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Last winter, at a Motzaei Shabbat learning program, I looked around the social hall of my shul, where dozens of parents had gathered to learn with their children.
At some tables, kids were learning mishnayot, at others, they were using markers and crayons to decorate cards for members of the IDF.
But as I gazed across the hall at this incredible scene, I realized that while the kids were looking down at their sefarim and cards, most parents were looking down at something else: their phones.
What I saw that Motzaei Shabbat wasn’t limited to that one moment.
Walking around our frum neighborhood, I see more and more parents driving with a phone in one hand instead of focusing on the road. I wonder what kind of example that sets for all those kids in the van.
At a recent kumzits, even though most people had flip phones, half the crowd was recording videos or taking pictures rather than being in the moment.
I was that same person—until I turned my cell phone off for an entire year.
The decision to turn off my smartphone didn’t happen overnight.
Like so many of us, I had an unhealthy relationship with it. My phone habits had been bothering me for years. I can’t pinpoint when it became a problem, but over time, I realized I was living a less-meaningful life because of it.
I tried many different methods to establish a better relationship with it—strategies promoted in self-help books and articles.
The first one I encountered is a familiar concept to many of us: the digital Sabbath.
I find Shabbat to be sacred and restorative. I would feel such relief, a weight lifted off my shoulders, when I turned off my phone late Friday afternoon. No work emails to check, no text messages coming through, just time to reconnect with family and friends.
But once late afternoon arrived on Shabbat, I would start to feel the dopamine rush, the anticipation of turning on my phone to check for messages and see what news I’d missed over the last twenty-four hours. After we’d extinguish the flame of the Havdalah candle, I’d rush from the kitchen to our bedroom to turn on my phone.
Turning my phone off for Shabbat was a Band-Aid, I realized—like telling someone who is addicted to cigarettes not to smoke for one day a week. I knew it wouldn’t solve my problem.
I experimented with leaving my phone in the mudroom when I got back from work and keeping it there for the remainder of the evening. If I had to check something, I’d walk over, tap my phone, complete my task and then leave. The inconvenience of not having it by my side made me feel less dependent on it at home but also showed me how dangerous a tool it was.
I would often wonder what my oldest son was thinking every half hour when I’d leave the game we were playing or the puzzle we were working on to check my phone by the carport door—hearing the latest ding or giving in to the urge to refresh my email inbox. I felt like I had an addiction to a drug, picking up my youngest son with one arm after changing a diaper and walking to the other side of our house to check my phone with the other. It felt wrong.
I was that same person—until I turned my cell phone off for an entire year.
I tried turning on airplane mode and deleting apps. But on stroller walks around the neighborhood, I’d still tap my phone to check the time, look at my calendar and open my email and messages—even though I knew no new messages were coming in. The simple motion of tapping my phone and seeing the screen light up had become deeply ingrained in my routine.
As I now realize, what I was trying were just “hacks.” Noble as they might have been, these efforts fell short of what I was truly seeking.
I knew the relationship with my wife, Lauren, was suffering because of how much time I was spending on my phone. I spent hours on it each day, especially in the evening—time that could have been spent with her.
I wasn’t able to focus on our kids as much as I wanted. Trips to the zoo and aquarium felt distracted. The kids’ morning and afternoon naptimes—when I could have been productive—were instead spent on the sofa, looking at my phone.
I had been working at Georgetown Law directing website strategy for close to ten years but wasn’t gaining as much career capital as I wanted. I realized it was largely because I couldn’t focus deeply. I also wasn’t finding the time to invest in meaningful activities like learning Torah; I missed writing and playing golf.
And then there was me. I didn’t have time for self-reflection. I couldn’t embrace solitude. During any quiet moment, I would reach for my phone. In line at the grocery store, I’d take it out. At a baseball game, I’d check it frequently to see if a message had come in. It was a pacifier—a way to escape the realities of life. I lost who I was, and who I wanted to be.
That’s why I knew I had to do something drastic: a phone detox.
Turning off my phone was one of the most transformative decisions I’ve ever made. During my yearlong phoneless odyssey, every area of my life began to improve.
At work, I felt more disciplined. I brought a notepad and pen to meetings, and my ability to retain information markedly improved.
Without the option to text throughout the day, Lauren and I spent time each evening catching each other up on the day’s events. I looked forward to those conversations. Free from the constant distraction of a phone, I began setting aside more time for the two of us to spend together—and our relationship grew stronger as a result.
As for our kids, I could tell how much they appreciated me not constantly checking my phone. When I took them out for walks, or to the pool or playground, they had my undivided attention—which hadn’t been the case before. I developed a newfound appreciation for being a father, something I was truly grateful for.
It’s important to note that some of my friendships suffered. I’m fairly sure it was because those relationships were largely built around texting. Without the ability to send quick messages back and forth, we gradually fell out of touch.
But I actually grew closer to three of my dearest friends. Since we were forced to call each other, low-effort communication was replaced by high-quality conversation. Instead of sending each other frequent text messages, we set aside time to talk on the phone. Even my wife appreciated this—when my friends called our house phone, she got to catch up with them too.
With the newfound free time I had each night, I was also able to rekindle old hobbies like golf and chess.
After a year without my smartphone, I decided I didn’t want to throw it away. With the reward pathways in my brain reset by the detox, I chose to adopt what I’ve coined the “off-by-default” philosophy.
The definition of the philosophy is simple: I turn my phone on only when there’s something I want to do that will enhance my life. For example, if we’re driving to Hershey Park, I’ll put the address into the GPS. Once we arrive, I turn it off. Even after everything I’ve been through, I know that if my phone stays on in my pocket, I won’t be fully present with my family the way I want to be.
Over a two-year period, I had dozens of conversations with others who recognized the challenges of the phone’s constant-companion model—and who did something about it. I interviewed an anesthesiologist in Baltimore, a software engineer in Seattle, an outfielder for the Philadelphia Phillies, a social media marketer in Northern Ireland, a school principal in Chicago, and a law partner in Connecticut, among others.
There’s also a writer in Vermont, a product specialist in Kenya, a college senior at the University of Notre Dame, a chess grandmaster in Minnesota, and a financial analyst in Italy—all of whom fundamentally changed their relationships with their phones and enhanced their lives in remarkable ways.
The average American spends more than five hours a day on their smartphone—that’s more than a quarter of our waking hours. Most teenagers spend nearly half of their waking hours on their devices.
This is the moment to take a stand. You can reset the relationship you have with your phone. It’s time to stop wasting time—and reclaim it.
This essay is adapted from the book Unplug: How to Break Up with Your Phone and Reclaim Your Life (New York: Workman Publishing, 2025). Richard Simon has directed website strategy for Georgetown Law in Washington, DC, since 2010, and is a former reporter and webmaster for the Daily Record newspaper in Maryland. He lives in Baltimore with his wife and three children.