Last night, I sat in the gym for several minutes after my elliptical run, scrolling Threads in my phone’s web browser. I clicked like on fan art and memes about the latest episode of the HBO series Lanterns and news of first-round wins of some of my favorite players in this year’s US Open alongside a smattering of other Women’s Sports news and conjecture. What I was interacting with wasn’t the problem. These are all things I enjoy and am actively invested in. Very few empty calories in this session. The problem is that it shouldn’t have been happening at all.
A few weeks ago, I removed all the social media apps except for Instagram from my phone. No Threads. No Facebook. No Bluesky. No LinkedIn. Instagram is hidden and requires my face to unlock it. The impetus was realizing that idle scrolling sessions were getting longer. They were keeping me from falling asleep at night or getting out of bed in the morning. The meaningful stuff—women’s sports, TV & film discussions or industry news, Los Angeles news & culture, interesting reads, communicating with friends and acquaintances—were shifting to shocking or stupid videos, rage bait, or digital ephemera that was intended to keep my attention but not ignite my mind or heart.
And still, here I was in the terrible browser experience of my preferred social media timeline, and it keeps cajoling me to reinstall the app. I haven’t succumbed. Yet.
Jenny Odell, whose writing on this topic has long been a critical resource for my attempts at avoiding the brain-rotting effects of modern digital society, recently suggested on the How to Touch Grass podcast that one approach is to take an “outsider’s perspective” to our relationship with our phones and apps before attempting to change anything. Examine how what you’re doing in these spaces makes you feel, like a scientist observing a subject, without judgment, and then treat the findings as an experiment.
She describes digital habits as grooves formed geologically over time, which is why cold-turkey attempts fail. Social pressure and muscle memory pull us back. This is exactly how I ended up fumbling around threads.com in the Chrome mobile browser. Text mesages between me and Tiffany and our basketball friends are dotted with shares from Instagram and Bluesky and Threads and even though I know I can usually wait until I get back to a desktop experience to consume and enjoy the memes, jokes, and news, the thumb clicks because of course it does and now I’m looking at my notifications and here’s a good point about the latest episode of my favorite TV show and some stranger is wrong about the Los Angeles Sparks and there’s a random dashcam video of people doing stupid things on a freeway somewhere in America and what terrible thing did Pete Hegseth do now and, wait, where did the time go?!
I don’t want this on my phone, and I definitely don’t want to lose precious minutes of my life thoughtlessly while sweating post-workout in the middle of the gym or in the car for who knows how long after I’ve reached a destination.
Do I need a physical impediment to curb these habits, or can I figure out how to “stand apart” from the device on my own?
In Vauhini Vara’s Searches: Selfhood in the Digital Age, she examines how tech companies have both fulfilled and exploited the human desire for understanding and connection by creating these experiences that we seem to find so useful and inescapable and then building so much wealth and power around them that it is nearly impossible to disentangle ourselves from them individually or as a society.
While reading through her own spelunking into the deep crevices of her Google search history, Amazon shopping orders, and ChatGPT chat logs, I smugly thought to myself, well, I don’t use these things like that.
Lies.
I used Google Search over 2600 times in the last 12 months. I watched over 2400 videos and shorts on YouTube in the last three months. I’ve made only nine purchases via Amazon this year, but as I dug into these troves of data, I realized that what I do online is ultimately beside the point. What I know and what many people are coming to the realization of lately is that when I think about the most meaningful experiences of my life and days, they are hardly ever connected to something I experienced on a screen. When my father passed, I, of course, looked to my digital world to make sense of things and found it lacking. I was using an AI-powered journaling app called Dot at the time—it’s now defunct—and while I was initially impressed by its seeming insightfulness, I quickly found that a software program cannot express true empathy and understanding. When the things in your life that you most wish would not happen occur anyway, healing comes in the presence of other people. I walked through my grief with my friends as we hid in my mom’s sewing room during the repast, sipping Japanese whiskey and laughing through the tears. I gave shape to my loss by listening to my mother, sister, and others as they expressed his departure’s impact through their own words and actions. No chatbot could give me that.
Vara similarly and to great effect exposes how she used ChatGPT as a partner in writing an essay about the grief of losing her sister at a young age. The piece brought her great acclaim, but ultimately, she realized the parts ChatGPT “created” were memories that weren’t hers. Even if clever, it wasn’t real.
I’m hungry for real things. When I write in my journal about the things I want to remember from the day, it is rarely a meme, reel, or back-and-forth argument with strangers online. Life is about the other humans in it. Really in it. Life is the people you share a domicile with or a street with. Life happens for me when I talk with a neighbor as I walk to the grocery store. What I remember is meeting people and learning about their hopes and dreams. I also remember being in a sports venue, hugging, cheering, and celebrating with my fellow sports fans.
I also remember when a real friend or family member texts or calls, and we get involved and invested in each other.
Odell fills the time she might have previously spent scrolling her phone or staring at screens with enriching experiences outside of the house. Standing appointments in nature and the physical world. I’ve been thinking about that too. Many of my day-to-day activities and hobbies currently default to an app or a website. Maybe, though, it’s time I sought out learning Spanish in person with others instead of with Mango. Maybe I need more standing appointments to volunteer rather than my ad hoc approach now. Maybe when I’m bored, I go to the park or the coffee shop or call a friend or family member and have an impromptu hang.
Like the old days.
Maybe I need a Brick.
See you outside?
P.S.
I originally intended to mimic Vara’s book and provide detailed examples of my digital activity (searches, purchases, YouTube videos), but that felt like too much navel-gazing and would’ve pushed me further down the digital rabbit hole, when I really want to be “out there” and not “in here.” My ego, though, is particularly proud of one aspect of my Google activity, so I’m going to share the words I’ve used the “define:” search function with over the last year.
- quartile
- disambiguation
- artifice
- fungible
- forthwith
- apprehend
- epistemic
- clarity
- loyalty
- totem
- anathema
- aegis
- quatrain
- heathen
- heretic
I tend to look up words when I want to be sure I’m using them correctly or when I want to get into the etymology (I just googled to make sure that was correct) of a word or phrase.



