What Happens When You Put Down Your Phone?
What everyone misses when talking about technology
Sometimes, on the subway, I put down my phone and look around at everyone else in the car, still stuck in The Matrix.
Seeing everyone glued to jewel-colored games and Instagram feeds, I typically feel one of two ways:
- On the most self-righteous of days, I feel like a Boomer, devastated at what technology has done to our attention spans, with grim New York Times headlines about social media and teens flooding my mind.
- Alternatively, succumbing to the crushing, existential discomfort inherent in sitting, undistracted, on a train, I imagine that the phone addicts know something I don’t, and plug myself back in.
These two narratives — one of sadness, the other of surrender—miss the point.
Yes, you should put down your phone — not because your phone is inherently bad, but because great things happen when you do.
Like grief counseling or running every day, there is a sort of Nirvana on the other side of phone addiction.
Phone Addiction: The Media’s Well-Worn, Misguided Thinkpiece Topic
Late at night, I’ll often think of all the books I would have read if I didn’t have access to technology.
Like a Victorian woman, I would have poured over the most boring Dickensian passages and studied Latin by candlelight. Though miserable, I would have been able to say, in good faith, that I read as much as I could… before promptly dying in childbirth.
On the best of nights, I awaken myself from my headline-induced reading shame spiral. Though relatively easy to write, a stark narrative on the evils of technology, with a side dish of nostalgia for the boomers, is neither helpful nor accurate.
And longing for a time when I had no choice of phone vs. thinking, writing, or creating, serves to undermine my own agency. I wish I lived back then because I am not strong enough to choose to do so.
These anti-technology tirades don't take nuance into account. For most of us, technology’s benefits outweigh its negatives.
The world has opened up to me thanks to the internet — including my job, my ability to live anywhere, and my ability to communicate, right now, with you.
How Your Phone Is Different From Your Computer
My boyfriend and I often talk about how we love our computers but hate (in my case) and are indifferent toward (in his) our phones. Why?
When you use a computer, you have the option to produce rather than consume.
My computer is used for writing, learning, and work. By contrast, my phone is a void in which I scroll, shop, read (and click on) clickbait headlines, media and engage in other capitalist herd-type activities.
For these reasons, my future child will have access to a computer but no phone. My boyfriend wants to take it a step further: Their computer will only show a blank, blinking terminal screen.
Immediately, Sadness
What happens, when you put down your phone?
Like a Jane Austen novel, where the women mostly sit around their living room working on their needlepoint, the vast majority of life is dull.
Luckily or unluckily for us, companies have figured out how to monetize our aversion for boredom and existentialist thoughts through what the critics are calling ‘the attention economy.’
When I put down my phone after a heavy period of use, I am, almost immediately, bummed, like the night after one glass of wine too many.
Everyone talks about this — from Louis CK to every headline about teenage mental health. They frequently miss that this existential sadness is temporary.
Related Reading: “A Practical Guide to Reducing Fear”
Avoiding Negative Emotions Blunts Positive Ones
An unfortunate truth I’ve learned through the death of my mother: You cannot feel life’s highs without going through its emotional pits.
For a long time, I tried to shift the line graph of my emotions up a few notches on the Y-axis. Not only doesn’t this work, but it usually works against you: When you shift your emotional chasms up, you, unwittingly, shift down your emotional peaks.
The less sadness you allow yourself to feel, the less happiness you’ll feel, too.
Instead, try sitting with the existential sadness of putting down your phone on the train. Don’t do it out of a blind stoicism to avoid “bad” phones, but out of a desire to feel the full range of emotions that come with being human.
The only way I motivate myself to avoid my phone is by remembering the sound of the trees when I take off my headphones or the feeling of the sun on your face.
After Sadness Comes Delight
What does non-plugged in delight feel like?
Earnest joy is the best description of how I feel after moving through existential sadness. An almost psychedelic-induced love for life ensues, wherein you appreciate lots of little things that you would otherwise miss.
For me, it has a lot to do with trees, light, and wind. It’s the feeling of being a part of something silent and primordial.
And, like existential grief, it is fleeting.
Up Next: “An Alien in My Own Country”
