As we finally emerge from the food coma of the Christmas blowout, our attention turns to New Year’s resolutions – and how to keep them. Usually they’re the stuff of tea-towel slogans: eat less, exercise more, be kinder to your mother, be kinder to his mother. But increasingly, added to the list is a very zeitgeist-y acknowledgement of our addiction to technology: less absence, more presence.
If you’re going to attempt a digital detox, it has to be set up for success, not failure
On this point, even King Charles joined the chorus in his Christmas address, urging us to prise ourselves away from our phones and attempt a digital detox for the sake of our wellbeing.
You don’t have to love the monarchy to agree. Swathes of research suggest that excessive use of phones and other electronic devices is linked to anxiety, depression, stress, sleep problems and countless other ills of our 24-hour culture.
Not that this is a particular revelation. For, smuggery and back-slapping alert, I’ve been doing regular and sustained log outs for decades. In fact, I couldn’t manage without a digital (and before that, analogue) detox. As an observant(ish) Jew, every week I surrender all gadgets for 25 hours over the duration of our Sabbath, from sunset on Friday to nightfall on Saturday. That means a total blackout on doom-scrolling, Netflix and WhatsApps. You name it, I don’t click it.
This is the modern interpretation of an ancient injunction of not to work on the sabbath, modelled on God’s own day of rest after creating the world. And here’s the surprising bit: it isn’t difficult. In fact, it’s the highlight of my week.
When candles are lit to mark the beginning of the sabbath and the gadgets packed away, I sink onto the sofa with a finger of peaty whisky and an open newspaper – the inky, old-fashioned kind. Chicken soup bubbles on the hob. The smell of Friday night dinner lingers throughout the house. The outside world, with its demands, crises and endless noise, is ceremonially booted out.
But there is a caveat – and it’s an important one. If you’re going to attempt a digital detox, it has to be set up for success, not failure.
It can’t just be a noble endeavour, pursued with the cold determination of a wild-water swimmer intent on breaking records rather than enjoying the view. Otherwise, you’re left with a hollow vacuum where technology once lived. Boredom and resentment will soon fill the space.
So in the case of our family, on Shabbat, the absence of technology is paired with warm, substantive substitutes. Friday night revolves around a long dinner – with family, friends, and sometimes guests who were strangers an hour earlier. Conversation fans out across all sorts of subjects, uninterrupted by buzzing pockets or the tedium of someone shoving the latest meme under your nose.
Not that this needs to be a Friday night if this isn’t your religion or tradition. The message is, however, the same: the chosen evening of your digital detox should be given warmth, time, shape and purpose.
Saturday stretches out with immense, languid pleasure. Knowing I’m not a slave to the washing machine or hoover – there’s no use of electronic gadgets at all – is deeply relaxing. There’s the walk to synagogue, collecting my friend Anna en route and catching up on our week. After the service comes the communal ‘kiddush’ – a shmooze over coffee and cake, before heading off to lunch with friends or family, or entertaining guests ourselves. (Yes, there’s a lot of food.)
The goal is not to feel you are losing out by switching off, but that you’ve discovered something better instead
The rest of the day might be given over to long walks, reading, dozing in an armchair, or visiting friends. By Saturday night, I’m not just rested but restored – ready to face the week ahead. That includes, of course, the sprint to switch the phone back on and see how the world has managed without me. Nine and a half times out of ten, it’s done just fine.
Of course, it’s easier to switch off if you already have a full diary, a stable family life, or a community that draws you into in-person activity. For those who live alone, work unsocial hours or lack such structures, a digital detox may be harder to achieve.
But equally, a synchronised pause could be the catalyst for seeking out better ways to enjoy human contact – walking groups, clubs, shared activities of all kinds. It’s easy to patronise, but the intention of the message is sincerely meant.
Twenty-five hours is a long time. So this isn’t about lecturing others on the details. But if we accept that being dragged away from our phones might benefit us, it can’t be a case of removing the screen and hoping for the best. Something fulfilling, encouraging – something human – has to take its place.
The goal is not to feel you are losing out by switching off, but that you’ve discovered something better instead.
After all, the problem isn’t that we don’t know how to switch off. It’s that we’ve forgotten what to switch on. As New Year’s resolutions go, that feels like a very good place to start.
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