by My fingers itch. Has my friend sent a sad text tomorrow? I have to work. But I have to check Twitter. My deadline is approaching. But who was best dressed at the Oscars?
It’s a situation that so many of us are familiar with: the will is strong but the temptation is stronger in social media. My solution? Download the $99 Freedom app to block browsing access. I wouldn’t have achieved anything without him.
I was born in September 1998, the same month as Google’s global launch. For better or worse, instant digital access has dominated my life, something I’ve spent over a decade trying to escape and yet I’m becoming more and more engrossed within.
A significant body of research has shown that social media has a negative impact on our lives and minds, and that the majority of the population is addicted to screens. Mental health problems among young people have increased sixfold since the advent of social media, a major study found in 2018; six in ten think social media has had a negative impact on British children; we spend an average of 4.8 hours a day on our phones.
It was during my A-levels, in 2017, that I started using blocking apps on my laptop. My first savior was SelfControl, a free service with a creepy skull and crossbones logo. However I downloaded it, and finished all my schoolwork on time. Perhaps the irony of resorting to an app called SelfControl was that I lacked this feature at the time.
Until the age of 20, I happily used a Nokia brick phone as my primary device. I loved this 1990s-style curio, which allowed me to call friends and family but limited my access to more complex apps. By 2019, however, the peer pressure to go digital was strong: I was missing out on WhatsApp group chats and following my friends on Instagram. I wanted to be part of the tribe, and reluctantly managed to get a Samsung smartphone.
At the same time, I upgraded my defenses against digital temptation. A friend at university – now working for the UN while doing a PhD at Oxford, so surely someone to emulate? – he proposed the Liberty system.
The software, which costs $8.99 (£7) per month or $99 (£77) for a lifetime subscription, allows users to “block the entire internet” across all devices. Award-winning writer Zadie Smith is so enthusiastic that she praised him in the acknowledgments section of her novel NWwriting “thanks for the time”.
When I was studying modern and medieval languages at Cambridge, almost every peer, among the most honest and conscientious students in the country, used these blocking apps. In the city’s ancient libraries, SelfControl, Freedom and StayFocused ruled self-discipline, allowing me to study the works of Montaigne and Diderot without the temptation of YouTube or Reddit. (Montaigne himself described distraction as “a natural infirmity of the mind”.)
After proceeding from Cambridge to The Telegraph, it’s as hard as ever to curb my social media usage. I now find myself surrounded by older adults who are also addicted to their phones – or, as they might write on their LinkedIn profiles, “literate on digital media platforms”. Journalism is 24/7 and, unfortunately, an online presence is essential.
In the story of Odysseus and the Sirens, the great hero is victorious in the Trojan War when the lure of the Sirens threatens to block his journey home. Disguised as beautiful women, Circe warns him, these monsters lure sailors with their seductive song, before killing them. To block their voices, Odysseus seals the ears of his men with wax. Despite his better judgment, curiosity gets the better of him and he decides to listen to them – after taking the precaution of lashing himself to the mast of their ship to prevent him from swimming to their island.
Everyone is fallible, the story reveals. Even noble heroes must find a way around temptation. I’m no more than a Gen-Z “Zoomer” who worries about the compulsion to check Twitter, but the moral still stands.
I am caught, therefore, in a series of contradictions. I hate social media, but I am forced to use the platforms. I miss a world where smartphones were never invented, but I enjoy calling my parents on Zoom on Saturday mornings. I miss the freedom of uninterrupted roaming, but I use my phone to go to unfamiliar cities on vacation.
At this point a wise critic might suggest: why not turn off your phone, or abandon it altogether? I have tried. Sometimes I lock my pocket in a safe in my apartment, and I often turn off my personal devices during the week to focus on my job. These good intentions often fail, as I am chased by friends who expect more or less instant communication from me, and my boyfriend worries when I go for a walk or to the shops without no way to contact me – “just in case something dangerous happens, because it’s not the Middle Ages anymore.”
In my fantasy future I will live completely offline, spending my days writing novels and reading. Until then, the Freedom app remains my wax Odyssean against the Sirens of Silicon Valley.
