I often wonder what it would be like to purge the unessential from my life. Run without my Garmin. Delete Instagram and cancel my digital NY Times subscription. Trade in my iPhone for a circa-2003 flip phone. Sell my PS5 and abstain from video games forever. Find a way to block YouTube. It’s not that any of these things are inherently bad or without value. They’re just so addictive and unrewarding (the natural analogy being a bag of chips) that I repeatedly find myself cheated out of time (nutrients) better spent elsewhere (remorse from eating entire bag in one sitting).
What would a life free of excessive distraction look like? Would I gladly read for hours on end as I was compelled to in college? Would my writing practice gain the focus I so desperately desire? Would I spend more time and be more present with my family? I’ve been obsessed with the idea that if I could get rid of the superfluous distractions in my life, I would be more intentional and focused in what I chose to do, creating, in turn, more meaning in my life. The needle measuring my existence would be pulled away from the passive toward a more active, purposeful way of living.
I think about this every day, throughout each day, without end. I imagine myself (literally and figuratively) throwing all this stuff out and regaining that wonderful freedom enabled by deficiency.
It’s fair to say there’s much more distraction now than there used to be. Of course, we’ve always found ways to amuse ourselves—TV, radio, supermarket paperbacks, tabloids, drugs, gossip, daydreaming, pretty much any hobby or fleeting interest—but smartphones have altered the paradigm of how we live. Distraction follows us around demanding our attention. I unconsciously glance over at my phone when it’s out. My phone has become an essential utensil when I’m eating breakfast. My thumbs open Instagram moments after closing it. Operating my iPhone is as instinctive as blinking. One look around at all the people slumped over their phones driving distracted, walking blind down the sidewalk, ignoring each other on the train, and filling every bit of free time they have testifies that I’m not alone.
So why can’t I disentangle myself from these devices and services I supposedly hate? That’s the question I keep asking myself.
When it comes to my phone, part of the problem, to an ever-increasing degree, is that not having a smartphone would make day-to-day life much harder. Restaurants use QR codes for menus and ordering. My train pass is on my phone. International calling and texting is free and simple with a smartphone. Music and podcasts and audiobooks pretty much require a smartphone. It’s nice to have a camera with me at all times. It’s an ever-expanding list.
I like knowing how far and fast I’ve run with my Garmin. Instagram is great for keeping up with local businesses and faraway friends. I consistently find articles that excite and challenge the way I think on NY Times. Video games are just plain fun. These are all good things. I just wish I didn’t have to let in the negative with the positive.
I’m searching for a catalyst. Something that will drive me over the edge and push me to give it all up. I’ve come close with seeing the way screen time makes my kids antsy and quick to anger. I fantasize of snapping their iPad in half when they whine for the dozenth time that they want to watch. It’s almost enough to give it all up. Almost.
Would anyone even notice if I took such drastic steps? Certainly no one on Instagram would, just as I don’t notice when other people quit posting (or Meta’s algorithm ceases showing me their posts). No one will care if I watch YouTube or play video games or read the news. I can speak from experience in saying that absolutely no one cares how far I ran last Saturday. No one cares if I read or write more, either, but at least these pursuits will, I hope, make me a better person. I certainly feel better about myself when I devote attention to them.
So much of the unessential exists solely to siphon off as much of our attention as possible. Our time is mined for profit through ad revenue and personal data that can be sold to further refine impenetrable algorithms. These companies only goal, recognizing that they’re in a zero sum contest for our attention, is to make us as addicted, dependent, and distracted as possible. Every moment we’re not using their platforms is nothing more than growth potential on a graph. There’s nothing radical about these statements.
Perhaps I’m naive to believe that life without all this distraction that fills up the vast majority of my free time would be better. Nostalgia, including my longing for a return to life before smartphones and social media, is inherently unreliable. I recently read (…on NY Times) that nostalgia was originally a medical term for homesickness, and I can speak from experience that the homesick person doesn’t think straight. But I also recognize that I’m faced with a choice to let my smartphone and social media control me or give it all up and decide for myself how I want to use my time. There is no happy in-between, at least not for me. It’s all too addictive to ever have a healthy, balanced relationship with it. I need to go cold turkey, I need to try out life without it, I need to find a way to take that first step. I just don’t know how.
The Everyday Essayist 