If you read using a feed or via email, come over to the blog today! I installed a new theme over the weekend and it’s looking all kinds of spiffy.
It seems like we all agree that there just aren’t enough hours in the day. Since I can’t shake my daily schedule and make an extra hour fall out, I decided to go looking for one…and I found it when I started to unplug from my cell phone.
I check my phone without realizing it countless times throughout the day. If I’m not careful, any task I’m working on only gets half my attention. But if I cut out all the unnecessary breaks, the quick skims, the tap-tap-tapping on a touch screen…that’s got to be at least an extra hour of the day. It’s tough, during the work day when I use my cell, but outside of work? It’s completely my choice whether to divide my attention or to get things done quickly, then address the usual distractions (personal and blog email, Twitter, Instagram and so forth) at a designated time.
The Pull of the Pocket-Sized Distraction
It starts innocently enough. I unlock my phone to check the time, and suddenly I'm scrolling through photos of someone's vacation, reading a heated comment thread about a topic I didn't even know I cared about, and watching a video of a dog riding a skateboard. Twenty minutes vanish, and I can't tell you what I actually set out to do. The phone is a master of disguise—it pretends to be a tool, but it often acts like a thief, stealing not only time but also the thread of my attention.
Why do we do it? Psychologists talk about intermittent reinforcement—the same mechanism that makes slot machines addictive. Every time we check our phones, we might get a like, a message, a funny meme, or nothing at all. The unpredictability keeps us coming back, just in case this time the notification brings something good. There's also the fear of missing out, that nagging feeling that if I put my phone down for an hour, the world will move on without me. But here's the secret: the world will still be there when I return, and most of what I missed won't matter.
I've also noticed that I reach for my phone in moments of discomfort. Waiting for a friend who's running late? Check Instagram. Sitting in a meeting where I'm not actively needed? Glance at email. Feeling a twinge of boredom or loneliness? Tap, tap, tap. The phone becomes a pacifier for the smallest negative emotion, and in doing so, it prevents me from ever sitting with those feelings long enough to understand them. That's not a judgment—it's an observation I've made about myself, and I suspect I'm not alone.
Practical Steps to Reclaim Your Hour
If you want to find that extra hour, you don't have to throw your phone into the ocean—though some days that sounds tempting. Small, deliberate changes can add up. The first step is simply becoming aware of how often you reach for your phone without thinking. For one day, try to notice every time you pick it up. You might be shocked by the number. Then, start experimenting with these strategies:
- Turn off non-essential notifications. Do you really need a ping for every like, every email, every app update? Disable everything except calls from actual humans (and even those can wait if you're in the middle of something).
- Designate specific check-in times. Instead of responding to every notification as it arrives, choose two or three times a day to check email, social media, and messages. Let people know if necessary.
- Keep your phone out of sight during focused work. Put it in a drawer, another room, or at least face down. The mere presence of a phone on your desk reduces cognitive capacity, even if it's off.
- Use grayscale mode. Turning your screen black and white makes apps less visually appealing and can reduce the urge to scroll.
- Delete the most time-sucking apps. You can always reinstall them later, but removing them from your home screen—or your phone entirely—breaks the habit loop.
None of these require superhuman willpower. They're just small barriers that force you to pause and ask, Do I really need to look at this right now? More often than not, the answer is no.
What to Do with the Extra Hour
Once you start carving out that hour, the real fun begins: deciding what to do with it. The beauty is that the hour is yours, not belonging to work, chores, or obligations. It's a blank canvas. At first, you might feel a little lost—what do I do with free time that isn't already scheduled? That's a sign of how overscheduled and overstimulated we've become. But soon, you'll remember the things you used to love before the phone took over.
Maybe you'll finally read that book that's been on your nightstand for months. Perhaps you'll take a walk and actually notice the neighborhood, the way the light hits the trees, the sound of birds. You might pick up a hobby you abandoned—knitting, painting, playing an instrument, gardening. You could write in a journal, meditate, or simply sit with a cup of tea and do absolutely nothing. The point isn't to be productive; it's to be present. And if you need ideas for solitary pursuits, I wrote a whole piece on embracing time alone that might spark something.
Personally, I've been using my reclaimed hour to work on a creative project that always got pushed aside. I also spend more time on the phone—the old-fashioned kind, the one where you actually talk to people. Calling a friend instead of texting feels like a radical act these days, but it's richer. And sometimes, I just let myself be bored. Boredom is where creativity is born, if you give it space.
The Hardest Part: Breaking the Habit Loop
I won't lie: the first few days of unplugging feel uncomfortable. You'll reach for your phone automatically, only to find it isn't there, and a little wave of anxiety will wash over you. You'll wonder what you're missing, who's trying to reach you, whether a crisis is unfolding that only you can solve. Spoiler: it isn't. But the feeling is real, and it's the reason many people give up.
One thing that helped me was setting boundaries with others. I told close friends and family that I wouldn't be responding to non-urgent messages during certain hours, and I'd get back to them later. To my surprise, they were fine with it—and some even said they admired the idea. If someone truly needs you, they'll call. Everything else can wait a few hours without the world ending.
Another challenge is the boredom that creeps in when you stop constantly stimulating yourself. At first, silence feels deafening, and your brain screams for input. But if you sit through it, something shifts. You start to notice your own thoughts, the quiet hum of your inner life that's been drowned out by endless scrolling. It's not always pleasant, but it's yours, and that matters.
The Ripple Effect: Beyond the Extra Hour
Here's what surprised me most: the extra hour was just the beginning. When I started using my phone less, other things improved too. My attention span grew longer—I could read a book for an hour without feeling the urge to check something. Conversations with friends became deeper because I was actually listening instead of glancing at a screen. My sleep improved because I stopped scrolling in bed, and the blue light wasn't messing with my melatonin. Even my posture changed; I wasn't constantly hunched over a screen, craning my neck like a modern-day gargoyle.
There's also a mental shift. I used to feel like I was always behind, always trying to catch up with an invisible to-do list of notifications and updates. Now, I realize that most of those things weren't mine to catch up with. They were just noise. By stepping back, I gained a sense of agency over my time and my mind. It echoes some of the themes in my post on dreams and possibilities—when you stop filling every moment with distraction, you create space for what you actually want, not just what the algorithm serves up.
I'm not perfect. Some days I fall back into old patterns, and that's okay. The goal isn't to be a digital monk; it's to be intentional. Every time I catch myself mindlessly scrolling, I gently redirect. It's a practice, not a punishment.
A Gentle Invitation
If you've read this far, maybe you're intrigued. Maybe you, too, feel like there aren't enough hours in the day, and you're tired of feeling scattered. I invite you to try a small experiment: for one day, don't check your phone unless it rings or you need it for actual work. Notice what happens. Notice how you feel. Notice what you do with the time that suddenly appears.
You don't have to commit to a whole month or even a week. Just one day. See if the world still spins. See if you survive. I bet you will—and you might even like it. And if you do, consider making it a regular practice. The extra hour is waiting for you, tucked inside the pocket of your jeans, buzzing softly, begging for your attention. But you don't have to give it. You can choose something else.
I'd love to hear about your experiments and your struggles. This is a journey I'm still on, and I suspect many of you are too. Let's reclaim our hours together, one unplugged moment at a time.