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Two weeks ago, my phone fell from my pocket into a toilet.
After the unpleasant moments that followed—shouting “nonononononononono” to the alarm of the woman about to enter the bathroom (did I mention this happened at my office?), a daring aquatic rescue, hasty drying and cleaning, and frantic Googling—I resigned myself to the fact that my smartphone and I had come to the end of our time together.
And so, I spent a week without a phone. In many ways, it was a normal week: I worked, I relaxed a bit, I went for a run, I spent time with the people in my life, I commuted from Brooklyn to Manhattan and back again.
But in other ways, it was unlike any other week I’ve lived in the past several years.
Here are a few of my takeaways from a week without a phone:
The Good
Not being reachable gave me an immediate sense of relief. I realized how much time I spend in contact with other people—and therefore how little time I spend with my own thoughts. The impulse to optimize is practically irresistible; for so many of us, there is a sense that we must extract maximum productivity out of every “spare” moment.
Freed from that work and unable to optimize, I realized how much I’d missed the lightness of walking out the door with no actionable work along with me. One weekend day, I took a walk in a park and felt more untethered than I had in ages. I walked along a wide boulevard of trees, their leaves the fresh green of late spring, a few blossoms still in flower, listening to the birdsong and the wind rustling the branches, and had no choice but to simply be in that moment.
And even the smaller moments of being were pleasurable. Sitting at a table in a restaurant while the friend I’m dining with visits the restroom is typically when I cram in a few work emails or personal texts, or peek at social media. Without a phone, I couldn’t help but notice how much we use our phones as a distraction or an escape from our own heads.
Everything brought me back, inevitably, to the present moment, like water finding its way downhill. When I saw an unusual piece of street art and wanted to take a picture, I had to simply take in the sight and enjoy it until I walked away. When I thought of a joke and wanted to share it with a friend, I had to enjoy it myself and let it fade from my memory. Every walk I took made me feel like a tourist, more attuned to what was around me.
The Bad
This week of introspection and freedom was also one of the more frustrating weeks I’ve experienced. One evening, I left work to meet a friend for dinner, certain I knew the restaurant we were meeting at in Brooklyn, only to wander around like Ellen Burstyn in Requiem for a Dream, totally disoriented and with no way to figure out if I was on the right track. I had to ask a couple different people for help before I got pointed in the right direction, and arrived to meet my very patient friend half an hour late. I was more careful after that, but even going to places I’ve been before, I discovered how much I lean on that little map with its moving blue dot telling me which way I’m heading.
And while I enjoyed the liberation I felt from social obligation, the byproduct was a sense of isolation. I couldn’t be in touch with the friends and family I text regularly. I couldn’t meet up spontaneously, let someone know what time I would arrive, or coordinate with anyone. Social interactions were returned to the dark ages of planning in advance. It gave me the tiniest taste of what life might be like for anyone who doesn’t have access to the privileged services so many of us take for granted—a smartphone, unlimited data on the go, internet at home, a computer, a credit card.
The Upshot
When my new phone arrived in the mail at the end of the week, I tore the box open with enthusiasm and relief. But I did come away from the experience with a few questions I hope to keep asking myself, and I invite you to ask yourself as well:
- How is “optimizing” really serving me? Are there one or two moments in each day when, instead of trying to cram in a little extra, I can allow myself to simply be in the moment?
- Am I turning social interaction into work? How can I create a separation between what I do out of desire and what I do out of obligation?
- Do I have to take my phone with me every time I leave the house? Is there one expedition per week that could be phone-free?
- When I have a few minutes of silence or inaction, what is driving my impulse to pull out my phone? What am I seeking to distract myself from? What might I discover if, this time, I don’t pull out my phone?
- Before pulling out your phone to do anything, take five seconds to ask yourself: do I need to use my phone in this moment?
What would you miss the most if you took a week off from your phone? What would you miss the least? What phone habits do you feel most hold you back?
