And the thing about time spent offline is that you know what to do, you just don’t do it, or you don’t do it enough, or you do it for a bit but then you inevitably find yourself back in the rabbit hole of bottomless Instagram reels and clever Reddit posts while the book sits unread. And you wonder to yourself, What the fuck is wrong with me?
Nothing.
Some things are easier than others; social media is easy, real life is hard.
And, of course, what you want isn’t determined by what you say you want. What you want is reflected in your actions. If you say you want to spend time reading instead of scrolling but you scroll anyway, what you really want to do is scroll, not read. No point in berating yourself about such facts. It is a good start, to accept reality as is, and then say, “Okay so what I want to do is scroll but reading is a better use of my time,” and your brain— Maybe it’s the spirit— prefers such approach to the constant self-loathing for saying one thing and doing the opposite: What the fuck is wrong with me?
Nothing.
Some things are easier than others; scrolling is easy, reading is hard.
And the thing about doing hard things that are better use of your time is that you must do the thing even if all you can manage today is a page, a paragraph, or even a sentence while that thing in you, the thing that wants the reels, the digital noise, the easy stuff to escape the terror of living constantly nudges at you to reach for your phone, the laptop, the remote control. It won’t magically get easier tomorrow just because you desperately want to do the hard stuff; You must do it. And if you do the thing that is a better use of your time constantly, consistently, even if all you can manage today is a page, a paragraph, or just a sentence, bit by bit, with enough time— Years later— and with enough patience, you find yourself reaching for the book on the table instead of your phone and you wonder, When the fuck did it get easier?
Easy.
Every time you commit to doing the thing that is a better use of your time than scrolling, even, and especially when that thing in you, the thing that wants the reels, the digital noise, and the easy stuff to escape the terror of the present moment constantly nudges at you to reach for your phone, the laptop, the remote control.
Every. Single. Time.
Even if all you can manage today is a page, a paragraph, or even a sentence, every time you do the thing that is a better use of your time, it gets easier and easier and easier to do that thing than to do the other thing that leaves you frustrated, annoyed, angry; wondering What the fuck is wrong with me for wasting yet another day trapped inside your black mirrors.
I have been using my Offline Mug for my morning coffee, and my most joyful, life-affirming morning practice; and a second one to hold all my writing utensils. They are both a daily, visual reminder of what matters to me, of my commitment to time spent offline doing hard things that are better use of my time, my attention, my energy. Better use of my one wild, precious life.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
P.s. Coming soon…
time spent offline 
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