#34: Put it down for once 📱
the most common addiction (and it’s not caffeine)
“We admitted we were powerless over our phones — that our lives had become unmanageable.”
I scrambled together all my stuff without taking the time to pack it neatly in my bag: camera, sunscreen, snorkel, water bottle, and of course, snacks for the drive. I almost burned myself as I opted to bring a Yeti mug of piping hot coffee with me, but at least I didn’t forget anything. I was stoked to play the role of adventure guide for my friends who had just flown in the night before. In order to squeeze in everything on our packed North Shore itinerary, we needed to depart from Honolulu early and we were already behind schedule. With notifications completely disabled on my phone, I didn’t see the “We’re here” text until 4 minutes later.
While waiting for what felt like an eternity for the elevator to arrive on the 15th floor, I reached into my left pocket to shoot a “omw” text that always gets autocorrected to “On my way!” As I waddled into the elevator cab with my cornucopia of adventure gear, I felt something slip out of my finger tips. I looked down expecting to see my phone waiting patiently for me, but instead I just heard cling clang. The elevator doors closed and I let out an involuntary “oh shit!”. With my face flushed with adrenaline, I agonized in silence as the elevator descended.
My phone had miraculously oriented itself in the perfect position to fall through the crack. All the way down the elevator shaft. Objectively, losing your fancy iPhone is a first world problem, but at that moment, it felt existential. Could you blame me? Nowadays, these sophisticated hunks of metal contain our wealth, identity, memories, and if you spend enough time online, relationships.
I got into the rental car with a droopy face, but I wasn’t about to derail our entire plan. After all, my friends were visiting for just a few days and you don’t need a phone to catch waves or look at cute rainbow fish underwater. Not even five minutes after we embarked, I found myself surrounded by a bunch of zombies glued to their screens. Even the friend who was driving would occasionally check the route on Google Maps or change the song on Spotify. I was only able to observe because I no longer had a brain drain rectangle of my own. We spent the whole day on the North Shore surfing, eating, and hiking. I remember wishing I had my phone to snap pics of the mouth-watering poké at Haleiwa no. 7 or the shimmering Milky Way at Ka’ena Point , but I also noticed that on this day, the food seemed to taste just a little better and the stars seemed to shine just a little brighter.
Scrunched over my laptop, I could see the status of my fallen companion on Find My iPhone. Day after day, I would helplessly watch the battery life decline. Maybe it was my frugality that told me to wait for the monthly elevator maintenance instead of accepting defeat and trudging to the Apple store. But I’d like to think it was that first blissful North Shore day that gave me the courage to continue living without a phone. Without the itchy distractions in my periphery, I was free to tunnel vision on being present and having fun. One day turned to two, and two days ended up turning into 40 days without a phone.
It sounds obvious, but when you don’t have a phone, you start to notice moments when you’d normally check your phone. In the bathroom. Standing in front of the microwave. At a red light. I realized that I had been checking my phone at every possible break, leaving no room for creativity to breathe. Before my mind had a chance to settle, I would self-inflict myself with stimulation. Once I became used to lighter pockets and a lighter mind, I noticed my field of awareness gradually expanding. Without my eyes glued to the screen, I could see my surroundings. Without my mind distracted by social media, I could feel my emotions.
I assumed these lapses of time that were previously filled with screen-scrolling would be converted into mundane boredom. I was wrong. Instead of mindlessly rotating through the same five apps, I would use the blips of waiting to think. Sometimes the insights were mundane. I’d remember to text back a friend or buy more bananas. But other times, out of nowhere, two disparate ideas would fuse together and meld into creative insight.
That period of digital detachment was the most zen I’ve felt in recent years. Without social media reminding me of the past and the calendar showing me the future, I could remain fully present. Now that I have my phone back (yes, that same phone and yes, it still works), on any given day, the less I use my phone, the more active, present, and fulfilled I am.
Through my own experience and worrisome mental health trends, I’m convinced phones are evil. They’re not going to turn into Transformers and try to kill us, but they will get in the way of every single one of our deepest pursuits. We’re facing an uphill battle. It’s us, the individual, vs. thousands of Silicon Valley product designers. Every millimeter of the phone and every pixel of the app’s UI is designed for us to use it more. Resisting the urge to use it goes against the grain.
From that initial day on the North Shore of Oahu, I felt a surge in presence akin to the colorblind experiencing vibrancy for the first time. Hopefully, my unplanned forty days of zen is compelling enough for you to try it for just one.
If you’re truly still not convinced, just read the quote in the beginning again and realize that it should say “alcohol” instead of “our phones”. This is Step 1 of Alcoholics Anonymous.
Do more things that make you forget to check your phone.
P.S. It’s easier to use your phone less when it looks like this:
Thanks to Neida Gagné, Vincent Tam, Rick McClelland, Rychelle Moses, Sean Murphy for reviewing earlier versions of this essay 🙏
This is great. I feel seen!
a friend of mine dropped his phone the same way!