In the final update in Rhik’s journey to break his phone addiction, he manages a breakthrough. And a big one.
“Do you want to be my girlfriend?” I ask Almond one day.
She is leafing through bags of Thai basil, like record store vinyl. “I already am. That’s what this is,” she says patiently, giving my hand a squeeze. Oh, right, I say. OK. Yes, good.
Two months after my last diary entry, something weird has occurred. Having written the experiment off as a waste of time, it seems to be bearing perverse fruit. I’m currently on my phone for 90 minutes a day. Five of those are spent on Instagram. I no longer feel addicted. My diminished online life is partly due to no longer having to scan the savannah for a mate. But that can’t be the whole story.
All the experts I spoke to gave reassuringly similar advice. Strangely, the most impactful tech conversation was in a wifi-less cafe, with a Buddhist. Sthiramanas is a meditation teacher from the London Buddhist Centre, where he runs Upgrade Your Mind, a six-week course on mindful screen use.
“It’s a fundamental human weakness to look outside for satisfaction,” he says. Sthiramanas doesn’t just mean endless scrolling. Running to a silent retreat – or a digital detox cabin in the woods – is also an escape from day-to-day life. Their lessons often don’t survive the journey home. “If we want our lives to be happier and more creative, we have to experience them as they are, and change things from there.
“What’s the desire underneath the desire to check your phone?” he continued. “If you’re addicted to dating apps, is it the desire to feel attractive? If you’re a news junkie, do you want to feel in control? Or in contact with something bigger than yourself? If you’re constantly texting friends, do you just want to be loved?”
Ouch. When did these Buddhists choose violence?
Since that chat, I see friendship as a mostly offline activity. Something we do with our bodies. My gang are good for this – arranging day trips to the seaside, dancing, cooking for each other. Laughing in the same space is nourishing. Sounds Waltons-esque, but it’s better than Meta. I do still often text friends through the day, but when not, I enjoy missing them. Maybe I’ve gone weird.
Constant connectivity is a new expectation, exhausting to meet. My worst fear about turning my phone off has been missing a call from my mother, should she have a fall. But underneath my reluctance, I realize, is an anxiety of control. And one day we must all relinquish that. “You could get a landline for emergencies, and only give the number to loved ones,” suggests Sthiramanas. It’s a good idea.
Another slow burn has been the increase in time spent reading. I think it’s also the reason I no longer lose whole days on Instagram. Opening any social media apps now, they strike me as … silly. Maybe concentration really is a muscle – that hungers to lift heavier things as you build it. Of course, plenty of people enjoy both. This isn’t to say all social media content is shallow and pointless! (Even though I do think that!)
Can I enjoy being in my actual, “boring” life, without the fantasy of escape? This has been the crucial question for me.
I tidy my flat more, because I’m seeing it more. I’ve kept up my 10,000 steps. I still like filling up those fitness tracking circles, but am less obsessive. I can feel the effect in my body. I sometimes leave my phone at home. It’s a mental reset to feel the air, to not be somewhere else. And I’m much happier than I was.
For any capitalism fans, I must note that my freelance income has risen, and I’m more productive. I don’t find it helpful to vilify tech companies so much, and no longer personify my phone. The shiny, infinite-content machine is not a muse, cold lover or nemesis. It’s a tool. More than anything else, it’s a barometer of my discontent.
When I notice that weight in my hand, the pull toward distraction and escape, I try to diagnose what’s really going on with me. Am I worried about something? Am I lonely? What would be a better way to meet my needs? If I’m simply bored, I’m learning to trust there’s a creativity hidden in that place.
Who could have foreseen this? The smartphone as canary in the coal mine, signposting what is most important to me: to not sleepwalk through these days. Thief of my life? No one gets to steal my life.
Unfortunately, I am now addicted to sugar.
