Always On to Fully Present

a healthy vision for modern technology

Hi friends! I wrote this article for a new publication that my friend Nimayi runs called Tusk & Quill. Most of us are struggling with technology in some way or another, whether it’s overworking on the laptop or doomscrolling on the phone. In this piece, I quickly acknowledge that current “solutions” aren’t really working and propose some high-level approaches on how to actually change the game.

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We live in an "always on", hyper-stimulated society. Brainrot and doomscrolling are now a part of our everyday vocabulary. Our minds are fraying, yet we’ve only just started to respond. As a society, our attempts to reclaim our time and attention have been mostly bandaid efforts. These ineffective workarounds assume the status quo, rather than envision bolder, healthier alternatives. Today’s technology requires us to mortgage our attention through notifications, ads, algorithms, and clickbait. But what if it didn’t have to be that way?

I set out to explore the following inquiry: What would it look like if Americans had a healthy, human-centered relationship with technology?

Tech Bandaids Aren’t Enough

There’s never been an era where we have spent so much time staring at screens. Remote work may have peaked during the pandemic, but the digitization of work is a bigger trend. Even hands-on work like healthcare and architecture now happens largely through screens. As more people spend more time behind screens, blurring the boundary between work and non-work, it becomes natural to drift into an 'always-on' state.

In response to the symptoms caused by the frictionless, engagement-maximizing design of smartphones and laptops, new products and businesses have been created to add constraints. An Amazon search for “phone lock box” yields over 2,000 results. A company like Brick sells a 3D-printed plastic cube with an NFC chip inside that blocks apps. They charge $59 for it, and although their sales aren’t public, they have nearly 100,000 Instagram followers, indicating desperation. Big Tech seems to be taking notice. Apple has introduced features like Focus Mode, Screen Time, and App Limits. But these are just bandaids.

The most effective action is to simply delete the apps and deactivate accounts, but that feels like a nuclear option. Although I care very little about keeping my Instagram followers updated with my life and likes no longer have so much weight on me, I still like to know what people are up to and sometimes I use the app to message people. I feel similarly for LinkedIn and X, I enjoy and get value from these platforms, but I also get sucked in easily, waste time, and often see content that I don’t care for or find nourishing.

So I’ve kept experimenting, trying to find a sustainable middle ground. I’ve used Brick, deleted apps, switched to black-and-white mode to dull the visuals, and even installed a Chrome extension that blocks all feeds. What seems to work best is staying signed out of all of these platforms and only logging in when I have something specific to post or check, but even then, it’s so easy to get sucked in. I tell myself that I’m redownloading Instagram just to share photos from a recent backpacking trip and 20 minutes later I’m lost in Reels.

It seems like we’ve been given two bad options: perma-delete and reclaim our attention, or try to use tech intentionally, but eventually cave.

Principles for Healthy, Humane Tech

If we were given the opportunity to reset the playing field and reimagine a healthier tech landscape, then it would start from reflecting on what we truly want as users. Crucially, we would want to think through these design principles and desired outcomes from a mindful, well-resourced place, rather than while we’re mid-doomscroll. In the following section, I outline some principles for designing tech products that I would want myself, as I seek to cultivate a healthier relationship with technology.

Minimum Viable Medium (MVM)

Short-form video might be the most "engaging" format, but engaging isn't the same as meaningful. As a consumer, I don't want to spend most of my time there. A healthier principle is what I call Minimum Viable Medium: match the fidelity of the medium to the importance of the relationship.

Different mediums serve different purposes. Text, image, voice, and video each come with varying levels of information and stimulation. Text is efficient but flat. Images add context, and voice carries emotion. Video demands everything: our eyes, ears, and full attention.

Dunbar's number tells us we can only maintain about 150 meaningful relationships, with our innermost circle containing just five people. We also know that we all have a finite amount of attention, not how long we can focus, but how much we can process. There's only so much we can process in a day before we're depleted.

Given these constraints, we ought to allocate our tech usage according to the importance of our relationships. Yet we do the opposite. We text our best friend across the country, compressing years of friendship into brief responses, then stare at TikTok videos from strangers for hours. Talking to a friend over the phone conveys so much more than texting back and forth, yet when was the last time we actually spontaneously called? Meanwhile, the predominant medium of short form video rarely conveys any depth or meaning. It's so easy to forget what you saw five videos ago.

The perversion goes deeper. We're literally giving money to influencers on the internet who don't know we exist, while our real relationships subsist on emoji reactions. We have shallow relationships with the people who matter most, and parasocial relationships with people who don't know our names.

In a society with healthy tech usage, people would match the fidelity of the medium to the importance of the relationship. Your inner five people would get voice notes and video calls. Your close friends would hear your actual laugh, not just "lmao." That acquaintance from work? A text is fine. Random strangers on the internet? It's not healthy to watch rapid-fire videos of irrelevant people. If there's no personal connection at all, text would be better. As content becomes more relevant to you, maybe it could gradually increase in fidelity. A blog you've followed for years might earn the occasional video, but not every random account deserves your full sensory attention.

With AI, this kind of intelligent filtering is increasingly possible. I could send a voice note that you receive as text if you're in a meeting, or vice versa. We have the tools to deepen real connections while filtering out the noise. The question is whether we'll use technology to strengthen the relationships that matter, or continue letting it scatter our attention across thousands of strangers who will never know our names.

Separation of Work and Personal

In the past, boundaries were built into the tools themselves. You left the desktop computer at the office. You dropped the briefcase by the door before heading out for date night. Now, the office follows us everywhere. Even if you mute notifications, the cultural pressure to respond or the sheer habit of checking keeps the lines blurred.

Our tools have become too multipurpose, trying to be everything to everyone at all times. The same screen that shows us our child’s photo also delivers quarterly reports. The same notification sound that announces a friend’s message also heralds a client’s urgent request.

The real opportunity is to design technology that respects context. For example, a personal mode that doesn’t just silence work apps but makes them vanish, so there’s no temptation to check in. Imagine time-based profiles that automatically shift your phone’s interface, with different wallpaper, app arrangements, and notification permissions depending on whether it is Tuesday at 2 PM or Saturday at 2 PM. The same principle applies in reverse. During the workday, I want to configure apps like Instagram to be inaccessible so that it’s easier for me to focus.

Separation matters because it lets us be fully where we are. To end the work day without the subtle tug to check email and Slack one last time before going to bed. To focus deeply on work without the impulse to check Instagram. Our tools should make these boundaries possible instead of eroding them. Of course, there’s an argument about willpower and just trying harder to resist temptation, but shouldn't we have tech options that align with our long-term well-being rather than tempting us in directions we have to fight against?

Single Purpose Tools

For most of human history, we did not live tethered to an always-on, attention-demanding machine. Today, many of us are intertwined with not just one but two devices: the phone and the laptop. They’re often the first things we touch in the morning and the last things we check before bed.

It’s remarkable that so many functions have been bundled into just two devices. The first iPhone felt magical, with a camera, flashlight, calculator, and calendar all contained in one. But has the pendulum swung too far? These days, I find myself dodging my own phone. In the morning I half-squint at the screen, trying to open my meditation app without catching the unread texts that pull me into someone else’s urgency. At the gym, I set an app blocker for an hour so I won’t get sucked into consuming content between sets. I want music while I lift, but that’s all I need it for. Sometimes I stash my bag in one place just so I can roam from machine to machine with my AirPods still connected, keeping the phone out of reach.

Technology works best when it feels like a tool we’re in control of, not one we have to wrestle or run away from. We use forks for some foods and spoons for others. We have dull knives to spread jam and sharp knives to cut watermelon. Each tool serves a specific purpose. The way we use our devices today is closer to running around with an oversized sharp knife for every task.

The rise of band-aid solutions like app blockers and phone lockboxes shows how much people crave tools that are less multipurpose and more intentional. I’m not saying we should go back to carrying a flashlight, calculator, and MP3 player in our pockets, but that we should be thoughtful about what to unbundle next. We already have the Kindle for books and Whoop for recovery. What use case might be next? Maybe an audio-first device that handles both guided meditations in the morning and workout playlists at the gym, so I can stay away from notifications and distractions during vital moments of the day. Or a lightweight navigation device that’s built for biking and hiking outdoors that guides me while allowing me to actually “unplug”. These kinds of purpose-built tools wouldn’t replace the smartphone, but they would make it easier to stay present and allow us to engage with unread texts and email when we actually choose to.

Embodied User Experience

Cigarettes needed warning labels and gruesome images addictive design overwhelmed individual willpower. Juul’s design slipped into high schools because its sleek design made it easy to hide, until it was effectively banned. Tech isn’t a drug, but the lesson still applies: when products are addictive by design, it’s unrealistic to expect individual restraint to carry the weight.

A healthier path is to build devices that move with our natural rhythms and respond to our self-directed goals. What if there was a phone that recognizes when you’ve been staring at the screen for thirty minutes and slowly darkens into a vignette until you put it down. Or a device that shifts with your circadian cycles, nudging you toward rest instead of keeping you wired late into the night. Even subtle embodied cues could help: a phone that vibrates in a steady heartbeat rhythm to remind you to pause, or one that slows its responsiveness when it senses fatigue. These cues make health tangible instead of leaving it up to constant self-management.

Technology should serve us, not sedate us. When I open YouTube or Instagram, I might genuinely want to see that first video or post. But by the fifth autoplayed clip, it’s no longer clear whether I’m choosing or being carried along. The line between agency and sedation is thin, and the current defaults are designed to keep us maximally engaged and minimally aware.

We were promised seamless personalization that adapts to our needs, but instead all we got was hyper-targeted ads. I can drag icons around my phone or bury the addictive apps a few pages back, but that’s trivial compared to what’s possible. Our devices know us in staggering detail, yet the only real personalization use cases are in advertising and eCommerce. What if that same intelligence was redirected toward our health, focus, and flourishing?

It would be great I could set an objective for myself, whether it is the number of pickups per day, the total hours of screen time, or how focused I want to feel. My phone should help me design a plan to reach that goal. It could show me where I am spending the most time and then take action: blocking certain apps during work hours, dimming the screen at night, or inserting pauses when I have scrolled too long. LLMs make this level of personalization more feasible than ever. The same algorithms that predict what will capture our attention could just as easily support what we choose for ourselves.

The point isn’t just to take breaks. Watching TikTok for ten hours with pauses in between doesn’t move the needle. Health-first design would help us actually downshift, aligning technology with natural cycles of rest and activation, and preventing us from flooding our nervous systems with constant stimulation. If we can’t always use our devices mindfully, then our devices should help us be more mindful.

We deserve the ability to customize our devices at a deeper level, not just rearranging icons but shaping the very defaults that guide how we relate to them. Right now, the richest person in the world and someone working paycheck to paycheck both use the same basic phone. This is an incredible equalizer, but it also leaves a lot of possibility on the table. If we can dream bigger, our devices can become real copilots in the lives we want to create, rather than constant tests of our willpower.

Aligned Incentives

Of all the principles for healthy, humane tech, this might be the most important and the most challenging to implement. Today's fundamental problem is simple: the incentives between tech companies and individual humans are misaligned. Instagram makes more money when I spend more time on the app, but maximizing my time there isn't what I want, even if my doomscrolling behavior suggests otherwise. If you asked me in a mindful, well-resourced moment, I'd tell you I only want to see content from people I actually follow, and even then, only posts that are interesting and relevant to me.

We're already seeing the emergence of attention inequality. Netflix and YouTube offer paid tiers without ads. Spotify Premium removes interruptions. Wealthy families buy their kids Light Phones and send them to screen-free schools, while everyone else gets the full force of the attention economy. We're creating two classes: wealthy kids with healthy nervous systems and normal focus abilities, and poor kids with ADHD. It’s Black Mirror vibes and it’s already happening.

The path forward requires business models where companies become accountable to us as customers rather than to advertisers buying our attention. When we pay for something directly, the incentives shift. Substack and Patreon already demonstrate how creators and consumers can connect without engagement metrics driving the relationship.

But we need more radical changes. At minimum, we should control our own algorithms. Imagine choosing between an algorithmic feed and a chronological feed of just the people you follow. Better yet, what if you could fine-tune your own algorithm? "Show me 80% content from people I know, 20% discovery." or "Prioritize text over video." Right now, these algorithms are black boxes designed to maximize watch time.

The deeper issue isn't just ads or algorithms in isolation. It's that we're consuming too much content overall, and it's from junk food sources. We're drowning in high-fidelity videos from strangers instead of simple messages from friends. Even if I could perfectly control my algorithm, if I'm still watching three hours of content from people I don't know, the problem persists.

This shift requires us to fundamentally reorient what we're paying for. When I see content I didn't ask for from accounts I don't follow, it's functionally identical to seeing an ad; it's an unwanted intrusion on my attention. The true cost of "free" platforms isn't just the ads themselves but the entire architecture of distraction they create. Until we make this cost visible and start pricing it accordingly, we'll remain stuck in a system where our attention is the product being sold, and our wellbeing is collateral damage.

A More Human Future

When I dream of a different life with technology, I see myself waking to gentle light, not my phone's nuclear warning sound. I meditate without devices, or maybe use an audio device built specifically for listening, not scrolling. During the day, my phone hides distractions behind real friction. A truly smart smartphone would triage messages: my mom or girlfriend's calls come through immediately, but my friend's meme can wait until 5pm. Work apps stay in work mode from 9 to 5, then disappear. I’ve never wished I could access Slack at 2pm on a Saturday.

This future feels within reach. LLMs are making software cheaper to build, and the opportunity to build healthier social applications is more accessible than ever. What matters most is recognizing that we already have the means to be more ambitious with our relationship to technology. We don't have to wait for the stars to align before building better.

We've normalized "brainrot" and "doomscrolling," but what if we cultivated brain bloom instead? The productivity world talks about building a "second brain," but that barely scratches what's possible. Brain bloom isn't about storing more information or being more productive. It's about technology that prioritizes healthy nervous systems over constant stimulation. It's about fostering real connection between humans instead of parasocial relationships with strangers. It's about enhancing what makes us uniquely human: our ability to imagine, sense, create, and be present with each other.

Right now, our devices are making us less human: more distracted, more isolated, more anxious. But technology also has the potential to make us more human: more present, more connected, more ourselves. The tools and knowledge exist today. The choice is ours.

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P.S. I’m a coach.
I help ambitious people find work that matters, design their version of the good life, and foster a healthy relationship with technology. If that sounds interesting to you, learn more here.