One Day Without Devices: The Lonely Planet.

They say the closest you’ll ever get to experiencing another planet is by visiting places like Antarctica, the craters of Iceland, or, famously, attending Burning Man. But have you ever tried spending a day without communication devices? Alone?

I don’t remember how this idea got into my head—perhaps from some self-improvement audiobook about getting a sharp-focus.

Now, before you read about me collapsing from digital withdrawals, I’d like to clarify that I never considered myself an internet addict. I leave my phone in another room while I work, put it away for a couple of hours before bed, and don’t constantly go online when there’s another person nearby offering human connection. Messengers, music, memes, and news are all part of my daily life, but isn’t that the case for everyone today?

Hiding from the long-forgotten sense of boredom, and hoping my experience might reveal something new about myself, I spent day X writing this journal. I know there are far more serious things happening in the world, but this experiment was a personal revelation to me. I’m sharing it here in case it resonates with anyone else.

MORNING. NO PHONE.

8:00 am – I wake up at my usual time and immediately realize that the phone I turned off the night before is lighting up and vibrating with notifications as if it has a mind of its own. This feels like sabotage! I turn it off quickly, almost with a sense of disgust. I reject the idea of even holding a phone today. Phew…

I head downstairs to grab coffee from my building's lobby. Strangely, the whole place now feels like an alien spaceship. Since I’m not listening to music in my AirPods as usual, the sounds of the heating, the elevator, and other machinery become startlingly prominent— at times even overwhelming.

9:00 am – It feels like I’ve been thrown into a parallel universe, where I know no one, and all my loved ones are left in the home world, somewhere far, far away.

The time I’d normally spend working or making calls, I now spend sitting on my balcony journaling. In these circumstances, this mental activity brings a surprising mood boost. I grab one book, then another. I read a bit from both—perhaps half-unconsciously replicating the browsing process.

10:00 am – I feel unusually sleepy and lie down. My thoughts drift to sweet memories and imagining future moments with my favorite people. I suppose my brain is craving a quick dopamine hit, but the effect from happy thoughts doesn’t last long, and I return to reading.

When I’m not reading, I realize I can actually "feel the room." It’s a strange sensation of being alone with my environment, something I remember from childhood. I think about humans living online as avatars, while their bodies remain stationed in a dull reality—the one I’ve forced myself to return to.

11:00 am – My brain starts to lag. I catch myself pausing in the middle of the room, forgetting what I was about to do, or taking longer than usual to proceed with simple tasks. I notice how I reach for my phone on autopilot when I come across something I think might be worth screenshotting for a friend. Oh well, not this time.

I’m reading Hopscotch by Julio Cortázar, which, if you’re familiar with it, isn’t the most cheerful book. It’s somber and philosophical, filled with long, detailed expositions of seemingly minor events that carry a surreally strong magnitude. My existence feels a bit like Hopscotch, or maybe it’s just my mood coloring how I perceive the book.

AFTERNOON. NO LAPTOP.

12:00 pm – The book starts to annoy me. The way women are treated by men during the time the story takes place is saddening. If only I had music—life wouldn’t feel so gray. I find myself walking aimlessly around my room with a foggy mind. On multiple occasions, I catch myself opening my laptop without even remembering how I got there.

This must be what it feels like to be a ghost—lonely, restless, constantly searching for its place, unable to find joy in existence. I know "the living" are out there somewhere, but I have no direct contact with them.

1:00 pm – I just used a waffle maker and a dishwasher. Am I allowed to use these devices? For a moment, I forget my own rules. I didn’t even think twice earlier when I used the coffee machine and the elevator…

On the positive side, I don’t feel any FOMO. There are barely any triggers or calls to action from social media, no pressure to pursue anything or impress anyone. It’s just me, surviving the day—nothing else matters.

2:00 pm – It feels like it’s been two weeks. My brain must be processing so many new neural pathways that it can’t keep up with the normal pace. Suddenly, cooking feels like the most exciting activity. Not that I dislike it in my regular life, but making lunch today feels like a breather. I’m trying to think of what else could have a similar effect… Perhaps, self-care?

 I do two types of skincare in a row and then put on sunscreen. Almost immediately, my face starts burning. Clearly, I’ve overdone it. I wash my face thoroughly, grab my book, throw on a sweater, and head out.

2:30 pm – I walk to Bushwick Inlet, one of my favorite spots in New York. Reading Hopscotch on the rocks by the water calms me. I remember how, back in school, I didn’t follow the recommended reading order but read the chapters chronologically. Now, I hop from one chapter to another in the proper order. From a physical place to a philosophical thought, from a love scene to a death-crippling moment, from loneliness to the city streets—my journey today shifts just like that, from physical to mental spaces.

5:00 pm – I feel as though this has been my life all along. I see dark clouds gathering on the horizon and realize it’s time to head home.

EVENING. NO PEOPLE.

5:30 pm – When the rain starts, I don’t feel upset about not having an umbrella. I’m not in a rush today, so it almost feels like a little adventure. I duck under the roof of a noodle shop, and soon, a few others join me. I pull out my book and continue reading while the rain pours down around me.

I don’t think I’ve read this much in one day in a very, very long time.

6:30 pm – Back home, I wonder which option will make me feel better: A) going to sleep at 10 pm and wrapping up the day early, or B) waiting until the day officially ends at midnight before opening my devices.

8:00 pm – My mood takes a dramatic dip. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I decide to do laundry to lift my spirits. There’s something about those simple, rewarding tasks that bring comfort. I’m not quite ready to say goodbye to the hum of home appliances just yet.

8:30 pm – Only this morning, I was filled with joy and tenderness thinking about the dear people in my life. Since then, it’s evolved into something quite different—and much more unsettling. For hours, I’ve felt so disconnected that I’m starting to wonder if I really need other people, or if they need me.

It feels like I’ve finally had a chance to see this sad world for what it is, without the distractions of reels and stories. I sit down at my desk, reflecting on my feelings. The big question: Am I feeling down from the lack of dopamine, or am I simply clear-headed and objective now?

9:00 pm – I try to soothe myself with the thought, "It will all be over soon. This can’t be reality." Tomorrow, I’ll wake up and return to my world. Maybe not all happy and joyful, but at least I’ll have my distractions back.

10:00 pm – I lie down in bed at this rare, early hour, concluding my trip to the lonely offline planet—which I didn’t enjoy much. I’m so ready to return. This metaphorical Matrix pill I took by staying offline all day was a strong one…

Prologue.

The next day, I wake up and feel life returning to me with the first sounds of music in my ears. I happily dial my first number of the day and complain about my experience to a friend. She laughs and says, “You’re really bold to do it alone in Brooklyn… If I ever did something like this, I’d be at a resort with people, where I could actually enjoy myself—not stuck in my apartment in NYC!”

It makes me realize something that now feels obvious: it’s not just the devices I missed, but the people in my life, the constant access to them throughout the day.

P.S. I won’t post this blog entry for a while, as my phone will distract me from it. If you’re reading this now, maybe I’ve finally found a way to get that sharp focus.

*All videos are AI-generated. **The text is proofread by an AI.

Written by Natalia Yandyganova