“But how do you use public transport?” With my plastic HSL card. “How do you pay at stores?” With my plastic MasterCard. “How do you do two-factor authentication?” With the 1Password desktop app. “Does that thing have WhatsApp?” No, but it has SMS. Those are the most typical questions. Yet, despite many being surprised by my unusual choice, few have asked why I stopped using a smartphone seven months ago.

Maybe that’s because they get it. Many people I talk to are not fully happy about their relationship with their phones. Most would like to spend less time with them, and some have taken steps to reduce their usage. But we’ve come to rely on these gadgets over the last decade. Not only have they taken over our interpersonal and intellectual lives, but they have a growing role in getting stuff done in the physical world. They seem so indispensable that the thought of living without one feels like a foolish fancy, a reckless whim.

What counts as a smartphone? In my books, the iPhone 15 Pro is a smartphone, whereas the Nokia 3310 3G is not. Considering that I got the latter for $62.51 in 2019, it packs impressive features: a humble camera, music player, radio, flashlight, calculator, alarm clock, stopwatch, voice recorder, unit converter, multimedia messaging, Bluetooth connectivity, and of course, the Snake game. It even has a modest web browser, although it’s practically useless because it can’t render most of today’s sites. What matters to me is that it’s not a portal to unlimited content, and it doesn’t constantly fight for my attention.

A glance at my Nokia phone is often enough, even for strangers, to start a conversation about it. Without a doubt, the cute potato-shaped piece of plastic evokes nostalgia. Those were simpler times when people texted with numeric keys and even called each other. Maybe there’s also a hint of admiration for pursuing an elusive ideal, a spartan struggle against the inevitable. Is it a stunt, a protest, a statement?

Perhaps, but most of my aims for this journey were selfish. I wanted to be free to decide how I spend my time rather than let technology determine what and when I think or do. I wanted to be present in the real world, not just the diverse but deprived remote worlds. I wanted to be at peace with my thoughts, not scared of spending a short while without being entertained.

Over the years, I had already made some arrangements to follow that path. I quit social media to reduce feelings of envy and missing out. I turned off all work-related (and plenty of other) notifications to better disconnect myself in the evenings and weekends. I got a dedicated bedside alarm clock so that I didn’t start every morning with a digital fix. I uninstalled the apps I was compulsively scrolling through, although admittedly, I quickly transferred some of those habits to the web browser.

While those practices made my smartphone usage healthier, it still bothered me. It was like walking on the edge of a pit. The gadget was constantly itching in my pocket, and I had to keep my guard up. Just a small notification or urge to check something could inadvertently set me off on a spree. The idea of getting rid of the thing started occupying my mind.

Some people are eager to point out that ditching your smartphone is not a cure-all, doesn’t address root causes, doesn’t solve systemic problems, blah, blah… But is there much risk in trying? What are they so scared of? They say things like we should train our willpower to use these devices in moderation, and screen time apps help with it. If that works for you, great. To me, it doesn’t sound like a lot of fun. I don’t have a shortage of impulses to control, and I don’t want a digital nanny.

* * *

I felt immediate relief when I booted the 3310 and heard the Nokia tune. The iPhone was now disarmed, sitting at the bottom of my backpack without a SIM card. It was a Saturday morning, and I could spend the weekend however I wanted. No more was I tempted to distractedly browse the news or check if my group chats had new messages. If someone had something important, they’d eventually call me.

The first days and weeks of a change are presumably the hardest. I was excited I finally got the guts to do what I had long contemplated, and it helped carry me through. Sure, there were some what-am-I-doing moments, but I mostly knew what to expect since I had done a short experiment the previous year. That said, I had to figure out many daily routines again.

I started using a small notepad for to-dos, grocery lists, and various details. Now, if I’m going to a new place, I use a paper map or write down the most important navigation steps and the public transport I have to take. When I buy tickets online, I either print them or send the QR code to my phone via Bluetooth. I log in to my online bank using a small calculator-looking authentication device. To listen to a podcast, I download it to my laptop, pop open the 3310’s case, remove the battery, take out the Micro-SD card, insert it into an adapter attached to the laptop, transfer the file, and reassemble everything.

A smartphone sure makes all these tasks more convenient, but the side effects are less visible and direct. That doesn’t mean they aren’t substantial. Besides behavior, technology influences also our personalities and perception of reality. It’s a part of us. Over the years, I had become a cyborg: part human, part iPhone — and I wanted to reverse some of that.

Marshall McLuhan, a Canadian philosopher, argued that in addition to extending our capabilities, all tools also “amputate” the associated counterparts of our experience. He writes in his 1964 book Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man:

Any invention or technology is an extension or self-amputation of our physical bodies, and such extension also demands new ratios or new equilibriums among the other organs and extensions of the body. … To behold, use or perceive any extension of ourselves in technological form is necessarily to embrace it. To listen to radio or to read the primed page is to accept these extensions of ourselves into our personal system and to undergo the “closure” or displacement of perception that follows automatically.

We tend to get excited about technology’s extensions while taking little notice of its amputations. Without us asking for it, smartphones have amputated experiences like observing our surroundings, being immersed in thoughts, looking at the clouds, getting lost, asking strangers for help, and enduring awkward silences.

Maybe you can mitigate the undesired consequences. Perhaps you don’t care too much about those, or you conclude the upsides weigh more. That’s fine. It’s just that at least I never considered or could even foresee these effects before I got a smartphone. I made a purchase decision, but it was mostly about things like price and convenience. When upgrading, of course I wanted the most capable one every time.

* * *

I’m on the subway, and almost everyone is using their phones intensively. I feel bad for them. Am I being condescending? Perhaps they’re reading Shakespeare. Or maybe they’re just having a good time. What do I know? I’m staring at another passenger’s shoes. The moment feels mundane and boring. But also real.

Oops, I’m looking at someone’s phone over his shoulder. He checks the time, locks the screen, unlocks it, opens Instagram, scrolls over a few photos, closes Instagram, opens Duolingo, closes it before it loads, opens Instagram… I’m not sure if he’s having a good time. It seems quite compulsive to me. And I recognize it. I’ve been there many times.

Boredom. There’s now more of it in my life, as I don’t have constant access to a limitless entertainment device. I feel like the past months have reshaped my mind, and I’ve gotten better acquainted with my thoughts. We get along quite nicely now.

Boredom can feel uncomfortable, and like many uncomfortable things, people avoid it at their peril. Every day, we spend hours on end amusing ourselves with content (often personalized for you by an algorithm subject to Silicon Valley broligarchs or the Chinese Communist Party). If you never get bored, when do you have time for your own thoughts?

My brain is not like a computer: I can’t just maximize its utilization and tell it what to do. It needs space. I believe great things begin from boredom. It helps me rest and prepare for intellectually demanding tasks. I’ve had some of my best ideas when bored.

* * *

My change has caused various inconveniences. But has it compromised the things I hold truly important? One such thing I fretted about in advance was connecting with other people. But after explaining to folks I was doing things this way, there was little for them to adapt to. They haven’t complained. I still participate in a few group chats on my laptop, which works fine as they are seldom time-sensitive. I think the overall outcome has been positive since I tend to be more receptive face-to-face when I’m less preoccupied with phone stuff.

Spontaneity was my other concern. I have to make more preparations now that I can’t just leave home and then check where I am going and how to get there. It’s certainly harder to arrange things on the fly without a smartphone, but sometimes it’s a relief. I just try to have a bit more slack in my plans and enjoy the moment. When I don’t have all the information available at all times, it’s easier to settle for something next to me instead of trying to find the perfect place or activity. And I can always call and ask someone.

Naturally, switching phones didn’t fix all my problems. I now use my laptop more, sometimes aimlessly browsing the web or watching YouTube videos. The good thing is that I can leave my computer at home and go for a walk or to the library while staying reachable. Sometimes, I still take out my phone and play Snake. It’s not a great game, but I’m getting quite good at it.

Would I recommend everyone to shelve their smartphones? Jenny Odell, an American writer, points out that any kind of refusal (from the attention economy or otherwise) requires a degree of latitude not everyone might have. Maybe your livelihood depends on it, or the accessibility features are essential to you. But if you don’t see any fundamental obstacles, why not give it a go? Just don’t feel bad if it doesn’t work for you.

Will I stick to this for the rest of my life? I don’t know. I like to do experiments and see where they lead. I suppose there’s no need for me to commit to anything forever. But for now, frankly, I have no desire to go back.