Last year I did the unthinkable; the unconscionable thing that all have said cannot and must not and should not be done. I have climbed into a time machine and set the dial all the way back, all the way back to June 5, 2007. I have warp-speeded back to just before Steve Jobs told us about his new iPhone thing-a-ma-jig.
What a strange and magical object of admiration it was back then, and what a strange and (black) magical thing it has done to us.
Getting rid of your smartphone is not easy but it was worth it for me.
If you’ve ever wondered what happens in the first few week after getting rid of your phone, here’s a little of what I experienced.
If you’re even remotely considering it (good for you), the first thing you must know: You will spend a great deal of time lifting up your hand and staring at your empty palm. You will wonder, Why am I looking at my empty hand? You will think you’re crazy and you will be.
Smartphone withdrawal, the tech detox, is different and yet the same as any other withdrawal, I guess. It is the same as others in that the impulse is the same; you want to reach out, you do reach out, for the cure, a fix, but it’s not there, and you strain to think of other things but your mind is running wild like a bull let out of its pen, rushing ‘round the arena, stomping, pitching in fits, head-throwing, looking for a way out, looking for an answer, looking for something to stab in the heat of the moment.
Your mind will be like a butterfly, a caffeinated butterfly with schizophrenia. You will stare at other people’s phones rudely, over their shoulder, to see what they’re doing, you will lust and drool after pixels, notifications, FOMO, and second guess yourself.
But it’s worth it. Because on the other side of a tech detox, and not just a weekend detox that a lot of people explore, but a real, ditching-it detox, on the other side of that, there is freedom. Unlimited attention freedom. Time to think. Laughing, truly laughing, with your children or nephews or nieces or friends or aunts or uncles or moms or dads without thinking about capturing the moment in a 5-inch prison to be shared at some point online with strangers. That kind of freedom.
It's the kind of freedom I enjoy every day, and the kind I wish for you.