Last June, I replaced the clock on my phone’s home screen with a widget that displayed my daily screen time. In the hope that seeing the big fat number each time I looked at my phone would appal me into looking at it less.
Almost a year and a half later, I’m not sure it’s worked.
The visual reminder helps on good days—I’d see the number creeping towards two hours and put my phone away. But on bad days—when I’m feeling indulgent after a hard day’s work—I pretend not to see one turn to two, three, four, even five. I’ve earned this, I’d tell myself. My brain deserves to switch off to this mindless scrolling after the long, intense day it’s had.
And so I open up Instagram and—once it tells me I’ve reached my 30-minute daily limit—switch to Facebook, then if I’m desperate LinkedIn. I always make sure I engage and reap a concrete, real-world benefit from my screen time. But whether I schedule a coffee or three doesn’t change the fact that I’m still on my phone, feeding my brain worthless candy and hurting my already strained eyes.
My phone and I
Five-hour binges notwithstanding, I have what you might call a long-distance relationship with my phone. When I’m at home, my phone and I are never in the same room. If I’m in the front room, my phone is on my bedside table. If I’m sleeping, it’s in the front room.1 When I’m outside, my phone is always tucked away in my bag where it can’t get snatched and, more importantly, I can’t see it. I never check my phone when in company. And in any case, it’s always on Do Not Disturb and flight mode, so there’s no point checking.2
But our relationship wasn’t always this distant. I, too, used to keep my phone on at all times—albeit silenced. I also kept it always within reach, and would habitually check my phone whenever I wanted a moment’s reprieve from my tasks.
Not long ago, I decided this attachment wasn’t healthy, and made severing it a priority. I wouldn’t be tempted to check my phone if there was nothing to see, so I began keeping it in flight mode. Better yet: why not put it somewhere I can’t see, so I won’t even remember I have it!
Thus began our long-distance relationship—from then my phone and I would meet twice a day, once over morning coffee, then again at the end of my work day while I waited for my partner’s day to finish so we could together enjoy a phone-free evening.
Over time, this detachment morphed into a mild allergy. Whenever I accidentally leave my phone in the same room as me, as soon as I notice I have to get up and move it out of sight. Whenever I need to keep my phone and the ringer on to wait for a delivery, I feel positively distressed. When the phone finally rings, I’m actually happier for being able to switch my phone back to flight mode than for getting whatever it was that I had ordered.
That seeing, and hearing, my phone now stresses me out, however mildly, could be considered problematic. But I’m fine with it—I’d rather be allergic than addicted to my phone. This way, I go on fewer five-hour binges and do more of what brings me joy—disappear into a book, get lost in meandering conversations with my partner, meditate.
False necessity
My yoga studio has a strict “no phones” policy. But the staff don’t enforce it, so plenty of people still bring their phone into the practice room. A smaller number—intentionally or forgetfully—also don’t put it in silent mode, so on occasion a phone would ring during class and its owner, embarrassed, would rush to silence it as the class looked disapprovingly on.
Each time this happens, it baffles me. Try as I might, I can’t understand why someone might think they would have need of their phone during a one-hour yoga class. I can barely find time to have a sip of my water in between poses, never mind check my phone (which, of course, is in flight mode and locked away in the changing room). Even if someone manages to steal a glance at their phone, what would they do? Interrupt their yoga practice to send a message? What can’t possibly wait one hour for the class to finish?
The same puzzling phenomenon occurs at my gym. Many people bring their phone into the workout area and, every time we’re given thirty seconds to change stations, make a beeline for it as if magnetically drawn. What can’t possibly wait?
I could explain it away with addiction—these people simply can’t stand being apart from their phones, not even for an hour. But that would be lazy. Obviously, these people are addicted to their phones. The real question is why?
The culprit, I surmise, is a false sense of necessity. People feel a need to always be reachable, to always respond, to always know the latest happenings in their social circles. But, except in rare cases—say, a surgeon or an on-call police officer—these so-called needs are no more real than Santa and his flying reindeers.
What occupations do these people have that make them think the sky will fall if they’re unreachable for an hour? What kind of relationships do they have that convinced them an hour’s delay in responding will spell the end?
I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again: we vastly overestimate what we need in life. Not only in terms of what we need to have, but also what we need to do.
You don’t need to do most of the things you think you need to do. You simply want to do them because you don’t want to face the consequences of inaction.
You don’t need to respond to your boss’ messages right away. You only want to because you’re afraid they might disapprove if you didn’t. You don’t need to check your email during yoga. You only want to because you’re anxious to know if that other department received your “Urgent!” request. You don’t need to always be reachable. The world goes on turning just fine even if you remove yourself from it.
Indulge this false necessity for long enough and it becomes addiction. Before you know it, you’ve become that person who takes their phone into their yoga class and reaches for it during dinner with friends.
Is that really the kind of person you want to be?
What do you think?
My long-distance relationship with my phone, though it suits me very well, is probably too impractical for most people to adopt. I’m sure you can have a perfectly healthy relationship with yours without having to resort to flight mode or exile:
What’s your relationship with your phone?
Do you check it often—when alone, in company? Do you spend too much time on it, regularly slipping into hours-long scrolling sessions? Or do you actually not know where you’ve left your phone most of the time? Please hit “reply” or leave a comment—I read every response and I’d love to hear from you. If you want, share this with someone who’ll thank you for it.
Until next Friday… Stay thoughtful,
Val
Photo by Becca Tapert on Unsplash
Unless if I have to be up for a 6 am meeting, which was the case this morning, in which case I’ll have my phone in the bedroom for a second alarm, a back-up should my vibrating watch fails to wake me up at 5:20 am.
If you had trouble reaching me in the past, now you know why.