After I got home from work, my wife Michelle and I would decide how we’d spend our evenings. We did not have cellphones, and a TV was the only “device” we owned at the time.
Though we watched the occasional show or sporting event, we both felt agitated if we sat in front of the idiot box for too long. My wife started stenciling the kitchen wall. Each evening, she spent several hours painting.
I was bored. I didn’t want to watch television; I read a bit, but if I did so for more than 10 minutes, I’d fall asleep.
In an attempt to fill my time with meaning, I bought a sketchbook and tried to emulate pictures of dilapidated barns, book covers, and animal faces. I erased more than I drew, but the process was comforting, and regardless of how ridiculous the end product appeared, it always felt like time well spent.
That was in 1996, when we were still newlyweds.
Over the next several years, I started running, dabbled in photography, bread baking, and writing. None of these endeavors came easily, but I found something valuable in their processes.
Soon, we had two young children, and discretionary time all but disappeared. The next two decades were filled with soccer practices, basketball tournaments, playdates, homework, and beach trips.
I was so busy working and living outside myself, I didn’t think much about my hobbies. When given a brief respite from our busy lives, Michelle and I went out to dinner or fell asleep watching a movie.
After raising our kids, I was once again faced with how to spend my free time
In the blink of an eye, our children grew up. They are now in college, and most evenings, my calendar is empty.
While raising them, I’d longed for free time — time to pursue my interests, pick up my camera, or maybe, write that novel.
But once given that free time, I found myself scrolling mindlessly on my phone, which made me feel emptier than watching the idiot box in my 20s.
Even when I wasn’t endlessly watching Instagram Reels, I was frequently reaching for my phone as a resource.
When I’d put my phone down and pick up a book, a question would inevitably surface — and this would require an immediate Google search. Who was president at the start of the Roaring Twenties? How was Prometheus related to Zeus? How many grams of fiber are in a serving of broccoli?
Though I knew none of these questions was urgent, I needed an answer — now. As a result, I’d either open my laptop to find the answer or I’d just grab my phone again.
One Google search would lead to another, and before I knew it, it was time for bed. What had I done that evening? How was I choosing to fill my free time? What did this say about how I’d spend my time in retirement?
I created a list to remind myself of what’s important and push myself away from the screens
I did not like my choices, and I was afraid that I’d lost control of my decision-making. Defaulting to my phone or laptop was not how I wanted to live my life.
So, I made a commitment to myself: an ongoing to-do list.
The activities on it bring me satisfaction and joy: play tennis, strum the guitar (and try to learn a new chord), start a game of Scrabble with Michelle, go bird-watching, plan a dinner with friends, and so on.
Scrolling on my phone had become an automatic response to boredom or downtime. I had to train myself to break this habit, and I did so by planning ahead.
When I know I’ll have a stretch of unscheduled time, I make myself read the list, which is in the front of my journal and on a sticky note hanging in my office. This prompts me to make a commitment to at least one of the activities. It’s working.
Now, instead of picking up my phone, I’m connecting with my wife, baking a new recipe, or improving my photography skills.
My list is still growing. The more things I add, the more options I have, and the less likely I am to mindlessly scroll away my time.
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