How to Not Be a Screen Junkie
Why should we move to find
Countries and climates of another kind?
What exile leaves himself behind?
HORACE
Today that line may well read, “what exile leaves his phone behind?” I myself don’t even leave to take out the trash without my phone—maybe I locked myself out somehow, or more likely, need to take a picture of a cute cat loitering near the dump—but let’s not deny that we’re in the middle of a phone use epidemic. Everywhere you look, people seem determined to engineer a crude Neuralink prototype for themselves in scenarios that range from the comical (while standing at a urinal) to the dangerous (while driving) to the comically dangerous (while biking on a busy street, which can only be described as angling for a mangling). The commonplace instances of this insanity are perhaps the most annoying because of how frequently they disturb the flow of daily life: the phones out at a shared meal; the quick text that turns into a semi-long scroll of the socials; the inability to string together two sentences without a frenzied excuse to reach for the nearest device. Screens are like cigarettes for our generation: addictive, corrosive, and bound to be banned at most reputable social establishments.
Of course, phones can actually be useful, which is why I’m mainly concerned about screen junkie behavior: compulsive phone checking, wondering if so-and-so replied to your text, obsessing over your TwitTokstagram numbers, doomscrolling. I call that kind of empty activity “screening” to differentiate it from intentionally using devices to work or communicate.
But how, you ask, do I ward off the little glowing friend that never lets you down? Briefly: with systems, not willpower. You’ll need to come up with your own, but in case it helps, here are mine. A caveat: an obscene amount of money goes into programming these devices to be as addictive as possible, so don’t sweat it if you fall back into bad screening habits. In this case as in many others, declaring war against the bastards is just as important as winning.
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Guideline 1: The phone should primarily be an outgoing device.
Between my phone number, email, socials, and website, it’s now possible for anybody to reach me at any time. This is why I take pains to be mostly unreachable. Do Not Disturb is my default setting unless I’m expecting an important call. People get in touch with me however they like, and I respond at my leisure, which can be a matter of days or, if I’m really jammed up, weeks. I figure anything truly important will make its way to me eventually, and I haven’t had a catastrophe yet.
There are exceptions for work or personal matters, of course. This isn’t an exact science—the point is to get comfortable with recognizing what needs to be dealt with in a timely manner and what doesn’t. Most communication is not nearly as urgent as it seems to be; in terms of reply times, I generally treat texts like emails and emails like letters. Actual letters are a delight and not a chore, and are prioritized accordingly. Send me letters.
Guideline 2: Don’t keep in touch with everyone you’ve ever known.
Social media makes it easy, almost necessary, to be “friends” with or “follow” everyone you’ve ever met, or even glanced at across a room. For obvious reasons, it’s in the technocrats’ best interests to have users with large networks. Less obvious is how that helps us. Of course, there are people with whom I want to keep in touch, but I know who they are—I don’t need friend suggestions from machines.
Guideline 3: ABS—Always Be Searching.
I turn off YouTube history and recommendations, and always search for specific videos or accounts instead of letting the algorithm take me down a rabbit hole. On Twitter, instead of scrolling endlessly, I just search for my friends and see what they’ve been up to. My phone’s homepage only has utilitarian apps that I might need in a pinch—maps, dictionary, etc. The rest, especially social media, I stuff into one impossibly messy folder (called “Miscellany” or “Tripe” depending on my mood) in the second page and use spotlight search to get to them. I’ve found that this “analogue” method of sifting through the digital world is an effective way to force myself to act intentionally.
The phone version of opening the fridge and wondering what you were looking for is more grim than its real-world counterpart. After staring blankly into the fridge, you might close it and get back to what you were doing. With a phone, stumbling onto social media absent-mindedly can mean falling into a doped out screening loop. I try to use my phone as a resource—more pocket library than all-in-one casino and drug den.
Guideline 4: Create at least as much as you consume.
The most fun and powerful aspect of the internet, for me, is that I can make things and just put them out there. Why, then, do I need to spend so much time drowning in other people’s shit? The social internet is almost perfectly designed to undermine your individuality by cramming content down your throat at all times. Even enjoyable content can be a trap because it’s easy to consume whenever there’s a free moment. Doing the dishes? Put on that podcast you like. Relaxing? Check out that show everyone’s talking about.
The brain needs to be by itself to figure out what it really likes. Absent that, we will soon become garbage receptacles for Big Content. Be wary: here be zombies.
Guideline 5: Unspeak the internet.
Internet lingo is inane. I’ve noticed a dull layer of onlinespeak building up around the lexicons of otherwise intelligent people. Language is intrinsically memefiable, but the internet weaponizes the process. Some examples of this meaningless argot that are in vogue at the time of writing:
Imagine thinking… (usually followed by strawman arguments, misrepresentations, and uncharitable interpretations)
Sometimes I think (x) but then I remember (y) and I realize (z)
Can’t believe I have to say this but…
Yeah sex is great but have you ever had/done/tried (x)
Let that sink in
I feel seen
Nobody: (x) / Me: (y)
Like mayflies, they flash in and out of existence. I keep a running list of them, and keep them out of my parlance. If you can’t speak and write like an individual, you can’t think like one either—you carry in your pocket a device which, if left unchecked, can turn you into just another node in the human superorganism.
Guideline 6: Don’t look things up in the middle of a conversation.
Allow friends to be hyperbolic, entertaining, or just plain wrong. Real time fact checking is death for a conversation. It’s usually just nitpicking anyway, and it’s always derailing. Do it a few times, and the conversation will never have a chance to develop into a feast of reason and a flow of soul.
More importantly, like real addicts, we never go for just one hit: we go to look something up that we’ve been talking about, and afterwards—with unspoken understanding—we’re quickly doing the rounds, checking texts, snapchats, and TwitTokstagram. Observe it in your friends next time: their faces gloss over as they fall into the comforting embrace of their chosen drug, the screen. This is why we wildly underestimate our screen times: we think of conscious screen time, not all the times we went in for one thing and quickly checked everything else for a few minutes. Do that even a few times a day, and you’ll be well on your way to bona fide screen junkiedom.
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These are some ideas for yourself, but what about your friends? Shame, when deployed tactfully, can be a powerful social deterrent—the next time you’re chatting with an old friend at a bar and they pull out their phone, be gentle but firm: put it away, please.
