The paradox of being more present
How being less online hasn't been what I expected
Selfishly, I’m frustrated with what our overly connected, overly stimulated world is taking from me. I’ve worked hard in my early twenties to adopt habits that I think might be useful as I grow. The hardest of which, and still a work in progress, is the idea of disconnecting. Going analog. More deeply integrating myself in the world and the experiences in front of me. I’ve worked hard to not be chronically online and to enjoy the slow moments. The coffee, the book, the dinner, the car ride, whatever. This, at least from an individual perspective, has been one of the best things I’ve ever done. I’ve become significantly better at enjoying almost everything. Yes, I mean what I’m saying, I enjoy everything more. Fewer peaks and troughs. I find myself less frequently longing for the next thing. I have no desire to fill the space between with meaningless swiping and online shopping. This past year, 2025, was a year where I really felt like I started to break through. It went from something I was trying to do, to being a part of my life. I am no longer trying to be less online, I am less online. I make more time for the people in my life. I enjoy the slow moments. I’m comfortable in my own mind. I can sink into books without getting distracted. I can watch movies without going on my phone. It has been incredibly challenging, and simultaneously, incredibly rewarding.
This holiday season was the first long break I’ve had in my short career, which of course was exciting. I knew it would be a perfect time to view everything with my new set of eyes. I was looking forward to enjoying some much needed family time, away from the onslaught of rogue teams messages and undesired responsibilities. On Christmas morning, as my family sat around our beautiful living room, Frank Sinatra J-I-N-G-L-E belling, wrapping paper being shredded and coffee being sipped, I couldn’t help but feel like something was missing. As I sat on the mantle of our fireplace, watching my lovely family partake in our usual Christmas traditions, I found myself longing for something more. It wasn’t more gifts, or more coffee, or our usual fantastic breakfast, but something much, much deeper. I was longing for my family’s attention, something that was so clearly stolen by our devices. This pattern would repeat itself. Not days later, my family and I were at a beach concert. The weather was perfect—a cool breeze, clear skies, and Chris Stapleton making my eardrums dance. I was completely and utterly immersed in the experience. I noticed seagulls screeching, families laughing, feet tapping. The sun was charring my effervescent, vampiric skin, and life was good. A year ago I would’ve never been able to sink into this magical experience. I would’ve never taken notice of these things. I didn’t need to fill the space. I wasn’t longing for more. I wasn’t bored or thinking about dinner. I was present and I was happy, but only for a time, because just like Christmas morning, I felt almost completely alone.
For a long time, I felt like I was one of those people who could go at it by myself. Chuck Norris style. A lone wolf questing to become a modern day DaVinci. I was comfortable in my own head, in my own space. I enjoyed alone time and my hobbies were enough to keep me happy. I felt like I would be okay no matter where I ended up or what I did. I was selfish, but then again, maybe that’s just youth. As my prefrontal cortex finally started to boot up, it became abundantly clear that I would eat shit on that one. I needed—I need people. For me, experiencing life with someone else, with others—my family and close friends is what makes this wild human experience worth it. It became the driving force behind all of my actions and decision making. What’s the point in having a great job and lots of money if I didn’t have anyone to spend it on? Why would I travel if I didn’t have anyone to share the memory with? If I didn’t care about the people in my life, and the experiences I want to give them, I’d be backpacking in Peru, writing articles and running marathons. I don’t think I’m alone either. Life is significantly more enjoyable in the company of others. It’s never the personal accomplishments I remember, it’s the smile that I put on other people’s faces. It’s the gifts I buy for others. It’s the moments where the people I love make me laugh. I never realized how much I needed, longed for, human interaction. How much the people in my life made a difference. I was certainly happy in myself, but knew there was more to the story. I needed to be the best version of myself, not just for myself, but for everyone else. It was about how I wanted other people to feel when they were around me. Controlling my attention, and being more present, became something I felt like I needed to do for everyone else. I wanted to give them all of me when I could. The time I had to spend with those people was diminishing, and probably will only continue to do so as adult life takes over. I wanted to make sure that when I was in those moments, I wasn’t wasting them, and not just for me, but for them.
So I put in the work. I stopped using all my free time to play Valorant. Anime time was limited. I deleted social media from my phone. I started meditating and rediscovered my love for reading. I spent so much time doing things without technology. Running in silence, walking with just my thoughts, journaling with pen and paper. I raw dogged flights, sold my iPad, and cancelled subscriptions. I stopped using 3 monitors and most importantly, I started writing. It sucked, just like quitting any addiction, but being off the apps is an incredible feeling. No urge to reach into my pocket for no reason—the magnetic aura that my devices once carried no longer exists, and it’s completely and utterly freeing. It feels like there’s so much more time in the day. It has been glorious and I would do it all over again if I had the choice. I’m able to focus at work, in conversation, and on things that matter, which is invaluable. However, I’d be lying if I said it was all sunshine and rainbows.
Contrary to most of the self improvement investments I’ve made, I haven’t necessarily found what I expected to on the other side. Not because a restored attention span isn’t what I wanted, but because I miscalculated something very, very important. I thought that being present would unlock deeper connections, richer experiences and more meaningful moments with the people I love, and it has, but not in the way I’d expected it. I can sink into the experience now, but I’m sinking alone. I’m staring at my friends playing games in Discord. I watch my family pull out their phones at dinner. I don’t necessarily feel closer to the people I love, but possibly even less so. I’ve spent years trying to be more present and in a way, all it’s highlighted is just how absent everyone else is. It’s hilarious to see so many people’s eyes glaze over and minds shift away from the task at hand. I notice how many phones come out and how distracted people are in meetings and in elevators. I’m not experiencing more with my loved ones, I’m experiencing their distraction. Sure, I reach for my phone less, but all that’s shown me is how often people reach for theirs. The skillset I wanted so badly feels almost useless when I’m the only one using it. Why would I care to be more present when all it yields is a more acute sense of other people’s social media addictions. I hear TikToks from phones I’m not using in my sleep. Chronic onlineness is so breathtakingly obvious. I am not some messiah, and I do succumb to the phone grab from time to time, but in a weird way, my effort almost feels meaningless (It hasn’t been!). I am more present, but I am significantly more alone. I’m more present at Christmas, and on the beach, but if everyone else is lost in the land of mind lulling short form, then what’s the point? I’m not getting the high quality time I’ve envisioned, I’m getting a front row seat to the struggle that we’re all going through. This, is the crux of this essay. I am mad at what the overstimulated world is taking from me, and you should be too.
We can all feel the urge. The temptation to disconnect and go back to our roots. A desire to use notebooks and pens. To read physical books and go out with friends. To play board games and sunbathe. We want it. We fantasize about it. We joke about living in a cabin in the woods away from 5G cell towers and bustling city streets. Sounds awesome. But does it really? Is that what we want? Secluded and completely offline? I don’t actually think so. Technology is awesome. The internet is the greatest invention in the history of man kind. We don’t want to give that up. But I think we all agree that we’ve flown too close to the sun, and now we need to backpedal. I think at the end of the day, what we really want, is not less time on technology, but more, real connection with the people and things that we love. Which means that we’re all in this together. Everyone needs to come forward. Self improvement as an individual is helpful, sure, but in another way it’s useless if you don’t at least try to get your little clan to grab on and join you in the process. Everyone needs to be more present. Everyone needs to lay down their phones. Everyone needs to get into the game of cards, into the concert, and into the tradition for it to be meaningful. Our desire to reconnect with our less online selves is so obvious. But why? For what? For who? For each other. This will never work if we don’t do it together.
This essay is my way of telling you that I cant do this without you. I’m tired of being the only person in the room. I need the version of you who gives me all of you, not the one with their head buried in some shit app. The pendulum has swung too far, and I refuse to sink into beautiful moments alone anymore. So I guess this is me asking you to come back. Not to the past, but to this moment. To each other.
I know my family will read this, and it’s no hard feelings, because I just want what’s best for all of us. I think, that at the end of the day, it will be the moments where we’re really all truly together that we remember—and I’m terrified that we’re letting them slip away without even noticing.
Thanks for reading,
— Dante
You captured some of my recent thoughts in this piece. We spent 24 hours off grid recently - no phone signal, no smart heating. Deep conversation and having to maintain a wood burning stove to keep warm - it was brilliant.