On the train on my way to join friends for a walk along the Thames in London this weekend, I decided to do something radical: put my phone away and watch what was going on around me without distractions.
The journey would take 20 minutes, and I forced myself, in what felt almost like a violent act of rebellion, not to be distracted by a book, a podcast, or the day’s crossword puzzle in my New York Times app.
Were that man and woman on a first date? Is that mother with a baby in a pram sleep-deprived and exhausted? I squinted my eyes at a young man seated in front of me: what book was he reading?
My hand still firmly gripped my iPhone in my pocket. I could feel its wicked pull, but I resisted it. This inner battle, which only I was aware of, solidified the notion that my relationship with my devices had turned into more than a reflex. It had become an addiction. Like nearly everyone on the train, my phone had become an extension of myself.
And it made me wonder: whatever happened to boredom?
Like children continuously tethered to video games and computers, adults have become device addicts as well. Our minds rarely wander. The uninterrupted thoughts that lead to creativity and new ideas have been replaced by a never-ending stream of phone scrolling.
And boy, is this addiction strong. In my gym, I routinely see people checking their phones in the sauna and the jet tub. Even I look on these victims of the digital age with horror and pity.
For children and teens, the impact can be life-changing: Harvard professor Dr. Michael Rich studied the effect of screen time on developing brains and says screens provide “impoverished” stimulation compared to reality. For adults, as well, research has shown a correlation between excessive screen time and increased levels of depression and anxiety.
Even watching television has become a battle of the screens. I try to focus on the big one when another smaller one pulls me away every so often. Reading books, which I still enjoy, has become a fragmented experience. I push myself to finish a chapter before I allow myself to pick up the phone again. I have become a slave to my device, that handheld demon that pings me and lights up my reward center like a slot machine.
That said, I have managed one small victory: I have completely stopped checking my phone first thing in the morning. It’s the only time of the day I have conquered my habit. I wake up, get dressed, make coffee, walk the dog and only afterward do I allow myself phone time. The ritual allows me to push back the inevitable by about an hour.
Our digital lives are now woven into almost everything we do. And it’s important to admit it’s not all doomscrolling and anxiety. Social media has opened windows that didn’t exist before. We can see images and hear stories directly from people, without the filter of traditional media outlets. I’ve discovered artists and writers online whose work I might never have encountered otherwise. I’ve been able to report on what is happening in Gaza even while international journalists remain barred from entering the strip. I’ve even made real friendships with people I first met on Twitter, long before it morphed into the strange conspiracy-theory scroll-a-thon now called X.
Perhaps one day we will treat screen time the way we now treat other things that can harm our health, like the warning labels on sugary foods or alcohol. Maybe there will be a small icon of someone staring cross-eyed at a tablet with the words "enjoy in moderation."
Boredom, it turns out, was never something to be conquered. Perhaps it was something worth protecting.
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