Doomscrolling. The death of creativity. The need to watch, listen, and feed the mind with endless, meaningless content—produced by us and powered by systems designed to exploit our attention for profit.
This is what I’ve turned away from by immersing myself back into a semi-analog lifestyle.
The watch. The iPad. The laptop. The phone. An endless array of tech that keeps our minds numb and disconnected from reality. Addicts—that’s what we’ve become.
We watch trash to think trash. We tell ourselves, “I’m learning so much,” but are we really?
Look at where your attention actually goes. Most of the time, it isn’t on creative work. It’s on passive, low-value consumption. And even when we try to step away, we’re still tethered—by smartwatches, notifications, and the creeping fear of missing out.
FOMO
Nothing is more addictive than FOMO combined with technology. We fear missing news, trends, stories—so we stay plugged in. We post our opinions, hoping someone cares. But deep down we know: most of this doesn’t matter.
It’s not real work. It’s not built. It’s not born of effort. It’s low-yield output based on our latest reactions—dressed up to look like relevance.
Whatever happened to real creativity?
That’s what I’ve been thinking about—late at night, in quiet moments. And the answer that keeps surfacing is simple: Go analog.
Analog
It sounds extreme. But it’s not.
I used to read constantly. Then I stopped. I used to write in journals—bad writing, sometimes—but it mattered. Some entries were for my kids. Some were just brain dumps. Either way, they came from a real place.
Where did those days go?
Why did I buy that mechanical watch? Not because it’s more efficient—but because it’s physical. It doesn’t push notifications. It just is.
Pick up a book. Grab a good pen and a stack of paper. Write.
Not for performance. Not for productivity. Write even when it means nothing. Write when it means everything.
Write for your family, your spouse, your children. Write to know yourself. Write to face yourself.
Disconnect to reconnect. Spend time alone. Be still. Be quiet. Loneliness isn’t failure—it’s space. A place to observe your own mind. To pray. To reflect.
Machines, AI, and technology should support creative output—not originate it. The ideas must come from within. If they don’t, it’s not really yours.
And the more I sit with this—through reading, through writing—the less tolerance I have for passive consumption. Most media now feels like a distortion of something that began in silence.
Maybe this will reach someone. Maybe it sparks a shift. Maybe not. But I needed to write it—if only to remind myself what it means to be fully human again.
Have I done all this? No. Some of it. Not enough. But maybe—just maybe—we can start this together.
We may never meet. But how amazing would it be to know we’re both trying to reconnect—to self, to silence, to what actually matters?
Let’s stop being cynics. Let’s give ourselves—and the world—one more chance.
Embrace being alone. Enjoy some quiet. Go analog.