An Analog Summer
I am tired of algorithms.
Life began to speed up once I bought my first smartphone in 2013. What was once a slow, analog existence became an endless blur of scrolling and tab-switching in an environment run at hyper-speed.
Without a doubt, summers were when this shift became the most notable.
The summers of my youth stretched out forever. Endless days of wandering through the woods, camping out with friends, and swimming in every lake we could find created memories that are etched deep into my psyche. Our days never had a plan; we just woke up and moved with the flow of life, desire, and instinct. We were one with the Tao.
Then a Galaxy Note 3 entered my pocket.
From then on, my free time was spent staring down at my navel, burning pointless, stupid, or disturbing content into my retinas for no reason other than it was there and it was convenient.
As a result, time sped up significantly. Long summer days condensed into quick seasons - leaving me wondering what the hell happened when the calendar turned to September before I even realized it was July.
I've finally accepted that, at this point of my life, enough is enough.
I wish that first smart phone never entered my pocket. I wish I could go back and undo all the time I wasted on posts and videos and content that I can't even remember.
If I could do it all over again, I'd smack that phone out of my hand, throw it into the fireplace, and save myself the voluntary amnesia that plagued my 20s.
But I can't do that. There is only now, the eternal present. I have to accept where I've been and where I am now if I want to move forward in a meaningful way.
Which is why, this summer, I'm going back to an analog life.
I need to go back to how life was before. I need to sense grass between my toes and water splashing around my ears and campfire smoke wafting into my nose more than I need to see more content. I need to live in the moment instead of selling that moment to the highest bidder, courtesy of Mr. Zuckerberg.
Most importantly, as a new father, I need to be present for each moment of my son's first summer. Because, hopefully, he will love this season as much as I do.
In preparation for this analog summer, I bought a new flip phone and stowed my iPhone away in my car (after downloading my CD collection to it so it can be used solely for summer tunes on our road trips). I picked up a Sony Handycam to capture precious moments. I grabbed a few notebooks to keep in my pocket and lying around the house for when the urge to scroll hits and my fingers start twitching.
And I'm making plans. Lots of them.
Because summer is best experienced in the fresh air with friends. Not in the stale air of a building sitting alone in front of a glowing drug.
I can't go back and redo the summers I didn't fully appreciate because a fraction of my mind was always in my pocket, wondering what could be on that magical black rectangle that connected me to everyone and everything the world had to offer.
But I can start appreciating this summer, this day, this moment. Right here. Right now. Disconnected from the constant sense of anxiety and FOMO that swirls in the back of my mind at all hours of the day.
My hope is that this summer feels longer. Fuller. More transformative. I want to feel like a kid again, basking in the long days and warm nights with nowhere to be but where my feet are. Mind, body, and spirit all aligned perfectly to fully experience whatever surrounds me.
Less scrolling. More stargazing.
Less videos. More books.
Less sitting. More moving.
Less rushing. More slowing.
Less content. More stories.
Less convenience. More experience.
May the analog summer begin.
