I forgot that life exists outside of my phone

A couple of years ago, I found myself rushing through lunch just to get back to work as soon as possible.

I scroll through my phone with one hand, listen to music through my earphones, and eat almost without tasting the food.

Three things at once. Eating, scrolling, listening, and already thinking about what comes next.

The question appeared in the middle of my doomscrolling:

Why can’t I just eat? Why do I feel the need to reach for my phone while eating? When did I stop trying to enjoy things as they are?

I do not remember deciding to turn every simple activity into a multitasking session. It just slowly became normal. Lunch transformed from simply “taking a break” into a “task” to complete. I convinced myself that eating without checking updates was unproductive, a waste of time. That doing just one thing was not enough — I had to multitask.

Over time, I started evaluating my days by output rather than experience.

How much I finished, not how deeply I felt. Presence began to seem like a luxury, and even rest needed a reason to exist. At some point, I felt guilty for sleeping. Why waste time sleeping, if I could be working all night?

What makes it worse is that the phone makes everything measurable. We can count likes, followers, and minutes spent on screens. Every thought feels worth sharing, every meal is photo-worthy, every walk needs a soundtrack.

Life becomes a series of updates, not experiences.

These days, many people are so detached from real life because they’ve turned their attention toward how others might perceive them through their phones. They forgot how to simply be in real life.

And I am not one to talk. I feel how deeply this has shaped me. I scroll while I eat, think about messages while I walk, and measure my days by how much I got done. Sometimes I post pictures and hope for likes. Yet beneath all that motion, something feels missing.

So I did two things: I removed the apps that kept me glued to my phone, and I tried to do more “physical” stuff.

I read books, not screens. I write on paper, not on my notes app. I played games on a Game Boy, not on my phone. I took pictures with a camera. I went to concerts and enjoyed the show. I took a walk and looked at the view.

I started doing things without my phone and learned to enjoy them for what they are again.

At first, the silence felt uncomfortable. Whenever I felt bored, I reached for my phone, only to find nothing there. But slowly, boredom became peace. Life didn’t get more exciting; it got more real.

These days, life without the phone seems dull. But it’s only dull because we’ve let our attention get stolen by the rectangular machine in our pockets.

Of course, I didn’t give up my phone forever. It’s impossible. I still scroll sometimes, check notifications, but I also know when to stop. It’s not about removing distraction — it’s about remembering that I can choose where to put my attention.

Now I see “being present” as a skill. One that modern life constantly tries to take away. Every time I eat without my phone or walk without music, it feels like a tiny rebellion.

Because the world won’t slow down for us.

But we can take it slow, if we choose to.

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I hope you find this insightful. Remember:

It’s not going to be easy,
But it’s not impossible.

Your friend,

Brian.