It turns out climbing Ben Lomond in Scotland in torrential rain and wind is character-building.
It also turns out it’s phone-destroying. Somewhere between grim clambering, sideways rain, and a questionable choice of waterproofing, my phone gave up on life. Dead. Gone. RIP.
At first, sheer panic set in. How would I let anyone know I was safe back home? How would I contact my partner? (Also, how would I smugly upload a windswept selfie to prove I’d climbed the thing?!)
But after the initial shock wore off, something unexpected happened: life went on.
The Fear of Missing Out… on Nothing
Without my trusty pocket rectangle, I realised just how much of my life is filtered through that tiny screen. Usually, I’d be snapping photos on the hike—even though we looked like drowned rats trudging through six hours of rain. I’d be capturing dinner moments with friends, or the ridiculous beauty of Loch Lomond the next day while kayaking.
Instead, I couldn’t. And you know what? It was glorious.
I actually lived the moments.
I looked at the view without instantly trying to frame it for Instagram.
Dependency Detox
The saddest realisation? We are pathetically reliant on these things. Phones are no longer just phones—they’re wallets, maps, cameras, diaries, banking systems, and apparently the only acceptable way to prove you exist.
People expect instant replies, and if you go dark for more than a few hours, they assume you’ve been abducted.
Before mobiles, we made plans and actually stuck to them. We turned up on time.
We didn’t broadcast every waking thought into the ether. We weren’t doom-scrolling horrors or someone’s half-baked undeducated opinion at breakfast.
Honestly? Life was better and more free as I remember it.
The Big Lesson
I work in tech (the irony isn’t lost on me), but the phone-free days forced a reset. It made me question how much time I’m actually giving to this device. Spoiler: too much.
So here’s the new rule:
During my time, I’m going back to basics. More presence, less pings. I’ll be taking mental photos, enjoying the view with my actual eyes, and keeping the horrors of the world exactly where they are: not in my hand.
This weekend, I’m logging out of the panic machine and logging in to real life.
And if anyone needs me? Well, you’ll just have to wait until I feel like checking.
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