time spent offline

Not that long ago, I used to leave the house and go about my day in the wilderness of the city without a phone, without the Internet; without the ability to reach someone in case of an emergency.

It was a time before portable internet and smartphones.

It’s a funny thing the things you can get used to, and forget there ever being a time without: Without smartphones, without the Internet, without this, and without that. It’s not like I haven’t tried to be without since— here and there— but it came out of frustration, anger and spite, of an economy that bid my attention for sale to the highest bidder. I was simply young, idealistic, and pissed: this, too, passes with time. Lately, through the passage of time and growing, and realizing it’s mostly inconvenience rather than actual emergency that makes connectivity on the go such a necessity, I find myself curious about a day spent offline. In fact, I have learned to love my smartphone and the Internet these days but something about going out into the world without, when being without seems impossible, out of the question, even transgressive, that piques my interest and my curiosity to unplug.

It’s a funny thing how much of your life can change in a matter of months, weeks or even days.

Back in August, a lifetime ago, when I unplugged for a 24-hour period, I spent most of it indoors. I mostly read and worked my way through Sudoku puzzles; music blasting from my iPod shuffle for company. I couldn’t think of anywhere I could go, or more accurately anywhere I wanted to go. I missed home. I longed to get on the subway and be at my parents’ house in half an hour but there were no trains, and no trains that would get me home anyway. Alone, and without the digital noise to distract me, I felt my emotions surface unbounded and I cried until I couldn’t cry anymore. I felt the terror of my life take a seat next to me, uninvited and unwelcomed, and whispered to me, “you cannot go on like this.” And it’s not like I didn’t attempt to ignore it, tell myself, don’t be stupid, this is as good as it’s going to get for you. I yearned for the Internet. I wanted to scroll until I forgot to remember, to fill up the void gawking at me; to lose myself, my truth in the digital chatter.

I held on instead to being without, and without it, without the chatter of the internet to silence the gut-wrenching realization of my life as it was, on that ordinary day in August, in facing my life, myself, my truth, allowing the things I did not want to know to come to the surface, unobstructed by the tik tok, tik tok, tik tok sounds of the internet, I let go and let my life come crashing down. I was glad afterwards too, to be without social media, without FOMO, without reels, without the stories, and without this and that, as I took it one day at a time; one journal entry, one workout class, the books, the invites, the hugs and the unrelenting loneliness. Until I woke up one day and all was well in my world, and that was that.

That was then.

This time around, I’m simply curious to spend an ordinary Friday and Saturday without a phone, without the internet. I’m curious to experience going out into the wilderness— a city filled to the brim with people, things, activities, and go about my day without a phone. Will I get lost? Will I feel lost? What would I fill the in-between moments that I so often fill up with music blasting in my ears, an e-book, or glances at my phone out of pure habit? Would it feel liberating? Indulgent? Will I be bored? It has been so long since I left home without a phone, without someone with a phone, and yet I used to do it all the time, a time before, and I am curious about that feeling again.

My Friday evenings are regular; week after week spent tucked away at a bar downtown. I know how to get there and back home in my sleep. No apps necessary. We simply show up too so I don’t need to text or call to confirm plans and once I’m there, I barely look at my phone anyway. It makes me happy to realize this about my life, how it has become effortlessly unplugged. It takes time but the living adds up. Afterwards, I’m going dancing at a place I have never been to before. It’s a five-minute walk from the train station, which I know how to get to, but I will need to write down walking directions. If anything, I can ask people for directions. The city is full of kind and pleasant strangers; they would help you out with no qualm, eagerly, if you ask nicely. And I have learned this over the years by paying attention. I love people.

My Saturdays are just as regular and structured, and mostly spent offline. I usually sleep in until I must wake up at 11:00am, with just enough time to get ready and leave for my workout class at noon. I know how to get there and back if I were dead: I do it five times a week. The living adds up. After class, I usually make plans to see people— family, friends, dates, meetup events, or just solo outings to be around people. Otherwise, it would literally be just me— no followers or internet people to keep me company at home. This Saturday, as luck would have it, I have found a digital minimalism meetup group that is hosting an event about quitting social media. It’s at 3:00pm so I will have enough time to go home, shower, and head out: I wonder how it would feel to be without in-between these plans. The event is at a cafe, and Maps has already informed me it’s a three-minute walk from the train station. I know how to get to all the train stations in the city, which makes this whole being out and about without a phone thing easier. I just need to jot down walking directions before I leave and depend on the kindness of strangers for directions if I get lost. Funny thing, I’m hopeless at navigation even with the apps so I’m curious to see what happens without a smartphone to depend on. Will it force me to pay more attention, be more alert to my surrounding, and be better at navigating directions as a result? The event ends at 5:00pm, almost sundown. I will have to get home to get ready for the event I’m going to that night. The only thing missing so far would be music on my commute, music and dancing while making food, podcasts when I want company, and I’m curious.

If any of these plans fall through, for one reason or another, I would still have a good day offline. I have become an expert at spending time away from my phone, the social medias, and the internet. I know how to spend time offline; time alone, time together, time apart, time wandering and wondering. I’m good at finding things to do offline; indoors, outdoors, on the go. I’m mostly curious about the in-between; commuting without music, and without a phone. Will I notice even more on the buses, trains, streetcars? Will I feel uncomfortable without a phone to look at to avoid paying attention? Will there be an emergency? Will I miss checking my email in between tasks, chores? Will I get lost getting to places I have never been before? Will I feel bored? What would it feel like to go about my normal life, a normal day, as ordinary as any other weekend, but without a phone, and without the internet?

I believe I will enjoy it; saviour it. I love the sense of freedom that comes from being untethered to the digital world, even for a short while. I sometimes feel it when I’m cuddled up with a book, late at night, my phone in the other room, and I think, it’s just me, myself and I, and I feel unburdened, free, safe from all the online chatter. I believe I will feel delighted at transgressing the digital norm; the norm that says we cannot live without the internet, without smartphone, without this and that, that we need the digital to make it through another day. I don’t agree. Even if it is too late to spend a lifetime offline, for me at least, and I don’t want to anyway, I believe it is possible to be without. And once in a while, when there is a good reason to unplug, to go offline, to disappear from the digital space all together, just for a day, I am happy to take it the opportunity and unplug.