I want to exist in the world again.

my brain hurts & I can’t think anymore.

Hello hello hello hello, my darling. <3

I hope this letter finds you with a peck on the cheek.

Despite my distaste for winter, I’ve been making the effort to drive out to a park for my dog’s evening walks; timing it just right so that we arrive under blue sky and leave after the last bright pinks of sunset have dimmed to starry purple. The trees with their empty fists, the wind nipping the tops of my ears.

Despite my distaste for winter, I’ve admired how it forces me to be present. There’s no customizing the frigid temperatures for my comfort. There’s no better playlist than the birds wishing each other goodnight. It’s not a place for distraction, as I need to carefully watch every step for ice. Even if the air feels a little thin and stinging, my brain breathes. I think of poems, of plot lines for a story, of how I can better prepare for the workweek ahead.

I think, before I get in the car to drive back, I’ve missed this.

Yesterday, my partner sent over a video that hit on a few points I’ve been mulling over lately. In it, the host notes, “We’ve gone from the web being something we surfed to ‘platforms’ as a place to hang out in.” I would go even further to say that instead of it being where we hang out, those platforms, that interaction with technology, is where we spend the bulk of our day.

(Oops, that’s right — I’m back with more luddite propaganda.)

The video talks more about algorithmic complacency, which definitely feels related to or a side effect of my focus here: that even if it’s not social media that we’ve become addicted to, it’s the bluelight noise, or a digital hum.

On my drive to work, during work, my drive home, when I’m making dinner, when I’m eating dinner, when I go to bed: that little itch in the back of my brain that asks me, “What else can I be doing right now? Do I have time to listen to that podcast/audiobook/show?” It is in moments of silence, stillness, and focus that my brain gets fidgety and pokes me, “Yeah, but what else? What more?” So the evenings pass with whirring colors: a TV playing all-hours in the distance, an audiobook I’ve lost my place in, but the voice reads on regardless.

The digital hum has become a comfort blanket. If it isn’t there, there’s nothing to occupy my hands, my head. There’s a feeling of nakedness. Is it recognition of that unoccupied space? A fear of loneliness? A fear of where my thoughts will go?

What started as utilizing technology as a tool for connection and efficiency has now become a dependency. Because my phone is a Swiss Army Knife for talking to friends, navigating across town, paying bills, and taking photos of my dog, it makes it all the more difficult not to coddle this addiction’s petulance. I’ve even caught myself chalking it up to multi-tasking for my benefit (fitting in a story or educational podcast about something I’ve really been wanting to know). But the very act of splitting our attention this way, filling that “dead air” space, has caused me to spend so much less time with my own thoughts.

(To those of you shouting, “But Sky, that’s the point!” I agree. For the sake of this essay, though, I won’t touch on why that might be the case, only that it’s happening.)

Every time I open an app, I become Rip Van Winkle. When I finally struggle my way out, more time has passed than I intended and my brain feels muddied by cobwebs, making it that much harder to wipe away before sitting down to write or read or focus. Not only does it affect my attention span and creativity, but to be honest, after a day of all screens all the time, I feel hungover, headachy, and sad. It’s disorienting, looking at the world through the window of my phone instead of the one facing outside.

I used to be a teenager who felt lonely a lot of the time and couldn’t get enough of texting; talking to my friends almost nonstop. Now I’m an adult who feels lonely and phone-averse; too anxious to open social media or my messages app. My parents, who scolded me for being on the phone all the time, are now never not on their phones. I feel like my adolescence has colored me jaded. I grew up with AOL and Sims and phone number-to-phone number texting. Where, after school, I’d catch up with friends, then log out and do my homework. I liked it all plenty, but more so, I didn’t think twice about the ability to turn it off.

It feels like, because I’ve had that taste of what technology was, watching how intense and integral technology has become to us now feels very bad. There is no logging out. There are no “away messages.” The stakes feel unbelievably higher when, in my last essay, I discussed how creative work has become so knotted with being online.

If I shut everything out, my work suffers. On the contrary, the more followers someone has, the more likely their work is to succeed. (A fact, horrifically, that is not a dramatization, but a real phenomenon seen across industries, whether for book publishing, getting movie roles, or having your artwork seen by potential buyers.)

So, if logging out isn’t possible and trying to form a balance feels like enabling an addiction, where does that leave us?

When I can, whenever possible, I’m shifting to manual.

Convenience has been shoved down our throats. (And I know it’s not convenience that is necessarily our enemy, but for the sake of the argument, stick with me.) Perhaps the opposite is the balm I’m looking for. I have to believe it is walking against the tide that will bring me back to myself. The life before automation is still there, and I’m discovering the joys of inconveniencing myself.

Here’s what I’ve been up to:

• Cooking and baking by following a recipe book.

• Trying to end my nights reading physical books instead of falling asleep to TV shows.

• If it’s hard to fall asleep or I wake to nightmares (which has been my crutch in keeping the TV on) I’ll list off a category (foods, cities, movies) from A-Z or build myself a dream.

• Researching music genres or what I want to read next instead of relying on algorithmic recommendations.

• Listening to the radio.

• Buying physical media!

• Meeting new friends on BumbleBFF (hell yes) and planning in-person hangouts, craft nights, and writing nights. Though, yes, temporarily gives you another app to check and write messages in!

• Savoring shaving my screen time down to 2.5 hours (less if possible, but this is where I’m at). Stopping myself from picking up my phone or bringing it from room to room almost becomes a little game in itself.

• Interacting with the world at the grocery store/restaurant instead of choosing delivery/pick-up when not necessary.

• Slowing down and re-reading when I catch myself skimming.

• Took down my bedroom TV from the dresser and replaced it with candles, mementos, and bought fresh-cut flowers for the occasion. I’m excited to have that separation in leaving digital entertainment for the living room.

• Installed an app blocker (I like Opal and ScreenZen) and lumped all my time-sucking apps into one box so they’re out of immediate sight. (Even labeled it Toy Box so I can remember their real purpose)

• Audited my apps’ utility (do I use this or is it another place to scroll?) and deleted/removed from my screen for the latter. Twitter and Tiktok died (kind of) and I didn’t replace them — one less thing to check.

• I let friends know I’m admittedly not the best texter, but I always come back around.

• When sent a video/post during that app-blocked time, I let friends know I’ll watch it when I can.

• Leaving room for slumber parties out on the couch with my dog on weekend nights because those moments do still bring me joy.

• When my brain asks to multitask, I remind it I want to be wholly right here.

It feels refreshing to be bored. In the example of my winter walks, it feels refreshing to be a little uncomfortable. (*To an extent. Holy shit, Michigan winters are endless.) It feels refreshing to walk out into the world and not feel in the crosshairs of an advertisement. The park, the coffee shop, the library: its content, what it shows me, what I hear, wasn’t algorithmically curated for me. It has nothing to do with me at all. How refreshing.

So yes, maybe the answer is touching grass, sure, but I think there’s a sturdier, more substantial message underneath. I want to be a little bit out of the loop. I want to experience inconvenience and discomfort and enjoy what’s not curated. I want what’s tangible. I want to use my brain again. The world puts up a hell of a fight for me to feel better about it.

It is uncomfortable to feel the itch of that digital hum and not feed it. Like any muscle that hasn’t been stretched for a while, my thoughts will argue it makes sense to take the easier route. What I can say (as corny as it may sound) is that I’ve been spending more time sitting on my couch, staring at the ceiling, letting my mind rant and stomp its feet and cuss me out until it quiets.

I sit at my laptop to write in complete silence like a psychopath, but find I’m not tripped up by looking up an artist or lyrics and falling into a spiral about what they’re up to hey what have I missed oh my gosh how did I end up on Facebook Marketplace again.

It feels embarrassing to need to take my TV out of my room so I don’t fall asleep to Storage Wars every night out of the comfort of background noise, but maybe this is the next step.

There was a time silence used to be meditative to me. I want to get there again.

Maybe it takes some embarrassment, some discomfort, some hard stares into the void. If it means I won’t feel like this and I’ll save this beautiful, most precious organ from atrophying, I’ll take it. If it brings me back to me, with all my creative projects set to a simmer in the background and a clear head ready for anything, I’ll take it.

So far, it feels like a long-awaited step in the right direction.

Thanks for listening.

with love,
schuyler (sky-ler)
tip jar (venmo): schuylerpeck

If you’re interested in supporting my writing or reading more:
book link 1: The Ghosts’ Share of Rent
book link 2: You Look Like Hell
book link 3: To Hold Your Moss-Covered Heart
instagram: hiitssky