I think, therefore I am.
If this pearl of 17-century wisdom from French philosopher René Descartes holds true, I’m pretty sure I no longer exist.
I don’t know exactly when it happened, but at some point between the invention of the smartphone and now, I simply stopped thinking. I’m excluding the kind of nonsense and daydreams that fleetingly cross your mind while brushing your teeth, of course: flashes of the episode of garbage structured reality telly from the night before, or the autopilot to-do list mindlessly compiled when contemplating the day ahead. The strata of thoughts that are all filler, no killer.
No, I’m talking about your real thoughts, the ones that reside in the inky depths of your soul rather than the shallows of your babbling brain and only come up for air when given the requisite time and space to finally emerge, blinking, into the light.
I was blind to the scale of this “not thinking” problem until recently. Awareness only came, in fact, with contrast; I took a three-day retreat in an abbey (yes, the kind with nuns), put my phone in a drawer and spent 72 hours in silence, with nothing but my thoughts and one tattered Richard Rohr book to sustain me.
This was far from my first solo spiritual sojourn – I usually take myself off twice a year for a few days at a time. Sometimes it’s in a religious setting, like a monastery, friary or convent. Sometimes it’s simply somewhere peaceful and remote (I particularly enjoyed a trip to a chic shepherd’s hut complete with hot tub last year). The setting is less important than the intention: to be alone, minus the quagmire of constant noise through which most of us spend our lives wading.
But this time felt different. It was something about the sheer relief I felt plunged into the second I popped my smartphone on airplane mode and stared down the barrel of an expanse of time not saturated with stimuli.
I like to make myself a timetable on retreat so as not to feel overwhelmed with all that nothing. It’s admittedly pretty sparse, with activities including: “10-11am: pray; 11am-12pm: read; 12-1pm: think”. That’s right – I literally schedule in cogitation. When I’ve described this to people in the past, their reactions have been telling: mildly daunted at best, totally horrified at worst. Afraid, even. For many, embarking upon a 60-minute stretch armed with only their own ruminations is as alien and antiquated a concept as churning their own butter in today’s world of easy digital distractions. And yet I truly believe it’s one of the most valuable, nourishing gifts you can give yourself.
In my experience, one doesn’t, contrary to expectation, get bored – a fear most of us have held onto since childhood. Quite the opposite: when given free rein, your brain really is gagging to take you to some unexpected and fascinating places. I never fail to come back with real revelations, a deeper understanding of myself, and others, and the world around me. I can suddenly see connections that were previously opaque; I’m able to discern real feelings that have somehow evaded me until given room to breathe and settle. I finally manage to tap into the part of me that sits, still, patient and wise, beneath the superficial jabberings that pass for thinking in my usual day-to-day. And yes, I know it sounds like I’m stoned.
This time around, I was struck more dramatically than ever by the sheer force of these thoughts – as if they’d been trapped and clamouring to get out for months, shouting and wailing at the top of their lungs while I’d been bumbling along oblivious. Now, it was like a dam breaking – they poured forth and flooded my consciousness in a heady rush.
When given free rein, your brain really is gagging to take you to some unexpected and fascinating places
It’s alarming but hardly surprising that I’d been unable to hear them. I, like nigh-on every person of my acquaintance, fill every inch of my existence with some kind of technological “noise”. It’s hard not to, given that we’ve constructed a culture of devices in which the war for our attention is being waged by mega-tech companies aided by unlimited resources (and usually unhindered by morals).
From morning till night, we’re in our phones: replying to WhatsApps, scrolling through Insta, scanning news sites, googling whatever random thought pops into our heads at any given moment. When I’m walking, I’m listening to music or a podcast. When I’m on the train, cooking, washing up or chilling out, I’m streaming a TV show or film. Given the choice, I will mindlessly consume content rather than mull or muse. This, despite the fact that the former always leaves me feeling curiously empty and unsatisfied – the brain equivalent of junk food when what your body really craves is a wholesome stew.
I’m not the only one who feels this way. According to research from King’s College London, almost half (47 per cent) of UK adults say that “deep thinking” has become a thing of the past. Some 41 per cent say the pace of life is too much for them these days, up from 30 per cent in 1983.
The same survey found that 50 per cent of people can’t stop checking their smartphones, despite their best efforts, even when they know full well they should be focusing on other things. Somewhat alarmingly, UK adults also hugely underestimated how often they check their phones; they guessed it was 25 times a day on average, when studies suggest the reality is more like 80 times a day.
There’s often an (incorrect) assumption that it’s young people who are more susceptible to tech addiction. In fact, older people are just as likely to be sucked in by smartphones; new data from US organisation Help for Seniors reveals that 60 per cent of adults say their parents are bigger phone addicts than them, and 32 per cent are worried about the amount of screen time their parents are getting.
Other research from Zen Internet and Censuswide reveals that two-thirds of Britons have never taken a break from the internet or had any kind of digital detox.
It’s enough to simply sit and be with yourself, like spending time with an old friend
It’s understandable. As the world becomes increasingly uncertain and terrifying, it can feel tempting to bury our heads in the digital sand rather than sit in silence with legitimate anxieties that threaten to overwhelm us. But plenty of studies have shown us the truth: drowning out our thoughts with overstimulating distractions isn’t all that helpful. And spending all our time on screens, rather than in nature or with our friends, family and communities, is only exacerbating the mental health crisis.
Time spent in intentional silence, on the other hand, has been linked to lower cortisol levels, reduced blood pressure and improved emotional regulation, as well as tapping into creativity.
There’s no need to take yourself off to an abbey if that all feels a bit intense; nuns aren’t for everyone. You can start with carving out a day – or even half a day – where you leave your phone at home, take yourself out into some wilderness or quiet green space and get to pondering. There’s no pressure to have some kind of grand, momentous breakthrough, either. It’s enough to simply sit and be with yourself, like spending time with an old friend.
A little contemplation goes a long way. The important thing is to start somewhere – if only to prove that you do, definitively, still exist.
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