The Solitude of Slow

Why I'm Ditching my Smartphone for a Dumb One

It’s official :

I’m giving up my smartphone.

Well, already given it up for the most part - just a bit of work on it in the morning’s, and then it’s off and in my desk.

It’s an old Nokia, it’s T9, and I type emojis like it was the early 2000s. ;p

I have to transfer music files onto it, like I used to in university, and its camera shoots like my family’s old home videos - grainy and low res, but somehow, a bit more real.

July is my test - to see how it goes, to map it out, see what happens to my life, both internally and externally.

Kind of an experiment, but one I know I won’t go back on.

Let me explain why :

What I Really Need

I spend a lot of time reading the early church Fathers, and lots of that has been a kind of analytic work, trying to map out my own theology and trying to find a place to land.

But slowly that’s changed.

I read them less, now, for theological ammo, and more for Christian practice.

There’s not a page I read where I’m not confronted with just how dissimilar my own walk is with theirs, or at least the idea of theirs.

One of the small books I have is on the Desert Fathers and all of it is saturated with a way of life that seems so opposed to mine, and our modern culture’s.

And even while I would read it, seated in my chair, the chime and bell of notifications would sound from my phone, and I’d steal a glance at the screen, seeing if anything important had popped up.

And I began to realize, however slowly, that this was solidifying in myself a hierarchy of importance - a set of what took precedence; and, seemingly, in almost every situation, the 5.8x2.8” brick with the flashing lights in my pocket won.

It was, whether at the store or in church, whether walking to the beach or the grocery store, whether having a chat on the patio or reading in a cafe, top dog, priority numero uno.

It would call, and I would answer.

Which is hierarchy at the extreme : master and servant.

And this master, this conduit by which I engage the entire world, promises all sorts :

Promises connection.

Promises convenience.

Promises comfort.

It tells me that I can learn anything, I can see anything, I can interact with anything, immediately. Any appetite, whether good or bad, can be satisfied in it, by it, through it.

No more waiting, no more patience, no more pause, no more delay - the instant alleviation of my needs.

But the more I gave this little device, the more I was bound to it, and the less satisfied I felt. Those promises, at least to me, were all lies.

And I would tell myself that I could just get a handle on it, that I could use the device and all of its tech for Good. I could redeem it.

It traded in attention; made money off stealing my gaze, and it did so with every kind of sinister promise and all kinds of sensationalized propaganda.

Maybe if I just carried it with me, I would tell myself, and maybe if I fought against it and maybe if I had good boundaries and maybe if I try to be the change I want to see, maybe then, it won’t empty me.

But that didn’t really work.

Not because people aren’t doing Good in and on those spaces, but because in order to get to the Good, I have to traverse a technological Mordor to get there. And I’m no Frodo, and there is no Sam for this kind of Ring.

The other reason it didn’t work was what I learned passively.

I consumed.

That device consumed my with my own consumption.

I’d go there to get my hit, spiritually, comedically, politically, or even “connection”.

It taught me that all of these things came easy and came like a flood.

More lies masquerading as promises.

I needed to shatter the chain that tethered me to imprisoning cell(phone).

The Desert Fathers

I’d read these books and I’d hear this emphasis on solitude and on silence and on unceasing prayer, and I’d look at my life and see every spare moment crammed full of content, I’d the the quiet moments filled up with noise, and instead of praying and contemplating, I’d listen to books and podcasts and lectures.

That device choked out the mechanisms that I needed to flourish.

I needed solitude, space alone, and I filled it with others - videos or reels or conversations or texts.

I needed silence and I suffocated myself with music and interviews and debates.

I needed to pray, to listen, to speak slowly, to meditate, and instead, I’d consume more content - there’s a prayer app, don’t you know ( I still use one LOL ).

And so, I just stopped.

I have my Nokia.

I didn’t transfer my contacts, it has the game Snake pre-loaded, and every bell or whistle it has is inconvenient enough that I don’t use it.

Most evenings Ransom and I go for a walk and to the beach or park or run some errands for a few hours. On those walks, while he was in the stroller, I’d put in a headphone and listen to Pink Floyd or a lecture on the essence-energies distinction.

But now ?

No headphones - I haven’t put any music on the device because I don’t have an adaptor to connect it to my Macbook. So I hear the giggles of my son, and the hum of cars, and the tweets and chirps of birds.

I hear my own thoughts and I pray through them.

And when I head to a cafe to read and write, because it takes too long to send a text, and because there’s no FB or IG, I just sit and read and write. I can’t numb the boredom immediately, with ease, either by texting or consuming some kind of content.

I just sit in it.

And that’s where all kinds of freedom lies.

The Freedom of Being

The promises of satisfaction cut deep.

There were these ancient ways of getting there, and those DFs, those wilderness monks, they had a unique calling and ability.

They’d remove themselves entirely ( not something we all get to do ).

They practiced a particular kind of fasting so as to continually be feasting.

Fast from everything that distracts and hinders, focus intently on every spiritual discipline, and so feast on the fullness of God.

We generally call that asceticism.

Self-imposed self-denial.

Saying no to particular comforts and conveniences for the greater Good that erupts in their absence.

Because something is always growing in absence :

In absence of solitude and silence and unceasing prayer grows all forms of selfishness and rebellion.

In absence of noise and distraction and numbing and addiction grows all forms of selflessness and obedience.

This is only the beginning of my little experiment, only a few days of quiet, a few days out of the cell.

And it has been nice.

I’ll write more about it when the month comes to a close.