“Almost everything works again if you unplug it for a few minutes, including you.” ~Anne Lamott
You know that familiar routine: a tiring work day, long commute, kids, errands, messages, dinner, and notifications.
And then – finally – rest at the end of everything.
A soft, friendly sofa that flexes in all the right places. A new episode of a beloved series that takes you to a rugged farm in rural Montana. And some short videos that will make you laugh: artificial intelligence-animated cats evaluating street food, wig influencers acting out a couple’s bickering.
Flickering screens distract you just enough to chase away the headache and your everyday worries fade into the background.
Relaxation, but not too mentally taxing, because your brain has already wrestled with it enough.
And of course, you’d love to finally start that thick novel on your nightstand or pull out your dusty watercolors for a quick sketch.
You would like to do something meaningful.
But his head is too foggy after a long day and his mind just can’t handle more challenges. He wants to tune out and falls into a long sleep.
But here’s the thing: your evening routine just feels relaxing. But then the next morning you wake up groggy and ready for another long day while drinking coffee and checking your emails.
Your “relaxing” evening spent scrolling did not relax you much.
It did not bring the revitalizing rest that would enable him to face another day.
Instead, it distracted him and lulled him to sleep.
Because it might seem counterintuitive, but couch rot is actually a lot less relaxing than challenging yourself.
And maybe you already know. The dangers of doomscrolling are well documented. No one needs another study linking social media to depression and anxiety.
But when you come out of a ten-hour workday, an evening reading a novel sounds comically unrealistic.
Slow-cooked stews and walks in the garden are good for those who don’t have a real job. For those without children, busy schedules, difficult clients and family issues.
And I’m not going to lie, I can get lost in doomscrolling at times, and I also like to fiddle with my phone.
I love those hilarious AI cat videos. I love wry travel bloggers and well-edited tutorials on how to make Nordic fish soup.
But I also know that sinking feeling when you realize you’ve spent too many nights online.
That demoralizing feeling when your occasional scroll becomes a default, robotic habit that you no longer even question.
And over the years I’ve tried all the usual digital detox tips and hacks. I set screen time limits, downloaded meditation apps, and put my phone away at dinner. But nothing really worked.
Because I was too exhausted in the evenings to try a new lifestyle change. I didn’t even know where I put those dusty watercolors.
Then it hit me. And I realized that I don’t spend my nights because I’m unmotivated or lazy.
I did it because I had nothing else to do.
Watercolors? Reading? Are you walking in the park? Meditation? A gratitude journal?
What should I write about? How do I meditate? What apps should I use? Where did I put my supplies?
These aren’t exactly the kind of decisions you want to make after being stuck in traffic for an hour and wolfing down a plate of microwave spring rolls for dinner.
So I decided to eliminate those decisions.
I decided to make my cozy analog evening activities as easy and accessible as my smartphone and TV remote control.
I no longer wonder what to do with myself. No more pointless scrolling because this is the easiest option available.
I created an analog cart.
I grabbed a huge straw basket (which once held a Christmas gift set of gourmet sauces and condiments) and filled it with everything I needed for a quiet evening away from the screens.
Items included:
- headphones (for listening to jazzy playlists and inspirational podcasts)
- adult coloring books (to occupy my hands while listening)
- a challenging literary novel, a self-improvement book, and a light romance (for my different moods and energy levels)
- colored pencils, watercolors and oil pastel paintings
- lined notebooks (for gratitude journaling)
- tarot cards (for journaling inspiration)
- blank notebooks (for drawing)
- old magazines (for reading and making vision boards/collages)
- puzzle games
- an ordinary book (for collecting recipes, quotes and anything else that would otherwise disappear from the notes application)
Then I placed this basket next to my bedside table, in a prominent place where I kept tripping over it and couldn’t easily ignore it.
And you know what?
It actually worked.
It wasn’t easy at first. My hand cramped when I wrote the journal for too long. I didn’t know what to draw in my watercolor block, and my sloppy sketches reminded me of how much worse I’d gotten since practicing daily in college.
But at some point, I stopped caring if the sketches were worth sharing on Instagram Stories. I didn’t care if I looked eloquent enough in my journal to turn this post into a first draft.
Because no matter what I’ve created (and no matter how much time I’ve spent creating things that end up in the trash), I’ve found that it’s still infinitely more satisfying than creating nothing.
Then came that magical night when I reached for my analog basket without thinking. Just as automatically as when I picked up my phone once.
