In the last three weeks my family, like so many others, has fought some strain of influenza. Probably Influenza A. I wasn’t tested for anything, but having heard from friends with the same symptoms who were tested, that was the diagnosis. And as I was laying in bed for three days (with a fever surpassing 105 degrees at one point), well, it may seem obvious to you that what I don't want to do anymore is endure this new kind of frequent and lasting illness we all seem to be susceptible to since the advent of "covid”—but you'd be wrong.
Yeah, it was the sickest I've been in a long time. But in between sleeps I had some time to think about what it really is I don't want to do anymore. And I use the term “think” very loosely here. Did I reach for a book? No. Did I write? No. Did I spend it in prayer or study? No, I literally spent any waking time I had on my phone consuming some kind of content. The opposite of thinking, really. Granted, I didn't have the energy to even pick up my phone the first day, never mind being able to actively produce anything or concentrate on a book. So I'll give myself some slack for day one. But aside from that, there was simply no motivation to break out of phone prison.
I watched videos about people who chronically decluttered their houses (presumably always allowing it to decay for the perpetuation of rage-baiting of content). I finally got around to watching "Threads," a terrifying BBC portrait of the aftermath of nuclear war. I scrolled notes on Substack (the less desirable alternative to reading actual pieces of writing). And, of course, there was an unhealthy dose of Instagram reels.
At the end of three days, I was motivated purely by boredom to get back to my routine, but I lacked the physical ability for almost another week. I didn't feel particularly depressed, but it struck me that, had I had all this down time voluntarily, I probably wouldn't have spent it any differently.
I know that because any time I have voluntary down time... I don't spend it any differently. Okay, I must spend at least some of it productively if I'm writing a Substack and producing music and other such things. Sure, but it's never without a peppering of Youtube, Instagram and Notes. Is there ever a moment unseasoned by distraction?
It doesn’t seem like it. And I don't want to do it anymore. Remember the long stretches of time growing up where we were completely unconcerned with what was going on outside the moment we were present in? Or not knowing most things and having no access to know more things and not being bothered by that? It never crossed our minds that one day we would stop whatever we were doing to google the answer to the most mundane and trivial questions—constantly.
To the Dumb Phone & Back Again
If you've followed me for at least a couple of years, you know that for a while I used the Light Phone II. I signed on to the dumb phone life for about a year and a half. Nobody was glad that I turned every group text into the dreaded green bubble thread, but I got almost more questions about that little gray phone with an ink display than questions about the baby during my pregnancies. People wanted to know what would push a person into dumb phone life and, at the same time, seemed to briefly consider it for themselves.
I explained that it was my attempt to break phone and/or social media addiction. And it did the job. I came to hate notifications, despise all the checking, and dread a full inbox. All that was good. Except, life became more cumbersome in several ways using the Light Phone. That’s no fault of the phone—it did exactly what it was designed to do. I even kept it after switching back to the iPhone in case I ever wanted to go on hardcore mode for another stint.
The dumb phone is an experience I definitely recommend, but I had to return to the iPhone eventually. Partly because I just ended up carrying two phones a lot of the time. The Light Phone created a degree of separation that allowed me to leave the smart phone baggage behind any time. Yet, I rarely did because I wanted the camera with me while I was with friends. (The Light Phone has added a camera to their product since then.) Or, I needed the internet to read a recipe in the kitchen. Or I needed the maps on the iPhone (which I was able to use because the Light Phone came with a hotspot!). I still wanted to listen to Youtube while I did the dishes or folded laundry. Was there anything wrong with that stuff? In most cases, I deemed there was not anything particularly wrong with it.
So, after a year and a half, smart phone hatred achieved, I switched back to the iPhone exclusively—it has been about a year since I switched back. In preparation for the reversion, I read "12 Ways Your Phone is Changing You" by Tony Reinke. The book hardened my resolve on all the reasons I hated using a smart phone, but it also gave me a new list of reasons that I needed to leverage having one. The fine line between the iPhone as a useful tool and the iPhone as a deadly time-suck came down to merely and only my own sense of self-control.
But the value of having this technology was enough to make me try to cultivate that self-control. Being bed-bound gave me the final push I needed to officially acknowledge the not-so-obvious truth: most of what I was compulsively doing on the iPhone was boring anyways. We seem like we are so busy, but what are we doing most of the time with our phones? Checking. Just checking things all the time, constantly expecting something to happen instead of noticing and enjoying all the things happening right in front of us. It’s a boring way to go about life. And I don't want to do boring anymore.
Becoming Bored & Boring and Self-Adoring
Boring is wasting the only fleeting minutes I have alone in the morning checking things and doom-scrolling. Boring is keeping the phone close by all day long just so I can check things when whatever is going on in front of me loses my short attention span. (Can you imagine if in the early 2000s we had all been constantly running to the front door just to check and see if anyone or anything were there??) Boring is not being able to get through a feature length film without checking things. Boring is not being able to eat a meal without checking things and checking out what might entertain me. Boring is carrying this dumb thing around to make sure I can check things, even to the bathroom in case I were to miss something. (I know I’m not alone in this!) And boring is taking it to bed so I can check things and doom-scroll one more time before I go to sleep too late again due to… compulsive checking.
To be boring is to be this tedious creature who only knows how to ring this proverbial Pavlovian bell in any given situation. Sure, the smart phone is made up of many different tools, so we are checking different things, but the point is we can't bear living life one thing at a time anymore. We can’t be satisfied with just one screen now, we have to scroll while we watch. We have to communicate with everyone else while we communicate (or don’t) with the people in the room with us. We have to shop while we eat or mow the grass or sit in the bath tub. And, God help us, we have to record and photograph everything! Consequently, life is increasingly an exercise in multitasking. In fact, we’ve become so conditioned to layering our days to either maximize every moment to be as entertaining as it can possibly be, or to avoid truly being present for anything potentially monotonous, that life begins to fold up like an accordion, becoming shorter and shorter, collapsing on itself. Remember the movie Click? Have we not arrived?
So I was boring because the compulsive checking and consumption of niche content caused me to check out (much like Adam Sandler going on autopilot). And I was bored by anything that didn't cater to my whims. Playing with my kids bored me, cooking bored me, reading couldn't hold my attention anymore, and of course chores became an insurmountable bore. Because there's rarely a quick dopamine hit off a screen. I was boring and bored. And that led to the inevitable: I was self-adoring. If real life wasn’t moving at the pace of an Instagram reel, it lost the privilege of my time and attention. And I’m ashamed to say many of those times it wasn’t an it that lost my attention, but a who. And that slow-paced real life who so much of the time was my kids.
For far too long, I looked at the kids, the chores, the slow life of a wife and mother and thought “I don’t want to do this anymore.” Everything else was boring. But by degrees I’ve been able to flip that after recognizing: it’s not everything else that’s boring—it’s me. I’m the one with my finger on the remote wishing the slowest, least entertaining moments of life away. I don’t want to do this anymore.
Fighting Back
I’m sure I’m not talking to just myself. This has been our generation’s collective and slow descent to self-destruction for the last 20-some odd years. It seems like we’re all sick of it and just too comfortable—and too tired—to start the hard work of reversing course.
The good news is that’s not true and the same generation that has almost single-handedly been taken down by technology is also the one almost single-handedly doing something about it. Small companies like Light Phone or Go Techless are designing products for a growing group of people who are ready to come back to the present and suffer through (and maybe even enjoy) the slow parts of life again without distraction.
I haven’t gone back to a dumb phone, but I have made other attempts since I switched back to the iPhone. My most recent attempt to keep the good without being overtaken by the addicting has been the Brick.
I never found that the time limits within the iPhone were effective—I would just ignore the limits every time they popped up. Plus they only kicked in after I had already set a pre-determined amount of time. But the Brick makes things a little less accessible.
I keep it on my fridge (it’s a magnet) and before I go up the stairs for the night, I tap the Brick, creating a physical barrier between me and every app that might keep me from doing the things I really want to do in the evenings: read to my kids without checking things, connect with my husband without checking, read my own books or write without checking, and, of course, go to sleep without scrolling.
When I wake up, my phone is still a “brick” and I’m not able to lay there and waste the first moments of the day checking things. In order to access social media, the internet browser, Youtube, Substack, and whatever else I’ve blocked, I have to physically go downstairs and tap the Brick again. It’s given me back my mornings and evenings, my sleep and my silence. It could be the perfect compromise for you if you can’t afford to make the leap to a dumb phone or don’t want to.
Make the Best Use of the Time
I’m tired of being sick alright. I’m glad to be well again for however long that lasts. But I’m more tired of being a boring, self-interested person. I want to be well in that respect. I trust most of you do, too.
I wonder what Paul would have thought had he known how his words would apply 2,000 years after he wrote them. No doubt people have always had to fight to make the most of the time they’ve been given. There have always been distractions. But I’m sure he could not have imagined the fight our generation has been facing, a fight to maintain the simplest pieces of the Christian life. Not even to just love God and our neighbor as ourselves. But fighting for the ability to pay attention long enough to love God and our neighbor as ourselves. And thus, his words apply now more than ever:
“Look carefully then how you walk, not as unwise but as wise, making the best use of the time, because the days are evil.” - Ephesians 5:15-16
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