My Evolving Information Habits
When Spectrum was still Time Warner Cable, my mom, sister, our kittens, Adam and Lexi, and I would watch our local news channel, New York 1 NYC. It’s still ingrained in my memory because New York 1 was on channel one. Something about that made it feel even more significant, like it was the first thing we should be watching each morning. It was just there, a constant part of our routine, almost like a family member.
We never officially acknowledged it, but always expected it to be there.
We were never really a “breakfast in the morning” family, but we almost always watched the news. It played in the living room while my sister and I got ready for school (she always took longer). The 8 AM time check became a daily reminder of how late we were. It wasn’t just a time check; it was an unspoken alarm clock and the moment we all knew we had to start rushing. If I saw “It’s 8 AM” on the television and I was still in pajamas, I knew I was in trouble. My sister somehow never seemed to care. It was like a race we lost every morning, but the 8 AM marker was always there, predictable and, in a weird way, an almost comforting warning. It was a reminder that no matter how chaotic our morning routine was, some things stayed the same.
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Every morning, we watched our favorite anchors, Pat and Jamie, the weather, local stories, a photo segment from Twitter, and political issues I didn’t understand. The routine felt safe, familiar, and even if I wasn’t fully paying attention to every segment, the voices of Pat and Jamie were background music to our morning chaos. There was something reassuring about the consistency of it all. The way they read the news with steady voices made everything seem manageable, even when the world seemed unpredictable. Even when things felt out of control—missed homework, a lost shoe, a forgotten permission slip—New York 1 stayed the same.
Like all city kids, I got older, our kittens became cats, and I started walking myself to school. Our “New York 1” mornings happened less often. Even when we watched the nightly news, it wasn’t the same. My sister and I weren’t rushing out the door at the same time anymore, and my mom wasn’t reminding us to hurry up while keeping half an eye on the screen. The news was still happening, but our connection to it had changed. It had shifted from something that shaped our daily routine to something we watched in passing, no longer the soundtrack of our mornings.
Right before the COVID-19 lockdown, we started watching again because, like everyone else, we weren’t sure what was happening. The uncertainty was terrifying. My mom, especially, was glued to the TV, deep in “zombie apocalypse mode.” NYC was an early epicenter, and the fear moved into our crowded apartment with mountains of toilet paper and pasta. The shelves at the grocery store were empty, people were wiping down their groceries with disinfectant wipes, and suddenly, New York 1 wasn’t just background noise—it was our only source of information in a world that felt completely out of control.
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The same news we once casually watched now felt overwhelming. The anchors, still the same people I had grown up watching, now delivered reports about death tolls, rising cases, and hospitals running out of space. The news wasn’t a comfortable ritual anymore; it was a relentless cycle of anxiety. Every update felt like another reason to stay inside, another reminder that life as we knew it had paused indefinitely. And then, one day, we turned it off and never turned it back on.
At first, it felt strange, like we were doing something wrong. But over time, the silence created space for something else—music, dancing, and conversations we hadn’t realized we needed. The world outside kept moving, but inside our apartment, we reclaimed something important: peace. Without the constant influx of information, we could breathe again. I don’t watch the news on TV anymore, but I still get news through social media and my friends. It’s not the same, though. The ritual of watching it, the voices of Pat and Jamie, the 8 AM rush is something I still miss. There’s something about a shared experience that can’t be replicated through endless scrolling.
When I got to college, I started getting more interested in local news, more specifically, sports news, following the Buffalo Bills. Before college, I wasn’t really into sports or football, but when you live in a place with a strong fanbase, it’s hard not to be. Bills football isn’t just a game here; it’s a way of life. People paint their porches red and blue, tailgating starts before sunrise, and entire conversations revolve around whether Josh Allen will finally take them all the way. Even if you don’t care about football, you end up caring by default. It’s a city-wide obsession, and it’s contagious.
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At first, my interest started with curiosity. I wanted to understand what everyone was talking about so I wouldn’t feel left out. But then, something shifted. I started watching post-game breakdowns on YouTube, keeping up with the draft, and following sports analysts. The way I consumed news changed. Instead of passively watching boring headlines scroll across a screen, I was looking at news in ways I never had before. I was actively searching for information, comparing different sources, and engaging in conversations about it. I wasn’t just absorbing news—I was part of the discussion, shaping my own opinions based on what I read and watched.
This shift in my news consumption is a good example of the habits of my generation. In Swipe, Watch, Share: Unlocking Gen Z News Consumption Habits, it explains, “Gen Z craves content that is informative but also engaging and shareable.” Unlike my old mornings with New York 1, sports news felt interactive. I could join discussions, react in real time, and even add to the conversation instead of just watching from a distance. The way we interact with information has changed, and with it, the way we form connections with the world around us.
Following sports news also made me think about how information is presented. One thing I noticed is how different news sources frame the same story. Some overhype a minor injury while others predict trade rumors without much evidence. The way a story is told can shape how people react to it, which made me wonder how much of what we see in the news is influenced by the way it’s framed. It’s not just about the facts—it’s about how those facts are packaged, what’s emphasized, and what’s left out.
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This realization relates to ideas in the AAAS article “Dissecting Racial Bias in an Algorithm Used to Manage the Health of Populations”. The study found that “Black patients assigned the same level of risk by the algorithm are sicker than White patients,” proving how biases in data collection and interpretation can have really serious consequences. While the stakes in sports news aren’t nearly as high, the same idea is there. The way data is collected, analyzed, and presented shapes the way a lot of people perceive reality. The Bills’ media coverage showed me how narratives can be created not just in sports, but in all news. It made me more skeptical, more aware of how stories are spun and who benefits from certain narratives.
Looking back, my journey with news has gone from passive consumption to genuine active engagement. From morning routines with New York 1 to social media sports updates, I’ve learned that how we get our news shapes how we think about the world. The standard way of watching news as a family created a shared experience, but news through social media allows for personalization and interaction in ways that didn’t really exist before. But while social media gives me control over what I see, I also know how easy it is to fall into an echo chamber, only consuming information that reinforces my own views.
I still don’t watch TV news like I did as a kid, but I think I engage with news more deeply than ever before. Whether it’s football stats or policy debates, I’ve realized that the way I consume information matters. And maybe, just maybe, that 8 AM marker still exists—only now, it’s not a time check on the screen, but a reminder to stay curious, engaged, and always questioning the stories I see online.
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The evolution of my relationship with news reflects a larger shift happening everywhere. People aren’t just consuming news the way they used to; they’re interacting with it, challenging it, and choosing what matters to them. In a world where information is constantly at our fingertips, it’s easy to get lost in the noise. But if there’s one thing my childhood mornings with New York 1 taught me, it’s that news is more than just facts—it’s about the way we connect to the world, and to each other. And maybe that connection, no matter how it evolves, is what really matters.
