Upgrading My Life by Downgrading My Phone

Sometimes, more isn't necessarily better.

Why on earth would someone willingly replace their smartphone for a "flip phone" in 2025?

Wrestling With Solitude
For most of us, our smartphones are more than tools for communication on the go—they are escapes. Boredom beaters. Devices once answering the question of "what do I do with my hands?" metasticizing to "what do I do with my mind?"

But this question ain't nothin' new.

A wise Frenchman once said; "Tout le malheur des hommes vient d'une seule chose, qui est de ne pas savoir demeurer en repos, dans une chambre."

And because I, too, do not speak French;
"All of man's misfortune comes from one thing alone—which is not knowing how to remain at rest in a room."

So, which modern techno-minimalist philosopher is this—bemoaning this era's blink-lengthed attention span due to the invasion of smartphones? This quote is attributed to philosopher Blaise Pascal from his posthumously published Pensées in 1670.

So, yeah, I guess we've always had a problem.

I know I have. And my smartphone provided an array of choices for escape. The trouble eventually became the sensation after the fog of dopamine had cleared.

Great Until They're Not
While I'm not sure if I would say I was addicted to my modern smartphone, it’s escape routes certainly didn’t pass the Two Hour Rule—that is to say, two hours after a scroll session, I didn't like the way I felt and regretted my decision to initially engage.

This isn't to say I don't enjoy using the device. Oooh, boy-howdy, that's the truth. I can easily kill over and hour (or more) scrolling Instagram, YouTube, or Reddit—my main internet weaknesses.

The initial dopamine buzz makes my phone feel like a magical delivery system for anything I want to see—like a Star Trek Food Replicator for my attention span, but even better because I don't even have to decide what to consume next. The algorithm has me completely figured out.

(I’ve purposely never had a TikTok account—not because think it’s dumb, but because I don’t trust myself to use it in moderation.)

However, after about minute ten, I can feel the buzz fading—being replaced by burnout. I scroll down my endless feeds a bit faster, trying to keep the dopamine dripping like a hamster after another pellet. After a while, the content begins to feel less relevant, and I feel a kind of gross numbness take over.

Despite this, it's hard to put the device down. It feels almost stuck to my hands as well as prying my eyelids open. An hour could go by before I eventually come across a item of content so devoid of substance (I believe the modern term for this is “brain rot”), my attention is finally derailed. I feel compelled to turn off the screen, drop the device on the nearest surface, and go wash my hands.

Once I realized that I didn't like the way my smartphone's "stickiest" apps and websites were hijacking my time and attention or how they left me feeling, many solutions were attempted. However, I found that most were no match for my craving to check, to scroll, to consume. Even if I brought a book along, the smartphone would win the battle of attention. The screen resolution was too clean, the processor too snappy, the options too enticing. All roadblocks could be bypassed.

The device was just too good. This got me thinking—what if I just...bypassed the device?

So, that’s what I did.

I downgraded the technology in my pocket—forgoing my 6.6-inch LCD-screened smooth-scrollin' device capable of shooting 4K video, 50MP photos, and juiced by a 5,000mAh battery—with...a clunky flip phone.

While not technically a "dumb" phone, my “new” phone is a flip-open-to-answer device powered by the ironically-named "Android Go" OS (more like Android Gimme-a-Second-Will-Ya) and comes with a 9-button keypad, touch screen the size of two dominos, potato for a camera, and battery that does not like to be tested.

Also, because it was designed for construction workers, it feels as stout in my hand as a Milwaukee power drill.

It can basically do anything my old phone could do—call, text, check email, use most apps—but all substantially worse. I call my “smart enough” phone. It is absolutely no fun to use at all. And for that reason, I love it.

But how come?

Higher Quality Leisure
Around the time the sensation of burnout sets in, I am usually reminded by how not all similarly sedentary activities make me feel this way.

After reading a physical book for hours, I always slip in the bookmark feeling satisfied by my choice to crack it open in the first place. The same goes for scribbling in a journal, spending hours creating an original piece of music, a video essay, mapping out a new running route, or drafting a blog article. 😉

So far, the shift in my mental state has been so significantly positive that I can't see going back.

I believe it’s due to something that one of the most seemingly obscure groups has to teach us about intentional technology use.

The Technologically Intentional Amish
I know that heading, written by a guy talking about reverting to a flip-phone, may be enough to turn off most folks, but hear me out really quick.

Despite how modern media has depicted them, the Amish do not simply shun all technology outright.

While they may not drive cars or watch television, many see no problem with solar panels, disposable diapers, LED lighting, modern hospitals, or even a pair of Nikes. This isn't because they are hypocrites—they simply have immensely intentional core values.

Ok, but what does this have to do with technology?

In an attempt to live in close harmony with their community in a simple lifestyle (not to be confused with an easy lifestyle), their technology has to support their goals—not distract from them.

Photo by Kia Sari on Unsplash

When a new technology emerges, Amish communities carefully evaluate its impact on their way of life. Community leaders—sometimes with input from designated individuals—gauge whether it supports their values of humility, community, and automony. If it is deemed not to threaten these values, it may be selectively adopted. However, if it fosters vain individualism or becomes a distraction from faith and family, it is generally avoided.

Now, I'm in no hurry to go buggy shopping, shun all instrumental music, or shave my mustache, but there is one Amish idea about technology that I believe can benefit us all: more technology isn't always better.

Do we need wifi-enabled tooth brushes, water bottles, trash cans, toilets, refrigerators, and even salt shakers? That depends on who you ask. Because they all exist and most of us have made our decisions.

Re-Tool-izing My Phone
This idea that "more technology isn't always better" made me realize that I was experiencing a technological imbalance due to my failure to consider what was enough or too much for me—what would be considered a useful device versus a potentially troublesome distraction. That, in turn, forced me to consider what I want to influence how I spend my time. And that consideration made me feel comfortable with the decision to “downgrade” my device to make it a useful tool again rather than a distraction.

Enough
All of this really comes down to asking the question for any aspect of life:
what do I consider "enough"?

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