At the end of this past semester, I knew it was time to downsize my digital life. Facebook had become so toxic that I’d lost faith in humankind. Twitter wasn’t much better (although its bite-sized negative bits are usually easier to swallow.)
So when Mike and I undertook a refresh of our sun room, I proposed that we designate that space a tech-free zone. Just one room in our house where there could be no phone screens at which we’d direct blank stares. No laptops to remind us that work and home are never really separate. Just natural light, a view of the outdoors, reading material. In short, real life.
I won’t pretend it was easy to remember that tech isn’t welcome in the sun room. More than once, Mike had to remind me of the rules I myself had proposed. But as I learned to leave my phone behind, I also learned two important things:
- I really didn’t miss it.
- The world didn’t end because I disconnected.
I’ll be the first to admit that I enjoy the sense of safety I get from having a cell phone. (How did we ever commute to work without them? What did we do when we had a flat tire? And how did people raise children before they could text Where are you and expect an immediate reply?)
The problem is, that feeling of security very quickly comes to feel like an obligation. You’re connected to everyone via social media or texting, so you’re supposed to know what’s going on with them. Never mind that it’s physically impossible to keep tabs on every actual person who’s part of your digital life. Especially those you’ve never actually met in person.
Still, nobody wants to look like a jerk. Not even to someone who knows you only via your profile picture.
Downsizing my digital life has reassured me that it’s entirely possible to retreat to the world of real people for long stretches of time without doing damage to anyone–and it has done some very good things for me. I’m reading more (actual books, people!), undertaking creative projects, and occasionally I’m not doing anything in particular. I’m staring out the window of my sun room, watching a cardinal splash around in the birdbath while I enjoy a glass of lemonade.
I highly recommend it.
Ready to give it a shot? Here’s how to get started.
Create a tech-free zone.
You knew I was going to say that, right?
I’m actually amazed at how keeping just one room in our house tech-free has changed things. A tech-free space not only helps to downsize your focus on digital media, but also encourages you to think about your priorities. I have to choose to disconnect if I want to read in the sun room. I have to choose to claim an hour for myself.
I know I’m lucky that Mike agreed to go along with this plan. But even if he hadn’t, a space devoted to focusing on the physical world would have changed things for me. I wouldn’t have a conversation partner in that space quite as often, but I’d still have the window, the birdbath, and that glass of lemonade.
Your tech-free space doesn’t have to be a room. Your car, a porch or balcony–even the time you spend taking a walk by yourself will work to help you downsize your focus on digital media.
Decide where to cut back.
For whatever reason, I don’t have trouble limiting my time on Twitter, Instagram, or Netflix. Facebook, however, is another story. So when I undertook this downsize, I knew that would be my primary focus.
Perhaps Pinterest is your nemesis? Whatever the case, pick your battles.
Announce your intentions.
I’m on a Facebook hiatus right now. I take a hiatus once or twice a year, usually for a week or so. I do this as a sort of brain reboot– to force myself to change unconscious habits, like clicking the Facebook icon on my phone.
Whenever I go on hiatus, I change my Facebook cover photo to let people know. My current cover photo looks like this:
I do this for a couple of reasons: I don’t want anyone to worry that something awful has happened to me (which would lead to an onslaught of text messages–precisely the opposite of what I’m looking for), and I don’t want anyone to be offended by my silence if they make big announcements. I want them to understand that I’m just out of the loop.
Many articles on the digital downsizing process will tell you not to mention what you’re doing. I understand the logic–it’s easier to disappear if you’re quiet. For me, though, announcing a hiatus feels like flipping a safety switch.
Remind yourself that it’s a downsize, not a detox.
Although I’m on a Facebook hiatus, I still check in here and there. If someone sends me a message, I read it. If I click on the Facebook icon out of habit, I glance at whatever is on the screen. The point is not to flush Facebook out of my system but, rather, to re-learn how to spend less time there.
I think this is an important distinction to keep in mind. With a detox, the minute I click on the Facebook icon–even if I do it mindlessly–I’ve failed. My detox has to start over again.
But my downsize doesn’t. If I glance at a post, don’t respond to anything, and shut down the app, I’m still spending way less time on Facebook than I was a week ago. That’s the point of a downsize.
And, at the moment, I’m enjoying my hiatus so much that I might let it stretch out for more than a week. Who knows? Maybe this downsized relationship with social media will end up being my new normal. Or my old normal, newly reclaimed.
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