Down and Out and Suddenly Phoneless in London

While waiting for a coffee shop to open in Shoreditch, a guy sped by on a moped and snatched my iPhone out of my hands while I mindlessly scrolled Twitter. The sense of panic I felt immediately after I realized what had transpired was alarming. I was left standing, helpless, in basketball shorts, in the London drizzle silently having a meltdown.

I ran back to the hotel and shared my story with the man at the front desk. As we talked it out, I realized there was nothing to be done. It was over for now. My phone was in a backpack with a pile of others, ready to be stripped and sent to Lagos for resale. It’s common in London, I was told. An epidemic, even.

I am someone who loves being online, who proudly exclaims his love for connectedness every chance he gets. And now, devoid of my beloved device, I was experiencing something that felt like phantom limb syndrome. I did not feel whole.

So I went to my room and immediately cracked open my MacBook, feeling that beautiful rush of endless information and connection at my fingertips. I clumsily used the landline and called my service provider, AT&T, who was no help. In a last-ditch attempt I called American Express to see if my blue-chip credit card company of choice could assist me in any way, but nothing. For the first time in at least 20 years, I was phoneless.

I sat on my bed in a daze, weighing my options. I was only in London for four days. Should I just go home? That seemed ridiculous and dramatic. But how would I navigate, make plans, listen to Big Thief in my AirPods as I stroll, and get my workouts in with the Nike Training Club app? Would the front desk print out MapQuest directions to Selfridges on paper? I had to find a solution.

I began searching the internet high and low from the laptop and found a service that rents devices. I spoke to someone who sent over some paperwork. I handed over my credit card number, signed a contract, and within about three hours, an iPhone was delivered to my hotel.

Then something strange happened. I looked at everyone around me glued to their devices and felt left out. I had nothing to scroll through, no one to text, no memes to laugh at. I stuffed my hand in pocket every five minutes, expecting my iPhone to be there. Nothing. Those three hours, phoneless, gave me some actual alone time. With my, you know... thoughts. Suddenly, realizations—about my need for connection, about myself—hit me like a ton of bricks.

My pathological need for an iPhone, for instance, stemmed from a deep-seated desire to share. What did that say about me? More than I’d like to admit. That I am self-involved and constantly seeking validation—two unfortunate qualities that run deep but are efficiently placated by, well, Instagram. The carefully tailored experiences I shared while traveling telegraph the person who I want to appear as to friends and strangers: cultured, informed, ahead of the curve. It was an outlet I was afraid to be without, even for a few days.

The other stuff, the more necessary things that come with a phone, like Google Maps and phone service, didn’t really matter to me. I could find a workaround for all of that. But Instagram was only really on the phone, and I craved it. The positive reinforcement I receive when I share these parts of my life, not the full picture, just feels good. I don't share selfies taken from my coach seat on a flight or a picture of a depressing Sweetgreen salad. It’s a highlight reel. Hits only.

To be honest, I had never given this much thought. I use a phone constantly; it’s part of my job. It’s an enormous part of my life. In the past, I’ve ignored articles about phones being detrimental to our health and laugh at people who take breaks when they need to unplug. I am quick to toss off that behavior as weak. But now? After some stranger snatched my phone away and I was forced to do without? I see some necessity in untethering. I don’t need to announce it on Twitter, but maybe I should take a break sometimes. Shit, maybe we all should.

I left my rental phone at the front desk before I left for Heathrow, and those panicky feelings came back. The journey back to New York City without an iPhone let my mind wander. I was once again free from distraction. More time to reflect, something I must learn to do when I am back home locked into my daily routine, even when I have a shiny new iPhone 11 Pro at my disposal. I will always charge my phone in another room while I sleep, maybe I will even leave it in a locker at the gym while I work out. Baby steps.

That morning, I yelled after the thief who nicked my iPhone: “Why!?” He yelled back, “It happens, mate.” He was right. It does. A necessary reminder to be present, and ultimately more self-aware, can come at any time.

Level Up

A Q+A with the computer scientist about his new book Digital Minimalism, why future workplaces may go email-free, and why tech backlash is about to go mainstream.

Originally Appeared on GQ