The Day I Switched Off My Phone and Lived

The Day I Switched Off My Phone and Lived

By: Abdullah

I didn’t mean to do it.

It started as a dare a self-imposed challenge inspired by one of those articles that claimed “Unplugging for 24 hours will change your life.” Normally, I scroll right past that kind of thing while double-tapping memes and checking who viewed my story. But that morning, as I sat in bed, neck aching from bending over my phone for an hour before even brushing my teeth, the thought hit me: When was the last time I did nothing… without a screen in my hand?

So, at exactly 9:04 a.m., I switched my phone off. Not silent mode. Not airplane mode. Off.

The silence was instant and unnerving. My brain twitched, expecting a vibration that never came. I put the phone in a drawer, like a prisoner being locked away.



Hour 1: The Withdrawal

At first, I wandered aimlessly around the apartment like someone who’d lost their glasses. My hands felt empty, like they didn’t know what to do without a rectangle to cradle. I poured coffee, stared out the window, and tried to “just be.” That lasted five minutes before my brain started inventing reasons to turn the phone back on:

What if my boss emailed me?

What if there’s an emergency?

What if… the world ended and I missed it?


Spoiler: the world didn’t end.

Hour 3: The Rediscovery

By mid-morning, the anxiety melted into curiosity. Without a phone to distract me, my apartment felt strangely bigger. I noticed the tiny chip in my coffee mug, the way sunlight turned the dust into tiny gold flecks floating in the air, the faint hum of the refrigerator.

I made breakfast not the usual “toast while scrolling TikTok” breakfast, but a slow, deliberate one. Eggs sizzling in butter. Fresh bread toasted just right. I sat down and actually tasted my food instead of inhaling it between notifications.


Hour 5: The Outside World

By noon, I decided to go for a walk. No GPS, no music, no Instagram-ready moments. Just me, the pavement, and the sound of my own footsteps.

And here’s the strange thing: people looked at me. Not in a creepy way, but in a we exist in the same space way. I noticed an old man feeding pigeons. A little girl riding her bike, streamers flying from the handlebars. A street musician playing guitar, smiling at strangers like they were all old friends.

Normally, I would have snapped a picture, added a filter, and shared it with people who weren’t even there. This time, I just stood there and let the moment belong to me.


Hour 8: The Conversations

In the afternoon, I stopped by my neighbor’s porch. We’ve lived next to each other for three years but rarely talked beyond the polite “hello.” That day, we ended up chatting for over an hour — about gardens, childhood pets, and how her mother used to make the best lemon cake in the neighborhood.

I realized something: when you’re not constantly thinking about posting the next thing, you actually listen.


Hour 12: The Quiet Evening

By evening, my body felt different less tense, less twitchy. I pulled out an old journal I hadn’t written in for years and scribbled down thoughts without worrying about how they’d look to anyone else. I played music from an old speaker, danced barefoot in my living room, and cooked dinner like it was a slow ritual instead of a rushed necessity.

When I sat down to eat, the food tasted better. Or maybe I just tasted it fully for the first time in a long time.


Hour 24: The Reflection

The next morning, I finally opened the drawer. My phone stared back at me, a small, black rectangle holding all the noise I had ignored for a day.

When I switched it on, the notifications poured in like an angry waterfall 87 messages, countless likes, missed calls. It was overwhelming. In the middle of it all, I realized how peaceful it had been without them.

Here’s the thing: switching off my phone didn’t make me “miss out” on life. It made me realize how much of it I was missing while looking at a screen.


What I Learned

Not every moment needs to be shared to be valuable.

Real conversations are slower, messier, and far more rewarding than online ones.

The world is quieter and more beautiful when you’re fully present.


Now, I’m not about to throw my phone away. But once a week, I switch it off for a few hours. And in those hours, I remember what it feels like to live.

Because sometimes, the best connection you can make… is with the world right in front of you.