About a year ago I was standing on Pike Street looking at Facebook when I read a comment that was so asinine I impulsively lobbed my iPhone into a passing dump truck. It ricocheted off the tailgate, struck a bicyclist on the helmet and fell into the street, where a Car2Go ran over it. Then a chihuahua walked up and peed on the pieces. I took it as a sign: My unhealthy preoccupation with social media had come to an end.
Not everyone will find it so easy to rid themselves of the brain-sucking scroll-monster. But my experience prompted me to develop some special methods for cutting the digital cord, which anyone can follow. With a solid game plan and proper aftercare, you can do it! Enjoy heightened moods, sharper recall, healthier appetite and longer, fuller orgasms that will begin to pop off randomly throughout the day. Food will taste better, too—even bad food!
Your journey begins like mine—by destroying your smartphone, as well as any other internet-connected devices you own. Don’t waste your time posting a big farewell pronouncement on Facebook, just make with the smashy-smash. Fire’s good, too. Try kerosene for a hot, steady burn.
Stripped of your phone contacts, email addresses and cyber-friends, you are a new person. Look around until you spot someone else who’s not staring at a phone screen. Introduce yourself.
Congratulations, you’ve just “friended” the first person in your new life. Eventually, all of your new-life friends will be from the “IRL timeline.”
You might pine for the familiar conventions of Facebook, which enable shallow interactions that are nonetheless mutually affirming. Try giving an actual thumbs-up to things you enjoy, and if someone’s presence pleases you, say, “I like you.”
If you’re having a difficult time resisting the urge to publicly broadcast your thoughts and opinions as they arise, try writing your “status updates” on little slips of paper. After a week or two, separate the legitimately worthwhile thoughts from things that, upon consideration, weren’t necessary to share with every person you’ve ever known plus some you’ve never met. Now take the latter stack and burn it in the woods along with all your clothes, except for a simple white cotton shirt and pants. This will be your “new-life outfit.”
The next phase of the process is too complicated to convey here, so I invite you to come to our compound outside Roslyn so I can explain it in person. When you get to the little footbridge, ring the bell and take a seat in the meditation garden to decompress. Your new-life friends will be there to receive you shortly.