I lost my phone. I also lost the need to check it.

A photo from the last time I was in Chicago - when I had a phone.

I Lost My Phone. I Also Lost the Need to Check It. My unexpected digital detox...

Here’s a thought for the day, scribbled down on actual paper while sitting in Vancouver airport.

Yes, actual paper.

I was on my third attempt to get home to England after a series of increasingly ridiculous travel debacles (including being held up by US homeland security in my Chicago flight change - not fun). Somewhere between wondering whether I was ever actually going to make it home and watching people sprint towards departure gates, I started thinking.

There isn't much to think about in an airport other than: Should I spend my last few dollars on a Starbucks coffee I don't even want? Is there a smoking area? Which seat looks best for being both alert and getting a few minutes' shut-eye?

And then I remembered how I'd ended up there.

It started badly

My flight out of Bristol was at 5am.

Rather than doing the sensible thing and going to bed at a reasonable hour, I decided I simply wouldn't sleep.

This seemed like an excellent plan at the time.

I settled down with Netflix, waiting for my Uber, and eventually headed off to the airport in the middle of the night.

The Uber driver had a sleep podcast playing. I remember thinking I'd have preferred something more like motivational rock or metal at that hour, but actually, it sent me off to sleep within about five minutes.

Not ideal when you're supposed to be keeping an eye on your phone for last-minute flight changes.

I woke up as we pulled into the airport, grabbed my bags and got out.

The Uber drove away.

And almost immediately I realised:

I didn't have my phone.

I'd fallen asleep holding it and somehow managed to leave it in the car.

Gone.

Fuck.

Just how much do we keep on our phones?

The panic was immediate.

My phone contained pretty much everything I needed for the next few weeks: itinerary, hotel details, boarding passes, bank cards, Google Maps, emails, entertainment and contact details.

Basically, my entire life was sitting in the back of an Uber somewhere between me and Bristol.

And there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

Fortunately, I still had my passport, some cash and a physical bank card.

The airport staff were brilliant. They printed my boarding pass, pointed me in the right direction and, somehow, I made the flight.

And somehow, I made it all the way to Vancouver.

Travelling without a phone

At first, not having a phone was incredibly inconvenient.

Sod that. It was fucking stressful.

I nearly cried at the information desk. The woman behind it didn't know how to deal with me.

Neither did I.

I couldn't check Google Maps, the weather, opening times or emails. I couldn't scroll LinkedIn, take photos or fill every spare 30 seconds by reaching into my pocket and staring at a screen.

But after the initial panic, something unexpected happened.

I started to enjoy navigating the world without the tech.

Without Google Maps constantly telling me where to go, I actually had to look.

At street signs. Buildings. Maps. My surroundings.

And occasionally, I got lost.

Which, it turns out, isn't the worst thing in the world.

I went salmon fishing and crabbing. And drove the fishing boat.

Thank you, I was impressed too. 😆

I cleaned and gutted my haul, then cooked it all on the BBQ, Trinidad style - under the supervision of my aunt and uncle, who live on Vancouver Island. (Thank you, Suze and Terry!)

I took ferries between the islands and mainland, standing on deck in the sunshine and sea breeze.

I walked through forests.

I went whale watching.

I sat and looked at trees.

Actual trees.

Not trees photographed through an iPhone camera.

I read two books. Properly read them.

No checking notifications halfway through a chapter. No “I'll just quickly look at this.” No disappearing down an internet rabbit hole because something in the book reminded me of something completely unrelated.

And perhaps most importantly, I didn't feel the need to document everything.

The strange thing about not taking photos

This was probably the bit I noticed most.

Normally, when something interesting happens, there's an almost automatic sequence:

Phone. Photo. Another photo. Check it. Send it to someone. Maybe put it on Instagram. Save it because I'll definitely do something with it later.

Except without a phone, I couldn't.

So I just looked.

Properly looked.

The experience existed entirely in my head rather than in my camera roll.

And strangely, I didn't feel like I was missing anything.

I wasn't experiencing something while simultaneously thinking about how to record it.

I was just experiencing it.

And that is boss.

A very accidental digital detox

I'm definitely not advocating throwing your phone into the sea and going fully analogue.

Believe me, there were moments when I would happily have traded a limb for Google Maps.

There is a limit to how romantic getting lost in an unfamiliar city becomes when you're travelling alone and have an absolutely terrible sense of direction.

At some point, wandering around confidently pretending you know where you're going stops feeling like an adventure and starts feeling like a slightly worrying situation. 😂

Thankfully, the Canadians were incredibly helpful.

On one occasion, I was trying to find a local grocery shop and had absolutely no idea where I was going. I asked a woman in a little bookshop for directions.

Rather than pointing vaguely in the general direction and sending me off to get lost again, she put a little “Back in 5 minutes” sign on the door, locked up, and actually walked me to the grocery store so I couldn't go wrong.

We had a lovely chat along the way.

Honestly, who does that?

Apparently, Canadians do.

And it was such a lovely reminder that when you don't have a phone to instantly solve every problem, you sometimes end up talking to actual people instead.

Which, inconveniently for my UX brain, might actually be one of the better features of the analogue world.

Being forced into a digital detox for two and a half weeks also made me realise just how often I reach for my phone without actually needing it.

Waiting for a ferry?

Phone.

Sitting in a café?

Phone.

Walking somewhere?

Phone.

Standing in a queue?

Phone.

Have thirty seconds to spare?

Phone.

Something feels slightly uncomfortable?

Phone.

It's so automatic that I'd never really noticed I was doing it.

Until suddenly I couldn't.

And then there's the UX bit...

Obviously, because I'm me, my brain eventually started thinking about all of this from a UX perspective.

We spend an enormous amount of time designing digital experiences to be frictionless.

We make things faster. Reduce steps. Remove barriers. Make information available instantly. Design notifications to bring people back.

And generally, that's a good thing.

But there's an interesting question underneath all of that:

Just because we can remove friction, should we always remove it?

Sometimes a little friction might actually be useful.

Having to look at a map rather than being told exactly where to turn makes you pay attention to your surroundings.

Having to remember something rather than immediately searching for it gives your brain a workout.

Having nothing to fill a spare 30 seconds forces you to simply sit there and think about your surroundings.

And having no camera means you might actually look at what's in front of you.

I'm not suggesting we should deliberately make digital products annoying. Nobody needs a badly designed checkout process in the name of mindfulness. 😂

But perhaps there's a distinction between useful friction and unnecessary friction.

As designers, we're often encouraged to remove every possible obstacle from a user's journey.

Maybe occasionally it's worth asking whether the thing we're removing is actually an obstacle — or whether it's simply part of the experience.

What I brought home

Eventually, I got my phone back.

Well, technically, I got a new one.

And yes, I immediately put all my cherished apps and everything else back on it.

I'm not about to start carrying an encyclopaedia of paper maps around with me.

But I've come home with a slightly different relationship with it.

I notice myself reaching for it less.

And occasionally, I don't.

I leave it in another room.

Every morning at 7.30 I go for a walk with my trusty springer spaniel, Cleo, sans phone. And she certainly lives in the moment!

I sit somewhere without immediately filling the silence with a screen.

Because the weirdest thing about losing my phone wasn't that I survived without it.

It was discovering how much I enjoyed not having it.

I lost my phone in Vancouver.

And, completely unexpectedly, I found a much more satisfying holiday without it.

Maybe the worst thing that happened on holiday really was also the best.

Have you ever been forced into an accidental digital detox?

I'd genuinely love to hear whether anyone else has had a similar experience — especially if it changed the way you use your phone afterwards.

And yes, the photo at the top of this post was taken the last time I was in Chicago, without the security debacle, and equipped with a phone. 🙃