Years ago, friends from New York came to visit me in Hawaiʻi.
I was happy to have them there. I drove them around the island, pointed things out, explained what we were seeing, and tried to show them places I thought they would enjoy.
But after a while, I noticed something strange.
They were barely looking.
Both of them were glued to their phones.
We would pass beautiful scenery, and instead of looking out the window, they were looking down at a screen. I would explain something about where we were, and I was not always sure whether they were listening.
Later, when we went to a restaurant, the same thing happened.
There we were, together, after they had traveled thousands of miles, and their attention kept disappearing into their phones.
I was shocked.
Not because I thought I was more interesting than whatever was on their screens. That would be a dangerous level of confidence.
What surprised me was how easy it seemed to be for a small device to compete successfully with the very experience they had traveled so far to have.
The Strange Habit of Leaving Without Going Anywhere
A phone gives us a remarkable ability to leave the moment without physically moving.
We can be sitting at dinner and somewhere else entirely.
We can be driving through beautiful scenery and mentally be in an email thread, a news story, a social feed, or somebody else's vacation.
We can be talking with someone we care about while giving part of our attention to a notification from someone we barely know.
None of this requires a conscious decision.
That may be the problem.
Most of us do not pick up the phone after carefully considering whether this is the best use of the next three minutes.
We simply reach for it.
A quiet moment appears, and the hand already knows what to do.
I Don't Think Phones Are the Enemy
I have no interest in pretending technology is ruining civilization.
Phones are extraordinarily useful. They help us navigate, communicate, take photographs, translate languages, find information, manage travel, listen to music, and stay connected with people we love.
I use one too.
The useful question is not whether phones are good or bad.
It is whether I am using the phone, or whether habit is using me.
There is a difference between checking something because I chose to check it and checking because an empty ten seconds made me uncomfortable.
That second kind of checking is easy to miss because it feels so normal.
We Have Become Very Good at Eliminating Empty Moments
There used to be many small gaps in the day.
Waiting for someone. Standing in line. Waiting for food. Walking from one place to another. Sitting at a table before the other person arrived.
Those moments were not always exciting, but they gave the mind room to wander.
We noticed people. We looked around. We thought. Sometimes we were bored.
Boredom is not pleasant, but I am no longer convinced it is useless.
Now, many of those tiny spaces disappear instantly. There is almost no pause too small to fill.
The danger is not that every glance at a phone damages us. The danger is that when every pause is filled, we may stop noticing how much of life happens in the pauses.
Attention Is Part of the Experience
My friends were physically in Hawaiʻi.
But an experience is not made only from location.
Attention is part of it.
You can stand in front of the ocean and barely experience the ocean.
You can sit across from a friend and barely experience the conversation.
You can eat a good meal and hardly taste it because your mind is somewhere else.
Being present sounds like one of those phrases that has been repeated so often in self-development books that it can lose its meaning.
For me, it means something very ordinary:
Let the thing you are doing be the main thing you are doing for a little while.
If I am having dinner with someone, have dinner. If I am walking, walk. If I am looking at a beautiful view, look at it.
This is not mystical. It is simply giving an experience enough attention for it to actually register.
Sometimes the Phone Is Doing a Job We Never Assigned It
There is another reason we reach for screens so quickly.
They protect us from mild discomfort.
They save us from boredom. They help us avoid awkward silence. They give us something to do when we do not know what to say. They can even help us avoid our own thoughts.
That does not make us weak. It makes us human.
But if every uncomfortable pause is immediately anesthetized with a screen, we never get much practice simply being where we are.
And sometimes the best part of a day begins in exactly that kind of unplanned space.