suppose, is that nothing piles up on the kitchen table any more – just my inbox, a little less visibly judgmental.

Maybe that’s the trade we’ve made without really noticing: less weight to carry, more weight on our attention.

Everything is faster, easier, smoother and yet somehow thinner. And while I wouldn’t give up the convenience, I can’t help but wonder if, in clearing the clutter, we’ve also cleared away something we didn’t mean to lose.

Paul Dorin is the CityNews cartoonist.