The Age of Digital Sedation

It takes around 20 seconds for my coffee machine to pull a shot of espresso. At the point where the water started trickling into my cup, I reached for my phone in my pocket. And then I caught myself — I can’t even manage the discomfort of having nothing to do for 20 seconds.

I lowered my hand to my side and consciously forced myself to stand there, doing nothing until my coffee was ready. My coffee didn’t taste any better — maybe just a bit warmer than it would’ve been had I pulled out my phone. Because let’s be honest: had I opened my phone, the 20 seconds of respite would have become ten minutes of aimless scrolling.

The disquiet we feel in our silent moments isn’t new to the human experience. In fact, ennui has been dogging people since we could formulate thoughts. And it’s this feeling of listlessness that drives us to discover and do things. Ironically, our attempts to avoid ennui often lead us to do frivolous or reckless things. As Blaise Pascal famously wrote: "All of humanity's problems stem from man's inability to sit quietly in a room alone."

Our progress as a species stems from our need to create meaning out of the world around us — to find an answer to the question: why am I, and everything around me, here?

Photo by Blake Verdoorn

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I. What’s happening when we reach for our phone—when we avoid those empty moments?

Avoiding the silent scream of meaninglessness

People have always avoided silence — those moments when we have nothing but the silent scream of the meaninglessness of our existence to contend with. For centuries we’ve filled those silences with music, TV, books, magazines, friends, family, food, alcohol, drugs, gaming, sleep, war, religion and daydreaming.

And if you look at that list of distractions, for the longest time, they drove us to seek out other people, to engage in creative acts, to explore alternate forms of consciousness. And while our motives were to allay existential dread, in the process we found purpose and meaning in our lives.

The Path of Least Resistance

Over the past century we’ve, mostly subconsciously, sought out easier and easier ways to distract ourselves from the deafening silence. The advent of the printing press allowed the aristocracy to spend their idle hours reading books. Then came radio, allowing families to listen together to news, novellas and soap operas.

And as more options became available, we drifted toward the most immediate and effortless distractions. Digital experiences are designed to be frictionless. Tap, swipe, scroll. The interfaces are beautiful, anaesthetic, and numbing. There’s no pause. No space for introspection. No requirement to create, learn, or discover.

We no longer need to plan social events or venture outdoors. Everything we need to drown out the silence is in our pockets, our homes, and our offices. We've filled every nook of our lives with internet access so we don’t have to feel uncomfortable.

On average, people across the globe check their phones 58 times a day. The subtext of that stat is the ongoing erosion of moments once dedicated to art, play, learning, and genuine connection. The evolutionary function of ennui — to push us to make meaning of life — has been replaced by screens.

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II. The Social Contract of Conformity

The New Social Pressure

For my tween daughter, not being online would make her unusual among her friends. Every time I ask her to put her device down, I see the discomfort it causes her. It’s more than dopamine addiction. It’s the fear of not knowing what her friends are saying. Of not being able to respond. Of being seen as antisocial.

For younger people, participation is the default — and opting out comes at a cost. It means not being able to influence the narrative. It opens the possibility of the crowd turning on you while you're not looking.

FOMO isn’t just a meme. It’s a measurable driver of anxiety and depression, and it thrives in a world where our social worth is overwhelmingly mediated by screens.

Consumption vs Creation

As I write this, part of me would rather be playing Wordle on my phone. Using my brain — concentrating, thinking, writing — takes effort. It’s hard work. It’s tiring.

Creating is slow and effortful. Consumption, on the other hand, is easy. Most people spend hours a day consuming content — and only minutes creating or expressing themselves.

If we don’t make time to create — to do something meaningful that defines us — that imbalance leads to numbness and disassociation. We lose sight of who we are. We forget how it feels to be us.

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III. The Sense of Being Discontented Is Trying to Tell You Something

We’re trading our inner lives for frictionless digital sedation — and it’s making us forget who we are.

Most people I speak to describe feeling the following:

• Restless sleep

• Limited concentration

• Irrational irritation

• Texting instead of talking

Heavy screen users report all these symptoms. But we rarely connect the dots between our problems and our addictions.

The Quiet Voice of Intuition

Sometimes, we catch ourselves mid-scroll. We step away. We look out a window. We speak to a friend without glancing at our phone. And we feel something affirming. Something in us says “yes”.

That’s intuition trying to tell us something.

Intuition isn’t magic. It’s the brain recognising patterns we’re not consciously aware of. But we can’t access it if we never pause long enough to listen.

What We’re Really Seeking

Ennui pushes us to connect, to create meaning, to generate purpose. But we’ve found more convenient ways to dull our discomfort — with devices — and they’ve come at the cost of purpose, friends, and connection.

And we suffer for it. Because screens simulate contact, but they don’t satisfy our deep need for reciprocity. For the kind of connection that can shout back into the existential void.

Our basest instincts tell us this is all we need — while we drift, knowing something’s missing.

Social Baseline Theory tells us that physical closeness changes how we handle stress and anxiety. No emoji can replicate that.

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IV. Breaking Free from the Trance

If we want to diverge from the path of digital sedation, we have to be willing to feel again.

Numbness protects us from discomfort. But it also blocks joy. The first step to reclaiming aliveness is being willing to feel discomfort — and to allow ourselves to feel all the emotions that come with being human, and being with humans.

It’s not easy. I speak from experience: emotions can suck. And the more we avoid them, the more overwhelming they seem.

But studies on emotional regulation show screen-use suppresses — rather than helps us process — what we’re feeling. And the more we suppress, the harder it becomes to find our way back to being whole.

Reclaiming Your Attention

Start small. Thirty minutes a day without a screen. Go for a walk. Read a book. Watch the wind move through a tree.

Short digital detoxes improve cognitive clarity and emotional resilience. It’s time we reclaim our mental and emotional sovereignty from the devices that surround us.

Finding Your People

You can’t do this alone. It’s so much easier to find your way back to yourself — and to cauterise your need for algorithmic anaesthesia — when you’re not the only one doing it.

Behaviour is contagious — especially when it’s shared, face-to-face, with authenticity.

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V. A Different Kind of Life is Possible

The Rewards of Presence

Once you stop numbing, something extraordinary happens: life starts to feel real again.

Ennui begins to push you toward defining who you are — not in the context of some virtual world, but in relation to the real one. And as you reconnect, you begin to notice small things:

· Your partner’s laugh.

· Your child’s questions.

· Your skin.

· Your desires.

Flow returns. Concentration returns. So does joy.

The Divergence

This morning I drank my espresso. I turned to the window and watched the sky swallow the night. I stood there for thirty minutes. No music. No screen. Just me.

I wasn’t stimulated, but it wasn’t boring. It was slow. And it felt significant.

The quiet moments? That’s where we live.

You’re not crazy to want more. You’re just awake. And I’m here to tell you, you’re not alone.

We’re building something different.

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