Three Tips For Staying Sane While Staying At Home

Here we are, still in quarantine.

By now we’ve adjusted to the movement control order. COVID-19 continues to wreak havoc on the world, though here in Malaysia the preventative measures seem to be working. We’re lucky that both our government and the public at large are taking this seriously, doing what needs to be done. That isn’t the case in other parts of the world.

The global economy is taking a nosedive, that’s for sure. Millions of jobs lost and opportunities no longer available, entire industries like tourism massively affected. Scary times ahead. The puzzle pieces of our old lives have been scattered, and it’s harder than ever to predict what the future will look like. 

During these troubled times, practical quarantine advice is all over the internet. How to stick to a routine; to stay connected with friends and family; to relax without wearing a butt-shaped groove into the couch. (Who am I kidding, you’ve probably done that already.) Today I want to talk about how we’re thinking while we’re all stuck indoors. Among the many crises ahead of us, mental health isn’t one to be taken for granted.

Today I’m talking about perspective.

Here are three tips for staying sane while staying at home.

1. Check your expectations.

I daresay most of us want to make this time worthwhile, whether that means focusing on our families, learning new skills, or building the perfect island in Animal Crossing. But it can be hard to escape the nagging feeling that we’re not doing enough. We’re contradictory creatures, humans. We dream about having more free time, yet in excess it becomes overwhelming. What was once an oasis in our busy lives stretches out into an ocean of eternity.

Here’s a reminder that we’re in uncharted waters here. In life and in quarantine, no one knows what they’re doing. Everyone’s trying to keep from going under. Don’t beat yourself up for whatever you haven’t done; focus on what you’re doing right now. Take a deep breath and keep swimming.

2. Anything worth doing is worth doing badly.

I’ve always been in the ‘If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing well’ camp. But this opposing quote makes a lot of sense. You don’t need to give 110%. Giving 50% (heck, even 20%) is still better than not doing the thing at all. The irony of perfectionism is that this is often what happens. We’re so wrapped up in our desire for things to be exactly the way we want that we become paralyzed by the need for perfection. We burn out before we even begin. Kind of sad, don’t you think?

To put it another way, we must accept doing things badly before we can ever do them well. In a results-oriented world, it can be hard to credit anything less than success. But whether it’s a wonky chord, a messy paragraph, or a loaf of burned bread, our efforts build up over time. We learn through failure.

If you’re working on new skills or long-neglected hobbies during the lockdown, don’t be discouraged by poor results. It’s all part of the process.

3. Reflect on what normality means to you. 

When the quarantine is over and the virus has been defeated, we’ll enter the new normal: a world of grim economic prospects, social distancing, and refraining from shaking people’s hands. It will probably take years to get back to the way things were before. 

But think about whether the old version of normality was working. Were you making enough time for your family? Were you working on personal goals or constantly putting them off for tomorrow? Were you getting enough rest, not just getting sucked into a morass of scrolling social media every night?

Too often in the world, what’s normal is decided by inertia. Now is the time to reflect. Breathe, meditate, journal. What do you want to carry forwards and what deserves to be left behind?  

When we piece the puzzle of our lives back together, it’s up to us to decide how we want the future to look. 

Year of the Virus

Here we are in quarantine.

It’s a scary time to be alive. Pandemics don’t just happen every day. Right now, we’re living through a period that will go down in history for its global repercussions and economic fallout. Staying at home is cool and socially responsible now. Washing your hands, sitting on your couch, avoiding other people? You’re saving the day, my friend.

No really, I mean that. This is the best thing we can do right now. We need to stop the virus in its tracks, to cut off the chain of infections. Practicing social distancing is the smart thing to do. Ignoring the medical advice and warnings from the authorities and mounting casualties from around the world…

Yeah, not smart.

So we sit at home, confined to our tiny kingdoms. Extroverts suffer and introverts rejoice until they start feeling the strain as well. People need people, it’s how we’re wired. Now more than ever is a time to appreciate the power of the internet. Video calls, text messaging, online communities. These are the things that get us through the days. We’re all in one big long-distance relationship now.

When we do venture out for food or essential work, masks on and hand sanitizer at the ready, we find a world far quieter than the one we remembered. Buildings shuttered, roads empty of traffic. Queues and temperature checks at the pharmacies and supermarkets. We see pictures online of unpolluted skies and sparkling rivers, wild animals venturing into deserted streets. Nature is finally getting a chance to catch her breath.

To be honest, I kind of like it.

Not the circumstances, to be sure. But I like having the time to be still. This feels like my mother’s chemo, those long days at her bedside in the hospital ward, reading books and playing with my phone and staring out the window. Torn between fear and anxiety and distraction and boredom. Hoping modern medicine will prevail against an illness that struck out of nowhere.

Here we are in quarantine. It’s a time to slow down, to consider what’s working in our lives and what we’re better off without. To strengthen our relationships while we have the chance. To play games and solve puzzles and exercise together. Time to pick up new skills or improve existing ones, cooking and baking and indoor gardening. Learning a language, playing an instrument, taking up drawing again. Time to read books and binge Netflix and clear out your video game backlog.

Time to maintain a daily routine. To show up for work on time even when you’re working from your bedroom. To take deep breaths when your kids are screaming, the walls are closing in, and the future is more uncertain than ever. Time for prayer and meditation. We all need something to believe in right now.

Time to keep calm and carry on, because this isn’t over yet.

So I sit here at 10:30pm, typing this out to My Chemical Romance playing in the background, thinking absently that The Black Parade is one of the best albums ever made. Danger Days isn’t bad either. I wonder how long it will take before the virus is defeated, and what the world will look like when that happens.

I wonder what tomorrow will bring.

How To Stop Screwing Your Future Self

Ah, procrastination. We’ve all been there. We mean to be productive individuals. Instead, we spend three hours liking memes and spiraling down the endless rabbit hole of the internet, while what we intended to do morphs into what we’ll do tomorrow: that magical place where work gets done and goals are achieved. 

So we pass the responsibility off onto our future selves, dusting our hands of the affair. Past You is the screw-up who got you into this mess and Present You just doesn’t have the time to fix it. But Future You, now there’s the hero (or heroine) of the day. That’s the version of yourself who has it all together.

Unfortunately, this kind of thinking is just screwing ourselves over. Because tomorrow doesn’t exist. There is only ever today.

Today I’m talking about how to stop procrastinating all the damn time. 

Like many of you out there, I put stuff off. There are tasks which I know I should do but don’t until they’re absolutely critical; until someone calls me out on them; or most troublingly, until I never do the thing at all. Everyone likes to believe in the promise of someday, which is but a cheerful façade over the grim reality of never.

It’s avoiding responsibility, having fun without care for the consequences. Checking out mentally when I should be paying attention. Failing to plan because ugh, plans, right? So much easier to mess around on my phone instead. Failing to act when I have the chance.

Then when the shit hits the fan (as it does) and I have to deal with the fallout of yesterday, I look back at my past self and wonder, what the heck were they thinking? Were they thinking at all? It’s a distinct blend of disappointment, guilt, even self-loathing. Because on a core level, I know that I have made my own life harder. These are issues I could have handled differently. The consequences are no one else’s fault but mine.

And it works both ways. When I do get my act together, avoiding distractions and getting my tasks done on time, I look back at my past self with gratitude. They made the right choices, taking care of business so I don’t have to. They’ve made my life easier.

Because here’s the thing: Future You is just you five seconds later.

We fool ourselves into believing that we’ll act differently after an arbitrary time interval. Maybe we will, maybe we won’t. But for all of us, there is only ever now. This moment is the only point in time when you exist.

Read that again. 

Procrastination is a complicated issue. Despite what judgmental people say, it’s not about laziness. Putting things off is more often rooted in issues like anxiety, lack of motivation, and the inability to delay gratification. Facing the future can be hard. But we have to start somewhere.

A lot of writers I respect have come to similar conclusions. Mark Manson’s Do Something Principle; James Clear’s assertion that good habits have costs in the present and payoffs in the future, whereas bad habits have payoffs in the present at the expense of the future; and Tim Urban’s realization that life is a series of Wednesdays repeated over and over.

The core of all that is the way we pretend that putting stuff off hurts no one? It isn’t true. When we procrastinate, we’re hurting ourselves, piling the weight onto our future self’s shoulders instead of working to keep it manageable. 

We’re all haunted by the ghosts of yesterday, dazzled by visions of tomorrow. But getting things done is all about doing what we can today.

Might as well start now, huh?

The Most Important Thing I Learned in 2019

We are all incredibly flawed human beings.

Everyone has their own issues, their own baggage. What seems effortless for one person requires a monumental struggle for another. Everyone has their own modus operandi when it comes to life. Everyone has their own truths, forged from the joy and pain of their experiences. Sometimes they’re right, and those lessons have served them well.

Other times their experiences screw them up.

But even that’s an overly simplistic way of looking at it. Life is complicated, and every event can no longer hold the significance it once did. That chapter is over; it’s time to move on. What the next phase will be is anyone’s guess. We can only hope it will be better than the last one.

David Foster Wallace wrote a great deal about the banality of human existence. The vast majority of life is boring. We go to the same job, follow the same routines day after day. We dream about change. It feels fantastic when we get it. And after a while, we find that we’re no longer as thrilled as we once were. So we start to dream about something else. 

Every ending...

At the beginning of last year, I talked a lot about change. I was sick of the same old flaws and wanted to do better. But what happens when the newness becomes normal? When you’re once again doing the same things every day? When you slide back into old habits because it feels as though the new ones made no difference?

Today I’m talking about what 2019 meant to me. 

Ironically enough, last year was full of changes. It was a year marked by shifting roles and greater responsibilities at work. By crises and tragedies that came out of nowhere, for all that they seem obvious in hindsight.

It was a year of rekindling relationships with people I’d once been closer to. Some surprised me by stepping forward to balance old grievances. For some, changing circumstances made me realize how important it is to appreciate the ones you care about. And for others, maybe the embers were always there, just waiting to light themselves anew.

At the same time, it was a year of backsliding. Of falling back into old habits and struggling to find the motivation or discipline for new ones. Last year I’d completed the first draft of Wraithblade. This year, I still haven’t finished the second. I haven’t written much over the previous several months, something I attribute to one-third unavoidable circumstances (the holidays charging up like a herd of stampeding reindeer); one-third depression, anxiety, and burnout; and one-third throwing up my hands and deciding to go read or play video games instead.

It was a year that went by frighteningly fast.

But perhaps most importantly, it was a year where I understood that our failings make us human. 

For me, 2019 was about accepting my limits.

When I was younger, I talked a lot about lessons learned, the things I know now which make me better at this whole Adult Life game we’re all playing. Last year, though, I began to accept how much I don’t know.

I don’t know how much I don’t know, for starters. We assume we know things because this is the illusion our brains manufacture, the veneer of assuredness with which we make our way through the world. Look closer, and we discover how much of that knowledge comes down to convenient labels. Practicality serves us well. But what are the names of the plants in your garden? How does your television work? Why do you love the people you love?

What’s happening behind your eyes as you read these words? How did I transfer this meaning from my mind to yours? 

I can seek the answers to all these questions, but there will always be more. There will always be things I don’t know. I guess I’m starting to accept that.

I also don’t know how much time we have left. Last year, someone I knew who should have lived another thirty years passed away. Someone barely out of their teens went through chemo. And despite her cancer, my mother is still with us. It’s a humbling thought, one that can only be answered with sorrow and gratitude. None of us lives forever.

And finally, I don’t know what the future holds. I can make educated guesses, sure. I can decide what I want and pursue the goals and habits needed. Last year I didn’t do so well at these; just got to keep trying. But we’re still blindsided with evolving desires, relationships, and situations. Part of life will always be hidden from us until it happens.

-shrug-

I guess that’s where the fun begins.

All we can do is move forward. That’s the one constant in life: it goes on. We can only accept our limits and strive to get better as we go.

...is another new beginning.

So here’s to 2019 and whatever it meant to you. We’re in a new decade now, on the verge of a whole new phase of our lives. The time is now - just like it always is.

Eyes on 2020, people. Here we go, into the unknown. Good luck and Godspeed. 

3 Things I Love About the Nintendo Switch Lite

Some of my fondest gaming experiences have been portable.

From exploring Hoenn in Pokemon Sapphire when I was twelve, to the fast-paced fantasy action of Dissidia 012 Final Fantasy in my early twenties, I’ve long appreciated handheld video games. I’m not alone there. As smartphones grow ever more powerful, the mobile gaming market has become a very big deal in Asia, while still being looked down upon in the West.

Amidst Sony and Microsoft trying to outdo each other, Nintendo stands apart. What the company lacks in technical prowess, they make up for with innovation. They also have a long history of dominating handheld gaming. Thus in 2017, the Nintendo Switch was released: a hybrid console that you could connect to a TV for HD graphics, and then carry around to continue right where you left off on a smaller screen. It’s the kind of thing that future generations are sure to take for granted, but was absolutely mind-blowing for its time.

And then Nintendo did something surprising: they backtracked. Their newest offering, the Switch Lite, belies its own name. It’s a Switch that can’t switch. The Lite is a smaller, cheaper device which is meant for handheld play only.

Because you see, the data shows that a lot of people out there don’t switch, preferring to play in handheld mode. These are the people who either don’t have a TV or rarely play on one. They’re interested in premium portability: a handheld that plays console-quality games.

I am one of these people.

Today I’m talking about the Nintendo Switch Lite.

First, a disclaimer: I am late to the party. Much of what I’m about to say applies just as much to the original Switch. That said, I admire the system far more for its handheld capabilities. Docked to a TV it’s merely an underpowered console. Much of the discussion surrounding the Lite was about why it even exists, but this is exactly why. The Lite is the embodiment of the former.

So yes, I am most definitely in the target demographic.

Likewise, I won’t be dealing with the actual tech and design of the Lite in detail. There are plenty of reviews out there that examine these aspects. If that’s what you’re looking for, go read those1. What I am talking about is why I find the Lite appealing.

First, because unlike the most successful smartphone games, Switch titles use traditional pricing.

Let’s digress into the dominant mobile business model: free-to-play.

You Buy, You Own  

Mobile games are relatively cheap to produce compared to the millions in money and man-hours that go into AAA games. They are often free-to-play. But as the late Satoru Iwata, president of Nintendo once said, the term is misleading. These games are not truly free. They make money from plentiful microtransactions once you’ve played enough to be invested. And what they don’t cost in money, they cost in attention.

I know, I know. Last year I was singing the praises of mobile gaming. By now, however, I’ve gotten jaded. The free-to-play model makes more money than traditional single-purchase games, which is why so many developers have jumped on the bandwagon. The problem is that the success of these games is not measured in units sold, but in keeping players engaged for as long as possible in order to maximize the chance of them spending money.

It’s turned video games into the business of addiction. 

I just spent a year playing PUBG Mobile. I have fond memories of playing with friends and family, of thrilling shootouts and glorious victories. But I also grew frustrated with this ‘free’ game’s methods of seeking out profit. Cosmetic rewards squirreled away in loot boxes, which have been compared to gambling. The recurring Seasons which set you back every two months, making sure you’re constantly grinding for the next tier or shiny new outfit. 

The scarcity principle, the sunk cost fallacy. The usual suspects. I found myself feeling compelled to play, and I resented it. 

I was also playing Kingdom Hearts III on and off this year. Though the game has nostalgia and production values in spades, it dawned on me that I did not feel compelled to play KH3. (I still haven’t finished it, which kind of proves my point.) Certainly not in the same capacity as PUBG Mobile. There was a difference. One was a choice; the other had become an obligation. I realized I had to quit. 

None of that changes what’s great about PUBG Mobile. It’s a fun game! The actual gunplay is still awesome as ever. But it’s also a game that never ends, that’s designed to keep you playing into eternity, preferably spending some money while you’re at it. This is a product you can never truly own. It’s a game as a service. 

Some people say this is the future of gaming. Perhaps they’re right. Addiction is a two-way street, and I’m not saying these issues are solely the responsibility of the companies involved. I’ve been down this road before. We ourselves must be responsible consumers.

But forgive me for being cynical. I’m tired of being addicted.

Which brings me back to the Switch Lite: most Switch games follow the traditional pricing model2. You buy, you own. It’s that simple. No need for marketing and psychological hacks to keep you coming back for more; you’ve already paid the price of entry. It’s both nostalgic and refreshing.

You’re also paying for better quality games.

Premium Portability

The first game I got for the Switch Lite was The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim.

That’s right, Skyrim. One of the biggest and most influential games of all time? This a title I spent over a hundred hours in on the Xbox 360 five years ago, and I still cleared less than a quarter of the content. The fact that such a massive world is now portable is frankly unreal.

Due to technical limitations, handheld games have long been secondary to PC and consoles. Now, at least where Nintendo’s concerned, that gap has closed. The Switch is their flagship system. New entries in beloved franchises like The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild and Pokemon Sword & Shield aren’t inferior in the slightest. These are mainline titles, the best and brightest in gaming. Older masterpieces like The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt and Divinity: Original Sin 2 have been ported over as well, providing a more mature balance to Nintendo’s family-friendly fare.

These are console-quality games in the palm of your hand. If this is the future of gaming, I can get behind it. Excuse me while I go play Skyrim in the toilet. You better believe I’m playing again as a dark elf Imperial.

Jokes aside, these massive games are a serious investment. Where do you find the time?

Time of Your Life 

The last big-budget RPG I played was Dragon Age: Inquisition. In the end I’d racked up 120 hours of gameplay. I look back on it fondly, with a fair bit of nostalgia. A few nights per month spent at home on the PS4 that slowly added up. Much like a beloved TV show or series of novels, this game represents almost a year of my life. 

But I could only play at home, at night, on a TV.

From simple portability to the built-in sleep function that means you can turn off games at any point without fear of losing progress, the Switch Lite lets you pick up a game and put it down whenever you want. It's the ultimate level of freedom.

That's the most important thing I love about the Switch Lite: it lets you play on your own time.

When I was a kid, I spent countless hours at home with nothing better to do, getting lost in fantasy worlds. Those days are long gone. I’m an adult now. I have a job, relationships and responsibilities. I have books to read, words to write, that fantasy novel I still haven’t finished. Sorry, Wraithblade. I’ll get to you soon, I promise.

Consoles and PCs still have better graphics and faster processors. TVs have bigger screens. But there’s something special about being able to take a game with you everywhere, be it your workplace during lunch, cafes and commutes, and the comfort of your own home. 

You’re playing on your own time. And as we all know, time is the most important commodity we have. 

While I’ve always loved games, I recognize that this is a passion that must be limited. I’d never get anything done otherwise. 

Those other worlds are still calling, though.



1 - Many have been spooked by the unfortunate hardware failures known as Joy-Con drift, in which the Switch's controllers eventually wear down and go haywire. For the record, my own Lite hasn't had any such problems so far. Fingers crossed.

2 - Not to imply that all mobile games are free-to-play. There are plenty of quality titles out there as well. I never did finish Crashlands, for example. But I know I can go back to it anytime because I own the game, bought and paid for. Thank you, Butterscotch Shenanigans, for choosing traditional pricing.

Of Two Worlds

‘But how could you live and have no story to tell?’

- Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Someone called me a foreigner the other day.

It was a work misunderstanding, nothing particularly major. The sting faded before long. But I found myself shaken at the reminder that some people will always judge you based on what you look like, where you were born or the colour of your skin. People who think you don’t belong.

Today I’m talking about fitting in - because I never have. 

My parents come from opposite sides of the world.

I was born in the United States of America. I have vague memories of playing in snow, walking through autumn leaves and saying the Pledge of Allegiance in school every morning. As a child, I thought of myself as an American.

We moved to Malaysia when I was eight. I’d been here on holidays, but this was distressingly permanent. I didn’t know the language, then spoke it with an accent once I did. I was homeschooled and too afraid to mix with the local kids anyway. People called me the white kid. It slowly sank in that this was my life now. The United States was a dream of my childhood. And one of the most bittersweet things I can tell you is that dreams rarely line up with reality. 

I didn't always think of this city as home.

For the longest time, I wanted to go back.

Instead I read endless books, watched too much television, lost myself in video games. I dived headfirst into the ocean of the internet. I didn’t know what to think about my life, about myself. So I avoided both.

Then I started working in my twenties. By degrees, I realized that I had to separate myself from the fantasies that had sustained me for so long. I had to start figuring myself out. Some people think of college as the turning point in their lives. For me, it was getting a job.

Admittedly, mine is different from most. I work with animals. I’ve played with hornbills, been bitten by pythons, held an orangutan’s hand. Apart from that, my job has taught me so many valuable lessons. About responsibility, time management and social interaction. About how to work as a team. I’ve gained friends, had disagreements, gotten in relationships. I met the person I would later fall in love with.

If my teenage years were a long, lonely limbo, I can safely say my twenties have been some of the best years of my life.

Which leads me to today. Somehow, I’ve grown into a man. Yet I still feel the pull of the child I once was.

***

I saw the musical biopic Rocketman in August without many expectations. (The only Elton John song I knew was from The Lion King.) I was blown away. It's a great movie, and a poignant one. Underneath all the fame and fortune, the drugs and booze and orgies, the man born as Reginald Dwight spent half his life running away from the lonely, unloved little boy he used to be. 

Image credit: Swarovski

I can relate.

I don’t think about the past very much. I don’t see the point. The pains of growing up make us who we are. Sometimes I wonder, though, if I’m simply folding logic over an emotional core. Maybe I don’t like looking back because there are things I don’t want to see. There are pains that haven’t healed, that are with me even now.

So much of my life has been spent waiting for things I have no control over. I can only do my best in the meantime. I have steady work, friends and colleagues, someone to love. But sometimes it all feels like a castle in the air, just waiting to collapse into the yawning void beneath.

That’s when I fall back on old patterns. I lose myself in the mindless pursuit of novelty and pleasure. Over the years I’ve sought to quit my bad habits, but I still struggle with the feelings that cause them. The fear that this is as good as it gets. That what I’m waiting for will never come. That I will never be the man I could have been.

This is when I get depressed.

***

And then I bounce back, because life is short and we’re all going to die.

I’m twenty-eight years old now. If I look back on my life, I can honestly say that I’m proud of how far I’ve come. But there’s so much further to go. I’m still waiting to see what happens next.

The dream of the US has soured over the years. I look at the country and see mass shooters and active shooting drills, guns and racism and soaring inequality. A nation with bitterly divided views of its own future. I see a symbol of liberty and progress struggling under the weight of the American Dream. I hope things will get better, I really do. Only time will tell.

Whereas I’ll have lived in Malaysia for twenty years this December. Though tensions exist, I’m proud of this country’s backbone of tolerance and multiculturalism, where different races and religions live and let live. I’m proud of the place I call home. Yet I worry that I will never truly belong.

But here's the thing: I will always be Eurasian. There will always be two sides to my heritage.

I've long been fascinated by stories of duality. Light and darkness, ice and fire, sanity and madness, life and death. Fantasy and reality, and the boundaries that blur the line between the two. Former heroes, reformed villains. Characters who stand in two worlds.

Light above and dark below.

Sounds familiar, don't you think.

I accept that about myself. Indeed, I embrace it. I will never be purely anything. Diversity is a part of who I am. If some people don’t like that, so be it. 

I talk a lot about growing up on here. About life lessons, mindsets, changing the way we think. But I’ve learned that change is a funny thing. It creeps up on you unawares. Sometimes, change isn’t about becoming someone different.

It’s about embracing who you were all along.

The Noise of Novelty

Noise (technical): irregular fluctuations that accompany a transmitted electrical signal but are not part of it and tend to obscure it.

I spend too much time on the internet.

It bothers me because there are other things I could be doing. Reading a book or playing a story-length game instead of browsing endless articles. Working on my fantasy novel or a blog post instead of checking notifications and writing replies. Especially when I’m tired or depressed, it becomes so easy to sink into the mindless scrolling of feeds and Googling of curiosities. Just one more write-up, one more video, one more meme. Just one more time…

Welcome to the Age of the Smartphone, when everyone is constantly connected. When an endless repository of information is always at our fingertips. When our attention itself has become a commodity, a currency, and we have more ways to spend it than ever before. When it can feel like we’re drowning in data.

When we have to actively choose to disconnect.

Today I’m talking about noise. 

Rick Doble

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: modern technology is incredible. Via the internet, we can find facts within seconds. We can maintain relationships with loved ones a thousand kilometres away. And we have unending sources of entertainment, whether it’s YouTube, video games or social media. This is where the trouble starts. The internet is a supernormal stimulus: something which elicits responses far stronger than the stimuli for which our senses evolved.

Our internal wiring evolved over millions of years to equip us with the tools we needed to survive. In the old days, food was scarce, and so we developed a taste for precious sugar, fats and salt. Life was short and bloody; a sex drive was essential for the survival of the species. Exploring new environments and the opportunities they presented could mean the difference between life and death. So we developed a keen appreciation for novelty.

Human ingenuity has led us far from those hunter-gatherer days. But our brains have yet to catch up.

While modern advances have improved our lives to a remarkable degree, they’ve also opened a Pandora’s box of social issues and addictions which turn our own instincts against us. Junk food fills us with far more calories than we need. Porn sites offer the illusion of sexual intimacy. And the constant streams of information, the pings and clicks and little red dots, have become an accepted background noise in our day to day lives.

I’m writing this because the noise is getting to me.

To quote Mark Manson, smartphones are the new cigarettes. We pull them out whenever we have a spare moment, oblivious to the way they’re slowly eroding our attention. It’s the internet in the palm of your hand. And it’s stealing my time. I’ve gone through multiple iterations of this by now. I used to be posting pictures on Instagram, which turned into posting opinions on Reddit. Then I started following the news via Google feeds. Lately I’ve been watching more YouTube videos. Heck, I’m even checking Habitica more often now that I get the notifications on my phone.

I used to think it was limited to one specific application, but now I see that it’s the internet itself. Part of this is me, I know. I’m covering up the empty spaces in my life with webs of entertainment, filling in the silence with comforting noise.

But then again, it’s not just me. Internet addiction is a recognized phenomenon. And just like cigarettes, it’s all too easy to get a hit. I’m lucky I never started smoking; didn’t see the point. It was a waste of money, a danger to my health. But I can see that I’m simply hooked on different vices. Though I’m not about to throw my phone away, I do need to control the way I use it.

These days I find myself craving peace of mind. When I’m not overthinking things or mindlessly consuming content, tiring myself out with useless bits of information. I need the clarity of focus, instead of the endless roar of static.

And that means choosing what to filter out.

We like to believe we can have it all. But that simply isn’t true. Even before the internet, we could never hear every story, learn every skill, take in the entirety of human knowledge within our lifetime. It’s just not possible. And that’s a scary thought, that our lives are so brief, their meaning so fragile. Who will remember us after we’re gone? Will anyone care? Will we have left anything behind for future generations?

I don’t know. I just know that for our own good, we need limits. We must choose what books to read, what games to play, what work to perform and art to express. We have to decide who (or whether) we’ll marry, where we’ll live and what we’re going to do with the rest of our lives. We have to spend our time on the things that matter and have the strength to cut out anything that doesn’t. In a world filled with endless connections, we have to choose to disconnect. The bonds that remain are the ones that truly matter.

In a world of infinite noise, sometimes the most beautiful sound is silence.