It’s almost a tired concept at this point: modern person abandons smartphone, experiences some kind of clarity, and returns to the world with a newfound sense of balance. But clichés often exist because they strike at something true. When I swapped my iPhone for a flip phone for a week, I wasn’t looking for a grand revelation, but instead, I was seeking a personal understanding—a sense of distance from the omnipresence of digital life.
In theory, the transition seemed manageable. A flip phone still allows for communication via calls and texts, although in their most stripped-down forms. The initial sense of limitation was stark: no access to the endless stream of notifications, curated feeds, and immediate answers. The flip phone was functional, but its functionality was solely utilitarian—there was no temptation to linger.
My reflexive instinct to fill every gap in my day with my iPhone was ingrained. Whether walking down the hallway, waiting for a class to start, or even during short breaks, I would automatically reach for my phone—only to realize it wasn’t there. Without that distraction, I was left with empty moments that, at first, felt like voids. However, instead of filling those moments with distractions, I began to sit in them.
Those moments of boredom weren’t as unbearable as I had anticipated. Without the constant urge to check my phone, I became more attuned to my surroundings—people-watching, or noticing details that would have previously gone unnoticed. It is commonly known that boredom fosters creativity and reflection, and in those empty moments, I found space for my thoughts to wander freely. I rediscovered that boredom isn’t something to be avoided, but rather a fertile ground for nurturing creativity.
This experiment doesn’t yield any groundbreaking insights that haven’t been said before. We know we’re addicted to our phones. We know they mediate our attention, fragment our focus, and shape how we interact with the world. What surprised me wasn’t just the depth of my dependency but the speed at which I began to recalibrate in its absence. By midweek, I noticed my attention shifting outward. I read without feeling the pull of another app. I engaged in conversations that didn’t feel interrupted by a buzz in my pocket. I was actually able to focus on homework for more than five minutes at a time. Research shows that even the mere presence of a cell phone can reduce cognitive capacity and performance. This is true even when the phone is face down, on silent, or in a bag or pocket, so eliminating my iPhone entirely was the key to success of this experiment.
It’s easy to romanticize “unplugging” for a week as some kind of victory, but that would be misleading. While the week was manageable, it wouldn’t be sustainable long-term. The experience highlighted just how deeply ingrained modern technology is in our daily lives. My phone is more than just a device for short form content consumption—it’s essential for work, staying connected with family and friends, managing commitments, and navigating daily tasks. Living with just a flip phone just isn’t realistic and only reinforced just how difficult it is to escape the pull of technology and seek moments of stillness in a world that’s always “on.”
Returning to my iPhone didn’t feel like defeat—it felt inevitable.
