I heard my three-year-old’s distant voice echoing in my mind. There were just two problems, her voice wasn’t in my mind nor was it distant. She was standing right in front of me asking “Daddy? Daddy? Daddy?” repeating herself because I was looking at my phone. What message was I sending to her in that moment? That she was less important to me than my phone and that was not okay.
In spite of moments like these, I consider myself to be a present father. I’m at home full time even sans pandemics. I’m alone with my toddler for the first few hours every day and I put her to sleep most nights as my wife takes care of our four-month-old. I was also the one who brought our eldest to most of her activities, gymnastics, and swimming lessons events are sorely missed these days. Given our isolation, I’ve been checking my devices a lot more. I talk to friends on text, check my socials, check in with doctor Google, search for the answer to mundane questions. I can feel that it was making an impact, but instead of trying to dial it back, I decided to go cold turkey. Sort of. I turned my phone off for twenty-four hours on a Sunday and made notes each time I had an urge to use a device. I could then determine what to remove from my routine and, more importantly, I could be more present.
The rules of non-engagement were simple. I powered off my phone and laptop and kept my devices out of view. Also, I watched no television.
I turned off my phone at 7 pm Saturday evening, my already toddler fast asleep. After a warm beverage, a pleasant conversation with my wife, and some reading I went to bed. Already noticeably absent was the glow from my smartphone screen that I use to navigate me through the darkness from the bathroom to bed. Thankfully, no toes were stubbed, and no foot impaled by a wayward toy.
I awoke Sunday morning refreshed. I downed some water and savored every sip of coffee. The silence was louder, the colors brighter. I’m ready, I thought to myself. I wasn’t ready. I cringe with embarrassment about it, but while playing with a puzzle with my daughter, something we made a morning ritual, I thought of my phone and checking Facebook and Twitter. I forgave myself quickly and let them go. Back to the puzzle.
Photo-ops presented themselves all day like my daughter dancing in her princess dress to princess songs or just doing something adorable or ridiculous. I like to capture these moments and I enjoy looking back on them, but I certainly remember, appreciate, and feel them more when I’m an active participant.
When my wife wakes up, I go off to meditate. I use a meditation app and realized that the app intended to relieve anxiety had the opposite effect this morning. I worried my streak of meditation would have to be restarted. I let go again and sat without a timer.
I felt the need to share something trivial with my wife on Facebook which was so important I forgot to even mention it.
I struck comic gold, a line I so badly wanted to share with a buddy so we could marvel at how clever I was. Alas, the moment was gone.
I went for a run without headphones! Gasp! And with no phone how could I post a bragging photo with insincere motivational nonsense?
I was not able to post a photo of my perfectly architectured smoothie bowl so it was just a pile of chopped fruit and nuts. Fortunately, it was still delicious, but who could I tell?
I hadn’t considered this but in this time of pandemic isolation but I’m the one who does the grocery shopping for both my family and my mother. My wife and I use a grocery app that allows either of us to add things. Instead of the app, a low-tech folded piece of my daughter’s construction paper functioned nicely. I was starting to appreciate the simplicity of life as a Luddite.
None of the reasons to use my phone mentioned above help my life. None of them make me a better person, husband, father but what they do make me, given my mental absence, is worse in all of these roles. When I found myself alone, a valued commodity when you have children, I took a breath. I took note of the life which seemed to have its volume turned up by the realization that I’d made this decision today and it didn’t matter if anyone emailed, called, texted, liked, commented, or DM’d. My wife and I sat closer to each other chatting, I heard her more clearly affording me to respond more caringly. We could sit in comfortable silence. I then realized that this safe space has been carved out of our lives, usurped by handheld windows into the unlimited. I didn’t check my phone when I could. I had everything I needed right in front of me.
The experiment was not over, however. I decided this should be a weekly thing but I wasn’t prepared for how it affected my weekdays. On subsequent Sundays, I continued to keep the phone in a drawer and avoided social media. After the third tech-light Sunday I removed social media apps from my phone. This isn’t to say I eliminated social media altogether, I just wanted to own how and when I use it. Social media platforms are tools to be used not the other way around.
It’s been five Sundays now and my screen time on my phone is a third of what it was. After texting, my most used app is the grocery app that stays on for the hour or so I spend shopping. It seems the one-day-a-week experiment has helped dislodge my need to check my device every minute of every day and in doing so has helped me focus more on the moment with my family. My reclaimed attention and focus also helped during work hours. I feel less inclined to check the socials or surf the internet with no particular goal.
Maybe it was that I was because I only committed to 24 hours rather than the popular, and not doable, thirty-days-without idea but this small act became a habit that gave me a bit more freedom and with that, more happiness.
***
Improve your writing, expand your reach, and monetize your craft.
Join The Good Men Project’s Writers’ Community on Patreon.
We welcome all experience levels.
Learn more on our Patreon page.
***
—
Photo credit: Shutterstock