Hey, internet. I'd like my brain back, please.

It's time to make "unplugged" the default again.

I was on a short walk with Rosa the other morning, AirPods in, the hosts of some podcast chatting away, and my mind kept wandering to one of the books I’m working on. Specifically, to a world-building element I’ve been kind of stuck on for a few weeks. Now here I was, walking my dog along a path with the Pacific Ocean stretching out to the left and a hill covered in blooming yellow and orange poppies to the right, and my brain was onto something, picking apart that story knot.

But those darn podcasts hosts! They kept interrupting.

This went on for about five minutes, my brain trying to dip into that fantasy world, the hosts regaining my attention.

I don’t remember what they were talking about. I don’t even remember which podcast it was.

So why was I even listening?

I listen to podcasts or audiobooks when I’m running errands. Cooking. Driving. Showering (this is what shower caps are for). When I take a break from work, my go-to is YouTube. What videos? Eh, whatever pops up on my home page. We watch a show during dinner (currently going through The Good Place).

There’s absolutely nothing wrong with any of that. But I do it CONSTANTLY. If my AirPods aren’t in, it’s because I’m having a conversation with someone. The chatter is nonstop.

Two weeks ago, while listening to—three guesses—a podcast, I was also scrolling Substack on my phone. (This is also something that happens frequently. Watching a movie on my laptop while Googling to figure out where I’ve seen that one actor before. Listening to an audiobook while checking to see if there’s anything cool on YouTube. Distracting myself from my distraction.)

This post popped up in my recommended feed, and I paused the podcast to read it.

Please feel free to click and do the same. But in short, The Notebook Rule is this:

Before any interaction with a screen, I write down, in a notebook, what I intend to do. Then, as soon as I’m done doing that thing, I walk away (close the laptop, put the phone down, literally walk away, etc). J.E. Petersen

A funny thing happened as I read this post. I was filled with dread. Why? I thought it was because I knew that I would inevitably have to follow this rule. Within seconds, my brain started trying to negotiate.

Okay, but I don’t have to do it if it’s just a podcast during a walk.

Or when I catch up on the news first thing in the morning.

Or at the gym, or on a drive, or while I’m making dinner, or…

Or ever? Wait.

Here’s the real reason for that dread. It forced me to acknowledge that “plugged in” has been my default for a long, long time.

I got my first iPhone in 2011. Before that, I’d basically just had those clamshells where texting “OK” required punching in 666-55. Now I had a computer in my pocket at all times. The Maps app blew my mind. I could write a whole separate post on how it terrifies me that I used to easily far-off drive places I’d never been before based on someone’s verbal instructions or just a general idea of where I was going, and now I use Maps if I’m walking more than a block. While listening to a podcast. And checking my email, and texting. No wonder I need Maps. More often than not, I don’t even know where I am.

I also had a personal blog, as was the fashion at the time. I was living in downtown Seattle and a morning walk around Pike Place Market, when a cruise ship had pulled in and the place was crawling with tourists (more so than usual), prompted me to write a post about how social media was messing with my brain.

I can’t find that blog anywhere now, not even archived, or I’d link to the post. It was the first time anything I wrote was actually shared semi-widely—not viral by any means, but I got comments from people I didn’t know saying it resonated. I was a travel writer at the time, and I had Facebook and Twitter accounts, and I got to go on some extremely cool press trips where it was pretty much mandatory to post constantly on social. It was fun the first time. But after a few trips, I felt like I wasn’t actually having these experiences, I was just documenting them. And I was having a hard time reading books. I would lose myself in books as a kid, as a teen, in college—read for hours and lose track of time. Now, I wrote, I check my phone for notifications after every other page. It’s like my brain is being rewired.

In that post, I announced self-prescribed No Internet Mondays. I stuck to that for the better part of a year! Sometimes it was hard (I was on submission part of that time, so believe me, not checking my email for a day took enormous effort). Most of the time, though, Mondays were my favorite day of the week.

I didn’t decide to stop doing it, exactly. I think I just missed a Monday, then a few in a row, and it eventually petered out. Looking back, I can see the problem. I was unplugging on Mondays. But I don’t want to consciously unplug. That means my default is plugged in.

Fast forward over a decade to me reading The Notebook Rule and feeling punched in the face. For one, it forced me to confront the fact that I knew this was a problem twelve years ago and it’s only gotten worse. It also made me realize the only solution to this is flipping it.

My default as a human—that default setting that allowed me to get lost in a book for hours, or drive to a music store based off a friend’s vague directions with zero anxiety—needs to be unplugged. Which means I need to consciously plug in.

So yes, brain. You want to watch the news in the morning? Write it down, do it, then close your laptop. Podcast on a walk? Write down which one, listen, take out the AirPods when the episode is over.

It took me two weeks to finally accept this. My brain’s attempts to negotiate continued, but they grew more and more feeble. Because at the same time, it was also working out what this would look like when implemented. I’d already bought these little notebooks on a visit to Best Friends Animal Sanctuary in Utah last month.

Bios on the back for the artists who ‘designed’ the covers. Best Friends is awesome.

They’ve been in my bag ever since. The pages are still blank.

The day after I read The Notebook Rule, I visited a bookstore in Carmel and bought this:

Maybe do this instead of watching videos or something? was the resigned thought my brain offered up. Haven’t cracked it open yet.

Every day for the last two weeks, I’ve had chatter in my ears every moment I’m alone.

Until yesterday.

It was a sunny Saturday, and we were in San Francisco with a list of things to do, see, and eat. First stop was the farmer’s market. Since dogs weren’t allowed in sections, we took turns exploring the market and walking Rosa around the perimeter. My AirPods stayed in my pocket. It wasn’t that hard—I mean, I was buying stuff, talking to vendors, listening to buskers. No big deal.

I’m not British, but I believe the best word to describe this expression is “chuffed.”

Next up: Chinatown. Specifically, I wanted to try the famous egg custard tarts from Golden Gate bakery. Josh dropped me off (parking is a beast in the city, doubly so for a van) and I immediately saw there was a line. And it wasn’t moving.

My hand closed around my AirPod case. Look, my brain said. This is what podcasts are for. What else are you going to do? Just…stand here in line?

This time, I answered. Yup. That’s exactly what I’m going to do.

I stood there.

Everyone else in line were in pairs or groups. The door to the bakery was closed. I overheard someone say the ladies come out periodically and take the next few orders. No hours are posted on the door. They open and close when they feel like it, this someone said. No menu. Just egg custard tarts.

After maybe ten minutes, the door popped open. “How many? How many? How many?” Three orders taken. Payment accepted—cash only. Orders handed out. Door closed.

I was in the next round. I ordered four because that was as much as the cash I had on hand could get. They were right out of the oven and popped into a paper bag.

I walked a few blocks to meet Josh and Rosa at City Lights Bookstore and yes, I looked at Google Maps. (Baby steps, y’all.) I knew this place was an icon and turns out for good reason. It’s not just the incredible history. This is just an absolute gem of a bookstore. As a bonus, dogs aren’t just allowed, but encouraged.

Afterwards, we stood outside and split an egg custard tart while it was still warm.

Absolutely worth the wait in line.

I won’t lie and say I didn’t have any screen time yesterday. But I didn’t listen to anything while we were in the city or on the drive back to our current campsite. And I didn’t use it that evening when I took Rosa out for a last, short walk and saw the sun dipping into the sea beneath Botticelli clouds.

And I felt really, really good. I journaled before bed (as I do every night). The app I use—yes, I am aware of the irony—offers a quote after every session. This was last night’s:

We aren’t alone when we’re plugged in. That’s why we do it. It feels like connection. Sometimes it is, like FaceTiming with a loved one who’s far away. Sometimes it’s not, though. Sometimes it’s standing in the middle of Pike Place Market surrounded by vendors and tourists and a thousand opportunities for actual connection, but holding your iPhone up like a shield, watching it all through a screen instead. Or taking a solo walk in nature where ideas start to bloom but filling your ears with noise to drown them out. Sometimes it’s a way to disconnect from the present and from our own creativity.

This morning, I took Rosa on a walk—the same path I took a few days ago, the ocean to my left, poppies to my right. It took some restraint, but I left my AirPods in my pocket.

It was nice. I might even call it meditative.

I’m going to use The Notebook Rule. I want to consciously choose the moments I plug in, to be aware of what I’m doing and why I’m doing it. I want to change my default setting back to unplugged.

We all have visions of a future us, the person we want to be. One day, we’re going to be THAT person. In my case, that unplugged person. But it’s going to take a lot of work to get there, we tell ourselves. In fact, we’re not even sure how we’re going to get there.

Here’s how: Try to make choices you think that version of you would make. That’s it. Sometimes you’ll do it, and sometimes you won’t. That’s fine! Perfectionism isn’t the goal. In fact, aiming for perfectionism is the worst thing you can do, because it’s impossible. Just take it one decision at a time. Would that future version of you choose noise and distraction right now? Can you make that choice too? Cool! No? Don’t fret. You’ll get another chance to make a decision soon.

Good advice, right? It’s not mine. I think I heard it on a podcast.