METROMy 16th birthday was a big deal. Not only was I allowed to host a party at my dad’s house, but I was also given a brand new cell phone. I was so excited. In 2006, nothing meant more liberation to a teenager than unlimited texting and a free house.
My friends and I set out to create the kind of chaos that only a group of repressed teenagers who had not yet been fully exposed to the pure excesses of the Internet could create. Little did we know that those heady days of listening to 2000s R&B from an iPod were going to be some of the last of their kind. Just a few months later, Steve Jobs would introduce the first iPhone, forever altering the way we interact with ourselves and the world around us.
I can’t pinpoint the exact moment when I became addicted to my phone. It happens without you even realizing it, like a frog slowly stewing in a pot. I always told myself that the excess screen time I spent wasn’t a big deal, that my life was better with my phone on. I made every excuse possible: I was learning new things, keeping up with the times, being an efficient employee, and keeping up with the people I love.
But in reality, none of that was true. My phone was such a powerful drug precisely because it gave me the illusion that it contained infinite possibilities. But my experience of time and culture had slowly flattened into two-dimensional memes and philosophical quotes, and I ignored everything real—unanswered texts, unreturned calls—in exchange for the next dopamine hit. I was numb, disconnected from the world around me, unable to focus on anything for more than a few minutes.
At the height of my addiction, I would sit in the bathroom for hours after my wife had gone to bed, mindlessly scrolling, until I would look up and realize another night had passed and all I had to show for it was a stiff neck and a sore thumb. By that point, the screen had become an escape from feelings of self-hatred, and I knew something had to change. So I turned to the only resource I thought might help me.
It’s ironic to think that the solution to a phone addiction problem can be found in the phone itself, but that’s the insidious thing. I set time limits, searched for podcasts and resources on how to regain my attention. I had my wife put a password on any app that wasn’t considered “essential.” But in every case, I found a way around it. And without ready access to social media, I found myself scrolling through everything I could: photos, notes… even the weather app.
I knew I had to make a more drastic decision. If I wanted to end the addiction, I decided I had to give up my smartphone. I had my reservations. How would I get my work done? What if I missed an important call? What would happen to my WhatsApp groups? But the ingrained belief that I couldn’t function and wouldn’t truly exist without a smartphone was precisely what I needed to challenge, if only for my own sense of identity.
I bought a flip Nokia phone with no internet or WhatsApp, and immediately transferred my SIM card. I gave my home phone number to the few people I regularly spoke to, warned all my friends that I might take a while to respond, and put my smartphone in a drawer.
Unsurprisingly, the results were instantaneous. Maybe I was riding the wave of excitement that came with simply taking action, but I immediately realized I was in control of my attention, as if I were waking up to the world after a decade-long sleep. I felt comfortable with the silence, I could hear myself think, and for the first time in months, I had a proper conversation with my wife over dinner. And no, I didn’t know what boots my old school friend’s coworker would wear to play indoor soccer that weekend; but it turns out that conversations that really matter find a way to happen anyway.
But, even though I was feeling much better, it was hard to live without a connection. Online banking, passcodes to log in, cyber verification… In the eyes of many, it turned out that I didn’t actually exist without a smartphone. Every time I pulled it out of the drawer, it stayed in my pocket a little longer than the last time. The modern world isn’t ready for non-smartphone users, but a few months of space allowed me to rethink my relationship with mine. And now my Nokia and my smartphone occupy the same place in a deliberate rotation that allows me to function as a productive member of society, but disconnect when necessary.
Every now and then I stop to think about how much the world has changed since 2006, in many ways for the better. The iPhone has framed almost every memory I have of my adult life. What has also changed is my perception of freedom. I sometimes wonder who is freer: me now, with the entire world at my fingertips, or my teenage self. My world was undoubtedly smaller, but perhaps I was able to experience more of it on my own terms. I suppose there’s no way of knowing who I would be if smartphones hadn’t altered life so enormously. But I do know that experiencing the world through the filter of a screen doesn’t do it justice.
