2026 is the year of offline living

Thoughts On Infinite Content and Finite Lives

I recently had an eight-second video go viral on Instagram, racking up more than two million views. According to the platform’s own insights, that translated to 177 days of watch time. One silly clip of my dog wearing a GoPro while sniffing other dogs’ butts consumed nearly half a year of human attention. And that’s just one piece of content.

One drop in an ocean of billions uploaded every single day.

Statistics show that around 95 million photos and videos are uploaded to Instagram daily. Every second, more than 500 minutes of content are uploaded to YouTube. The world generates an estimated 400 million terabytes of content every single day. It is estimated that roughly 200,000 lifetimes are spent daily due to the infinite scroll and never-ending production of content to be consumed.

We are drowning in information and yet thirsting for presence.

When you zoom out far enough, it becomes impossible not to ask: What are we actually doing with our lives?

Perhaps this is why 2026 is quietly shaping up to be the year people start logging off.

Or at least… talking about it.

But is this a real shift? Or just another aesthetic phase - like minimalism, digital detox weekends, or deleting Instagram only to re-download it three weeks later?

I say all of this as someone who proudly tells people my screen time is “only” about 4.5 to 6.5 hours a day. Which, no matter how you slice it, still adds up to more than an entire day each week spent staring at my phone. A full 24-hour day. No sleeping. No eating. Just sitting in front of a glowing screen.

I don’t think anyone reaches the end of their life hoping to discover they spent a quarter of it with their eyes glued to a phone, yet that’s exactly where I’m headed if my habits don’t change. And if you calculate those numbers based only on waking hours, the math gets even darker. We’re talking about decades.

I try to soften the blow by reminding myself that I didn’t grow up with a smartphone. I didn’t download Instagram until 2012, when I was 24 years old. I had entire chapters of life untouched by algorithms. But the truth is, that doesn’t really matter anymore. This amount of screen time, for me, and for most of us, is a problem.

I want to be clear about something before I go any further: I’m not trying to “quit the internet.” I make a living on it. I share my life on it. I’ve built community through it. I’m not interested in disappearing or pretending I live off-grid. What I am interested in is no longer donating my entire nervous system to the algorithm.

So instead of relying on willpower (which has never worked for me) I’ve been experimenting with building friction back into my days. Not as punishment, but as protection. I wanted to share this experiment with you, including the tools and practices that are helping me live a life away from my phone. I am in the beginning stages of figuring out what works for me and I am excited to share with you what I learn and my progress as 2026 unfolds.

I keep what I call an analog bag by the door. Inside are things that give my hands somewhere to go when my phone isn’t an option: a book I’m actually excited to read, a journal, a pen I love, a disposable camera, sometimes a crossword or a sketchbook. When I leave the house to visit a café, the park, the library, even a waiting room, the bag comes with me. The point isn’t productivity. It’s presence.

Instead of reflexively reaching for my phone in moments of stillness, I will have something tangible to reach for instead. Something that exists in the physical world. Something that doesn’t ask me to scroll, compare, or optimize. It sounds small, but it’s surprisingly radical to sit somewhere public and simply… exist.

You might wonder how I mange to reach for items in this bag instead of my phone and that is where the most important piece of this experiment comes into play.

I have started using the Foqos app paired with an NFC tag, which basically means I can’t open certain apps unless I physically tap my phone on a small sticker I’ve placed in a specific spot in my home. I am able to personalize the parameters that tapping will enable, which for me, means blocking pretty much everything except texting and calling from my phone. My social media apps don’t open from my bed. They don’t open from the couch. They don’t open from the bathroom.

If I want to scroll, I have to stand up, walk to the tag, and make a conscious decision. That pause, the friction it creates, is often enough to break the spell. Most of the time, I realize I don’t actually want to scroll. I just want stimulation. Or comfort. Or relief from boredom. And once I name that, I can meet the need in a more intentional way. This has been the biggest game changer when it comes to physically stopping myself from being able to endlessly scroll which I think is particularly helpful in the beginning stages of trying to break this addiction.

I’ve been returning to things with edges: physical media, single-purpose devices, and more intentional ways of engaging with the internet. I’m trading infinite streaming for DVDs, CDs, and records. Enjoying art I can hold, that begins and ends, without autoplay or algorithms pulling me toward the next thing. Watching a movie feels like an event again, and I let myself savor one show at a time instead of consuming entertainment in bulk. I’m also learning to visit the internet rather than live there, setting specific windows for posting, responding, and researching, and stepping away outside of them. I pair this with tools that do one thing well (a real camera, a music player, an alarm clock, a cookbook) so my days feel quieter, clearer, and more intentional.

None of this is about rejecting technology entirely. I’m a content creator. The internet is part of my livelihood. But I don’t want my entire life optimized for engagement. I don’t want my attention treated as an endlessly renewable resource.

I want my life to feel lived.

Logging off, even partially, isn’t about disappearing. It’s about making space. Space to think. Space to feel bored. Space to notice the world again. Space to choose what actually matters and what doesn’t deserve so much of me.

I’m not going to tell you to delete your apps or buy a flip phone or radically change your life overnight. Maybe the invitation is simpler than that. Maybe it’s bringing a book with you the next time you leave the house. Maybe it’s putting your phone in another room for an hour. We don’t get to opt out of the digital world. But we do get to decide how much of ourselves we give to it. And I, for one, would like to spend a little more of this one precious life actually living it.

A small invitation, before you go.

If this piece resonated with you - if you’re craving slower rhythms, fewer tabs open, and more life you can actually touch - I have a little mail club you might love. Once a month, I send something tangible into the world: art, words, prompts, and gentle reminders to live with intention. No algorithms. No infinite scroll. Just something real you can hold in your hands.

It’s my way of practicing what I preach by choosing connection over consumption, and making the internet lead back to real life.

You can also subscribe here for future essays like this one, or come find me on YouTube where I’m experimenting with longer, slower videos that include quiet moments that don’t ask for constant attention.

Thanks for spending a few of your finite minutes here with me.

*I believe the Foqos app is currently only available only for iPhone. NFC tags are pretty cheap to buy but you can make this process 100% free because the app also works with a QR code and the app itself is free as well. Don’t let capitalism make you think you have to buy back your freedom