time spent offline

The hardest part about giving up an addiction, whether it’s alcohol or the “internet,” is the time that remains.

The time, attention, and energy that was spent preoccupied with attaining, engaging with, and recovering from alcohol— buying, consuming, hiding, soothing the deadly hangovers, and so forth becomes available. That’s what someone on Reddit said anyway. And, what do you do without? You host a dinner party. Lucky for me, although I have had my fare share of drinks and other drugs, I choose the more socially accepted addiction to preoccupy myself with: The “internet.” If I were to go back in time and add up all the time, energy and attention I spent as a user— of Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Reddit— it would add up to a number that would break my heart in half.

The average time spent on social media is 2 hours and 31 minutes daily. Add that time up over a week, months, and years and years of my youth, and it is a lot of time wasted scrolling, liking, commenting, and reacting to things I could not remember now if my life depended on it. All I remember, thankfully, is I decided one day, more or less, I wanted to spend my time differently. The noise of the digital world was suffocating me. It was a brave decision then, I know now, to decide to find out for myself what life would be like unplugged. To say, no more, not this please, and go looking for my own answers instead.

I spend my time differently now.

I have no friends I follow. I don’t have vacation photos to like, status updates to comment under, lives to passively consume from the comfort of my bed. What I have instead now is friends I see on consistent basis. And not hundreds of “Friends” I had when I was on Facebook, or my “followers” on Twitter and the other Instagram “users” I followed, but a few friends, friends I can count on two hands. And it is enough of them to fill up my week, months, and years and years of the rest of my life to the brim with conversations, hugs, laughter, and delight. On my birthday this year, and for many years now, I didn’t get tens of birthday wishes on my Facebook wall.

It would have been nice to hear from all the people— all the people I have met and known over the years, and as my life would have it I have met so many people, but they couldn’t survive the lack of passive social media connection: Texting, or even email, is too intimate. And that is the price I chose to pay back when, back in 2011 to be exact, when I decided I would give my one wild and precious life a try without Facebook, and years later social media altogether. Instead, I host a birthday picnic and invite all the people in my life that have survived the intimacy of a phone call, conversations over coffee, and that Cuba trip and all the shenanigans that can only happen because you are young, dumb and invincible. It was the perfect day: A clear, sunny summer day spent surrounded by nature, sunshine, and women I love, respect, adore.

As I reflect on my time spent offline journey, I realize I am now preoccupied with a different kind of obsession: Living in community.

The other option— without the followers and status updates— would have been, of course, to rot in isolation and loneliness. And that is what they said would happen if I got off social media, that I would be forgotten and nobody will remember to invite me to their dinner parties. Lies. Certain truth, sure, but mostly a lie. That is what I found out for myself anyway. By giving myself no other choice but to find alternatives to social media relationships, I have learned you can be social without social media, without the internet. All it takes is a bit more effort to host my own dinner party: to send the text invites, figure out the meal, do the groceries, and clean and cook so I can delight in my IRL friendships. And that is how I spend my time, energy, attention now: The effort required to host a dinner party.

First, the plan is made: Set a date, a time. For the next few days, as I go about my day— daydreaming on the train, walking down the street soaking up the sunshine— I think about what to make for dinner for two. I consider my cooking abilities, what I have available in my pantry, and what my friend would enjoy eating based on our conversations on dietary preferences. Tacos would be safe, I consider, but we are anything but safe. “Ethiopian food?” I text her as soon as the gods speak to me, and she responds she will be on wine and dessert duty. After figuring out what to cook, I forget about it until the day of. That Thursday, I walk to the small grocery store to buy the veggies and injera to make Ethiopian food. It is a gorgeous day and I soak up all the sunshine, people, and things around me with delight.

Ethiopian food is anything but easy to make, and once I get home I spend four hours in the kitchen chopping onions, tomatoes, carrots, cabbage, potatoes, jalapeños. The recipes are learned from my mom’s kitchen and I add and adjust the spices until the ancestors tell me to stop. I stir and stir and stir. I clean as I go. I have a podcast to keep me company and I only look at my phone to keep up with time. I can’t imagine a better use of my time in that moment than making dinner for my friend. The idea of the meal not turning out good rears its ugly head but what if it turns out great? What better feeling than someone enjoying a meal you have prepared for them? That is love. It is exhilarating.

The evening turns out beautiful. We eat injera, enjoy red wine, and eat the most delightful vegan desserts that my friend brought. And while the food was great and the desserts magnificent, the best part was, of course, our conversation that lasted all evening, that lasted until we decided we needed more of this; more of love. This one dinner with my friend would occupy about ten hours of my day that Thursday; from getting groceries, cooking, cleaning, and of course the dinner itself. I can’t imagine a better use of my time. Later that evening, when my other friend texts me she is not feeling well, I invite her for leftover Ethiopian food the next day. She brings delicious desserts too and we talk about nothing and everything. The next day, my boyfriend and I meet my other friend at my place and we eat whatever is left over from the Ethiopian food I made and the desserts my friends brought. We experience delight together. In between cooking and warming up food, and all the conversations and banter, I don’t have time left to spend on the “internet.”

Since one thing leads to another, our conversation from Thursday turns into a plan for another dinner party at my place. This time for six. How will I even fit six people in my tiny studio apartment? And what will I cook for six people? Tacos? Safe, of course: A crowd pleaser. I have to text them the invitation too, and what if they all say no, they can’t make it? What if they don’t actually like me? I start to freak out and even decide to cancel the dinner plan all together. Too much effort. Then, in the shower left to my own delight, it comes to me exactly what I can make to please six people’s palate: lasagna, salad, garlic bread. Space? Rearrange my furniture. It just takes a bit more effort. With all that figured out, I text my friends. All of them accept the invite with joy, ask what they should bring. And of course, I laugh at my stupid worry that they wouldn’t want to spend time with me. How often do we miss out on miracles by overthinking? This time, I take the time, energy, and attention to clean, cook, and rearrange my furnitures to host dinner for six: Effort. Time I used to spend scrolling, liking, commenting, reacting is now spent showing up for delight IRL. And I learn a very important lesson; of not waiting until I have a dining table to love on those I love. A meal made with love will do.

Of course, I could have just cried about how nobody remembers to invite me to things anymore because I’m not on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter. Or, that nobody remembers my birthday without Facebook reminding them. Or, how hard it is to be social without social media. Or, or, or… How boring to live so defeated! I have made my bed and I’m making sure it is comfortable. And although I can’t have my cake and eat it too, I’m enjoying this delicious life of mine spent offline. And if you want to spend less time online and you are wondering what to do instead, host a dinner party. Or a drinking party. Or a picnic. Be surprised and delighted by how many people would love to spend time with you, with anyone, doing things— anything but the internet. We are all bored out of our mind with the internet but don’t know what to do. Let this simple fact motivate you to create your living. I will be hosting plenty more dinner parties in the future, for anyone who would have my company.