I entered the tram and sat down. I allowed the little paper bag and my umbrella to graze the floor, but barely. You know when you don’t want your stuff to get dirty, but you also don’t want to hold it, and so you sort of just let it dangle with enough support so your hand doesn’t get tired? That’s what I was doing. It was a hot summer day, and I was on the verge of breaking a sweat, but in Munich, you never know.
I took out my phone and tapped in and out of a few apps. My emails. My portfolio. WhatsApp. There was nothing in any of them that I didn’t already know.
I had caught up with my emails a few hours ago. As always, many remained unanswered.
I already knew the markets were flat. How much does any given stock portfolio move in a day anyway? 1%? 2%? 5%? It’s not like I’ll suddenly be able to retire. Why look at it every day to begin with?
WhatsApp has its moments, of course, but to be honest, that, too, can feel like a chore. Like I’m behind on my homework. Especially after a long weekend away. So many good people. So many kind messages to get back to. Just…not now, perhaps?
After a bit of mindless scrolling, the most noticeable aspect of which were the zooming animations as I darted in and out of each app, I found myself staring at my “App Library” screen, which looks innocent enough but shows no less than 46 potential apps I could click on. Then, time stopped for a second. In a moment of profound clarity, a thought crept into my mind:
“There is nothing in my phone that I want to look at anymore.”
It felt weird, hearing myself think this thought. Almost as if someone else had announced it to me. Reminded me. Why would I need a reminder to put my phone down instead of a good reason to pick it up in the first place? Apparently, this is the world we live in. Or at least I do. But I don’t think I’m the only one.
46 apps. I couldn’t get over that number. 46 options to keep the brain running. Thinking. Going. Or is it just a treadmill? 46 options, and yet none felt as if they’d help me move forward at all.
“I would rather sit here and do nothing,” I thought. “Sit here, look out the plastic tram door as it moves from station to station, and hold my ice cream bag and my umbrella.” That felt like the best option. Better than any of those 46 apps. In fact, it felt deeply relieving. “It’s okay, I think. Maybe I can just sit here and stare. Not throw any more data logs into the information fire happening in my brain. I think it’s stoked enough for today.”
A few moments before, I had been connected. A global citizen with relationships across the world to maintain, international investments to manage, and important work to follow up on. Now, I was just an almost-sweaty dude in a t-shirt and shorts, sitting on a sticky tram seat, hoping to get home before his ice cream melts. And you know what? Being the almost-sweaty dude felt so much better. Simpler. More manageable, to say the least.
When I’m at home, I don’t look at my phone all that much. On weekends, I often leave it in the bedroom. I might not realize I haven’t looked at it until 4 in the afternoon. When I’m at my parents’ house, the phone doesn’t even make it downstairs. There are just people there, in our living room. I talk to them. Or not. I read, or write, or play video games. Or not. But the phone? That kinda just sits there. And you know what? I never miss it.
It seems that same disregard has now found a crack to slip through and made it into my everyday life. I’m kind of grateful that it’s here, to be honest. I think it was about time.
I don’t have a perfect read on the zeitgeist. I’m not as tuned in as I used to be. So call me crazy, but: It feels as if we’re slowly, collectively hitting my tram moment as a species. Like so many people stare at their phones and go: “There is nothing in here that I want to look at anymore.”
Not everyone then puts down the phone, of course. Some of us keep scrolling. Others abandon smartphones altogether. Some drastically reduce their usage. But it feels like we’re ready for something different. As if we’d all soaked up infinite amounts of information until we’re full, and now, we just can’t anymore. Don’t care anymore. If you feel that way too, I want you to know: You’re not alone.
You’re not the only one who’s exhausted. Who feels behind on imaginary tasks slingshotted right into your brain out of tools that didn’t even exist 5, 10, 15 years ago. Who longs to be a meaningful actor in a small world instead of an infinitesimally small player in a world that only wants to sell your attention to the highest bidder.
You can do it, you know? I believe all of us can. Often, it takes nothing more than letting the phone stew in its notification juice in the other room. At least that’s been a great first step for me.
Will we ever make it to the meadow? Back to a world where most of our time is spent in reality, not only the bits that feel too sacred to let the phone get near them? Who knows? But it feels like we’re hitting an inflection point, and that sure is a start. Just like that blank-stare moment followed by a penetrating, liberating thought. A thought that can catch you anytime, anywhere — especially while almost-sweating on your mundane commute back home. A thought like…
“There is nothing in my phone that I want to look at anymore.”