The week my phone was stolen was the best week of my life.
The panic came first, obviously. Rushing home to see if it could be tracked down on Find My, hoping that it wasn’t really stolen, but that it was all just some misunderstanding. Hoping it had been dropped somewhere, not plucked from the large and inviting external pocket it had been slipped into whilst I, laden with Easter shopping, walked home in a state of mindless distraction. Digging through the bushes in the garden of the last known location where we’d been told stolen things had been chucked from over the wall many times before. Turning up only soil and rocks and allowing the final vestiges of belief that we might find it to slip away.
And then…freedom. It was a holiday weekend, and the issue couldn’t be attended to for several days, so I remained largely untethered from the digital world. I began to navigate by memory and by asking people around me for directions. When I made plans with friends (via email), I had to be in the arranged place on time because I couldn’t send a text in the case of any delays. I had more spare time than I realized and began to pick up the books that I had been “too busy” to look at before. I stopped reaching absently for my phone in the quiet, unfilled moments. I found that they weren’t so empty after all.
I also, in all honesty, loved being completely and utterly uncontactable.
In a world that has grown increasingly interested in immediate gratification, there seems to be an unspoken expectation that we must all be responsive to messages at all times, in all situations. If a text goes unanswered, a phone call is made. A follow-up message is sent. If hours go by, people begin to assume the worst. Our time is no longer our own; it belongs to the people who require responses and demand our attention. And we must not simply be reachable, we must also have our finger on the pulse of the latest news cycle, trends, and entertainment holding the global consciousness so that we can keep up in conversation.
As humans, we are not designed to be so attuned to the magnitude of information that we receive daily. The onslaught of it all, coupled with being in constant contact with what seems like the whole world and now reaching a point where it’s becoming difficult to discern the truth from a convincing AI-generated hoax… It’s no wonder there’s a low level of anxiety thrumming beneath the skin of our society.
But here’s the secret: we can opt out at any time.
We can delete every app or throw the whole smartphone away and revert to a rotary dial and a hook on the wall. We can read newspapers we trust and set them down once we’ve finished rather than scrolling endlessly through bad and worse stories on social media. Instead of watching others create art or stories and wishing that we had more time for our own, we can give ourselves the time back and begin to work with our hands again.
The model only works if you subscribe to it. But the moment you step away, you recognize that it’s not a loss to give any of it up. You don’t “miss out” on anything. The pace of life slows to something a little more manageable. Your focus repairs and your mind begins to linger on things that inspire creativity and joy. You spend more quality time having deeper conversations with the people you care about. Life becomes richer, sweeter in the absence.
I did replace my phone in the end. But now, when I’m faced with the prospect of going off grid for a few days, I relish the opportunity to switch off, reconnect with myself, and recover. It’s a balm of powerful simplicity for the mind and for the soul.
