Originally posted to the Get Todd Substack here.

Thank you Todd Schowalter for this insightful commentary, it deserved a reprint!

I recently made a bold life decision that, in today’s America, required a level of courage usually associated with mountain climbing or running with the bulls. I took a three-day break from the mainstream news.

Not because I was seeking spiritual growth. Not because I wanted inner peace. Mostly because I had reached a point where every television screen in America seemed to be screaming “BREAKING NEWS!” every six minutes, and I was beginning to suspect that if everything is breaking, eventually the nation runs out of things to break.

So I unplugged. No cable news. No political websites. No social media. No “urgent” updates informing me that unnamed sources had concerns about people reacting to reports concerning developing situations involving individuals familiar with matters.

For three glorious days I existed like a normal human being. I sat outside. I spoke to family members. I ate meals without hearing that democracy itself was hanging by a thread because of comments someone made on a podcast hosted by a guy with a beard.

And I have to tell you, it was wonderful.

Birds were singing. The sun still came up. Neighborhood dogs continued performing their official duties of barking at leaves and invisible threats. For a brief period I remembered what life felt like before every moment of human existence became a potential “media event.”

Then I came back.

And apparently I had missed absolutely nothing.

The exact same people were discussing the exact same subjects with the exact same expressions of concern they had when I left. The same television hosts were leaning dramatically toward the camera as if they had personally just witnessed a meteor strike. The same experts sat around giant video screens looking deeply alarmed.

Then I saw it:

“BREAKING NEWS.”

I thought, Finally. Something happened.

But after listening carefully, I discovered that Donald Trump had said something that caused somebody to respond to another person who had reacted to a previous statement concerning an earlier thing involving Trump.

That was apparently the breaking news.

Not aliens. Not giant mutant squirrels seizing control of Congress. Just another variation of the same political discussion that has apparently been running continuously since roughly the invention of electricity.

Then came the panel discussion. Cable news absolutely loves panels because nothing says “urgent national emergency” like six people arranged in tiny boxes all nodding gravely while speaking over one another.

I realized I had seen this exact conversation before.

Not a similar conversation.

The exact conversation.

Possibly last week.

Possibly three years ago.

Possibly during the Carter administration.

At this point, cable news has become the television equivalent of one of those decorative fireplaces you buy at Costco. It creates movement. It creates noise. It gives the appearance that something important is happening. But if you stare at it long enough, you eventually realize nothing is actually occurring except electricity being consumed.

The phrase “BREAKING NEWS” itself no longer appears to have any real meaning. Years ago, “breaking news” meant a major event had happened. Today it means, “Please do not leave the room while we spend the next seven hours discussing this tweet.”

I actually experienced something similar years ago involving Top 40 radio.

I stopped listening.

Not for three days.

For ten years.

A full decade.

During this period, entire technologies were invented. Children grew into adults. Pluto was promoted, demoted, and emotionally devastated. Humanity developed phones capable of containing all known information in history and decided to use them primarily to argue with strangers and photograph sandwiches.

Then one day I turned on Top 40 radio.

And I nearly drove into a ditch.

Because they were playing the same songs.

Not remakes.

Not tribute versions.

The SAME songs.

I half expected the DJ to come on and say, “Coming up next, here’s exciting newcomer Journey, followed by this hot new artist named Billy Joel.”

Ten years had passed and radio had apparently looked around and decided, “Let’s not get carried away.”

That is when I realized something important about modern media. It has secretly become one of those moving walkways at the airport.

You step onto it and everything feels urgent. There’s movement. Activity. People are rushing around carrying bags and looking stressed. You feel like tremendous progress is being made.

But then you step off for a few days, look back, and realize nobody actually went anywhere.

They’re all standing in exactly the same place.

Only now there are more graphics.

Louder music.

And, of course, more BREAKING NEWS.