via The New Yorker
I have spent the last several weeks without my phone tethered to my side, and I need to tell you, it has been glorious.
Not in a dramatic, life-altering, let’s-sell-everything-and move-to-a-cave-in-the-woods sort of way. Just quietly, steadily better.
I started small. Leaving it in the bedroom while I drank my coffee. Tossing it in my bag and not reaching for it while moving through the day. Letting it exist somewhere nearby but not on me, not glowing, not asking anything of me.
This gave me a lot of anxiety at first.
Someone texted me, and they’re going to think I’m ignoring them. So and so texted again. They definitely think I’m ignoring them. What if it’s urgent? What if I’m missing something? Am I being rude?
It took about a week and a half to realize something very simple. This is not my problem.
We have collectively agreed—without actually agreeing to it—that we are available at all times. That every message deserves an immediate response. That silence, even for an hour, is suspicious. And I just… opted out.
Nothing bad happened. No one’s life unraveled because I answered later or the next day. The world did not end because I was unreachable for a stretch of time. The texts I feared could be urgent were not.
What did happen is I got my attention back. And once my attention was mine, everything else followed.
I started doing things that have been sitting quietly on the sidelines of my mind for months.
I deep-cleaned my house. Which, I have to say, was both difficult and highly satisfying. I deep-cleaned and organized parts of my big garden and I had been politely ignoring for an embarrassing amount of time. I built things with my own two hands, slowly and imperfectly, but completely.
I returned to reading and writing more. Not skimming or paying half-attention while checking on something else, but actually reading. Letting my mind stay there, undisturbed.
I’ve leaned into small rituals of self-care. Longer showers. Skincare that’s not rushed. Taking the time to get dressed and trying new outfits. Making a real breakfast. Moving more slowly in the mornings. Letting things take the time they take.
I’ve spent more time with my family in a way that feels undistracted. Conversations that stretch. Details obtained and remembered. Moments that aren’t interrupted by the impulse to check something, respond to something, or appease a short attention span by scrolling. There has been connection in a way that I didn’t really realize had been missing until I got it back again.
Work has expanded in a way where I’m accomplishing more than I did before. I’ve been more present and focused on the task in front of me rather than splitting my attention or getting distracted and pulled away in different directions.
And Instagram—honestly, Instagram who?
I cannot tell you how long that app has had a strange, low-grade hold over me. Not in a way that I enjoyed, but out of habit. Boredom. Pick up phone, tap icon, scroll, repeat. I don’t get on for days now. Days! And it’s fucking incredible. I don’t miss it. And when I do get on, I’m off within a few minutes because I’d rather be doing something else.
There’s actual data behind these claims, which makes it all feel a little less anecdotal and a little more alarming. The average person checks their phone between 90 and 150 times a day. That’s once every ten minutes or so. Screen time reports regularly clock in at between 3 and 5 hours daily. Studies have been linked to increased anxiety, decreased attention span, and disrupted sleep. This figure is startling. Even more startling is that most of us have been aware of this for years, but continue justifying our phone addiction while complaining about our anxieties and not having any time. I definitely did.
It’s not that technology is inherently bad. It’s that it’s constant. And anything constant becomes pressure. Expectation. A subtle anxiety that we should be checking, responding, looking, knowing, and refreshing. And if we don’t, oddly, we feel behind or like we’re missing out on something big. We’re not.
Putting the phone down will not fix all of your problems, but it removes that hum. And in its place is something much quieter, something much more yours.
I’m not saying that I won’t be on my phone, on social media, or online. Of course I will. But things felt different for me over the past few weeks, and gave me some perspective.
I don’t have anything revolutionary to offer here. No system, no rules, no rigid boundaries.
Just this:
Try leaving your phone in the other room when you’re at home. Leave it in your bag while you’re out. Go about your day without it in your hand, by your side, or in your pocket.
It is allowed.
You are allowed not to respond immediately. You are allowed to not be reachable at all times. You are allowed to move through your day without documenting it, interrupting it, or reaching for it.
The addiction is real. That part is undeniable. It’s kind of miraculous how quickly things shift once you create even a small amount of space from it.
I wanted my time back. And without much ceremony, I took it.