Longing, Likes, and Lost Leisure

This week, I’m sharing my most personal story yet—something a bit closer to the bone than usual. And just below, you’ll find a fresh new idea I’m trying out for the newsletter. No need for preamble or padding—let’s get straight to it.

iPhone, Therefore I Am Not: Confessions of a Chronically Online Wanderer

In my high school yearbook, two keywords attributed to me were: “iPhone”—the first device had just come out—and “always online,” a nod to my omnipresence on ICQ and MSN. Since acquiring my first computer at thirteen, I have embodied what today’s youth calls “chronically online.” My screen time has consistently been high; I’ve signed up for every new platform, surfed every digital wave, understood and laughed at more memes than most of my peers, and, between 2010 and 2015, managed multiple Twitter accounts, each amassing tens of thousands of followers in their respective circles. I was the archetype of digital immersion long before the term was coined.

Yet, in recent years, the internet—my playground—has begun to feel more like a labyrinth. The love/hate relationship I’ve experienced with being online has steadily tipped toward the latter; the hate is intensifying. I’ve found myself daydreaming of a dumb phone, and just this week, I laid my smartwatch to rest. I’m over it. The best times of my life, like three weeks in Norway in 2018 when I left my phone at home, were marked by a rare, almost forgotten sense of presence. It’s forced me to ask: Is the internet, for me, more good than bad? The answer, of course, is not singular. But right now, the scales have tipped. And yet, I feel addicted—caught in the same web that ensnares so many others. My current feeling brings to mind a scene from Californication that I watched 15 years ago. I used to think the main character was just a miserable sod; now I comprehend him better.

But it turns out I am far from alone. A recent survey by the British Standards Institution paints a stark picture: nearly half of young people (46%) would rather live in a world where the internet does not exist. Almost 70% of 16- to 21-year-olds say they feel worse about themselves after spending time on social media. Half would support a “digital curfew” restricting access to certain apps past 10pm. A quarter spend four or more hours a day on social media; 42% admit to lying to parents about what they do online. The pandemic only deepened these patterns, with three-quarters reporting increased time online, and 68% feeling that this was detrimental to their mental health.

Where does this leave us, the children of the digital age, now grown weary? How do we harness the internet’s vast, shimmering potential without being devoured by its addictive, corrosive elements? The question resists easy answers. To unplug entirely is to forfeit the world’s greatest library, marketplace, and creative commons. To remain plugged in is, for many like myself, to risk one’s sense of self and peace of mind. The challenge, then, is not simply to turn the devices off, but to demand—and design—a digital world that serves us, rather than the other way around. My driving instructor asked me, "Are you driving the car or is the car driving you?" Perhaps that’s how we should approach the internet.

Not to make this cheesy, but I cannot resist feeling that we stand at a crossroads, not just as individuals but as a culture. The internet is not going away. The task before us is to reclaim it: to insist on spaces that nourish rather than deplete, to build in friction where there is now only frictionless compulsion, and to remember, above all, that the best moments of life are often those spent beyond the reach of Wi-Fi. The question is not whether we can live without the internet, but whether and how we can learn, at last, to live with it.

Brain Snacks: Served Randomly

Here are three things I read this week that you could, too. Think of this new section as my literary rummage sale: each week, I sift through the world’s digital attic and present you with the oddities, gems, and occasional intellectual knick-knacks I find.

→ Stephan Dörner doesn’t pull punches in his latest newsletter: it’s a sharp critique of Silicon Valley’s opportunism and Europe’s digital naivety. Dörner lambasts the empty promises of US tech giants and contends that Europe’s only escape from digital dependency is a decisive shift towards open-source sovereignty—anything less, he cautions, is merely more smoke and mirrors. “The only way for Europe to escape the tech-broligarchy trap is through genuine digital sovereignty,” he argues.

→ MIT Technology Review’s “Inside the story that enraged OpenAI” draws back the curtain on a journalistic encounter that left Silicon Valley’s most secretive AI lab fuming. Karen Hao’s account is part newsroom drama, part exposé, and it’s a sharp reminder that even the architects of our digital future can’t always control the narrative.

→ The BBC’s examination of “The people refusing to use AI” offers a refreshing counterpoint to the usual tech evangelism. Meet the sceptics, the holdouts, and the quietly defiant individuals who still prefer their minds unaugmented—a reminder that progress isn’t always a straight line, and sometimes it’s the rebels who keep us honest.

Thank you for reading; it genuinely means a great deal to me. And, as always, please feel free to share your thoughts with me.