womankind’s smartphone challenge

ROWAN MONTGOMERY

Day one: This morning I have to get to Cambridge for work, so last night I carefully wrote down my ticket reference number and train schedule, but still, the anxiety hits me as soon as I get to the station. Without music in my ears to soften the stress of a crowded commute, and citymapper to secure me when travelling somewhere new, I’m an anxious mess, eyes darting and feet shuffling on the platform. By the time I arrive in Cambridge two hours later, I feel equal parts proud for not reaching for my phone and terrified that I have to do that journey sans phone and sans security blanket on the way home. 

Day two: My phone sends me to sleep at night, wakes me up in the morning, and tells me the weather outside. This morning, instead of scrolling the weather app, I open a window. I brave the commute minus a protective barrier of music and manage to read three chapters of my book. That night, I have a date with my boyfriend. I email him the event details at work, so I have no excuse to reach for my phone. Unfortunately, on the way there he has to deal with a work crisis. In between navigating, he makes calls and sends messages. The frustration of having to halt every time he pauses our navigation, to check in with work, makes me want to chew off my own elbow. 

Day three: Tonight I have plans to meet my friend for dinner in Soho. I’ve written down walking directions from the station to the restaurant and on the train ride over I repeat them to myself like a mantra. Arriving at the station I’m swept out of the exit by a crowd of commuters and proceed to hover nervously near the exit. Usually, I’d whip out Google maps and stalk off with the confidence of someone who knows exactly where they’re going. Tonight, I put my glasses on and peer up at street names, trying to match the directions in my head to the path I’m walking. In the end, I enjoy the early evening stroll unaided by a little blue dot on my phone. Once at the restaurant I find our table and sit. Five minutes pass, then ten, then fifteen. The waitress comes over twice to ask if “everything is OK”. I try to explain that I don’t have a phone but my friend is DEFINITELY coming, while my face burns from the awkwardness of sitting alone at a table. My friend finally arrives 30 minutes late (train delays) by which point I’ve walked outside to check for her twice, ordered and drunk half a carafe of wine and eaten so many prawn crackers I’ve started to lose feeling in my tongue. At the end of the night, I read my book on the train home, relieved that I don’t have access to my phone and the inevitable Instagram double-tap frenzy that comes after a few glasses of red. 

Day four: I wake a little hungover and decide to walk to my local coffee shop for a caffeine hit. The venue is way too cool for me and I always feel a little inferior while I wait for my coffee, but today without my phone as a shield I begin to shrink inside myself. My nervousness increases as the anxiety of standing there with nothing to occupy my hands or brain while I wait begins to overwhelm me. Why didn’t I bring my book? But more importantly, what has happened to my imagination? My confidence? My attention span? My phone is a tool I use to survive the intensity of London, but this morning, standing alone in this hipster coffee shop, it’s becoming clear what my phone usage is costing me. I finally get my coffee and head to the supermarket where I promptly forget half my groceries because I can’t pull up my list on my phone. I head home deflated, the realisation of what my phone reliance is doing to my brain and my memory weighing heavily on me. 

It’s my final phoneless day and I wake with an odd sense of unease: I’m not sure I want to go back to my old ways tomorrow. I head to Covent Garden to meet a friend for lunch, and it feels natural to pull out my book while I wait, instead of mindlessly scrolling through social media. After lunch, I wander through some shops, but without the ease of transferring money from my savings account, I leave empty-handed and with a sense of frugal achievement. Later, I walk to the cinema to meet my boyfriend. It’s been snowing all day and it’s utterly silent save for the crunch of my