on endeavouring to be less online

small shifts to make everyday life more vivid

As we approach the new year, are you finding yourself craving time away from your phone? I certainly am.

The other morning, I lost half a precious hour to scrolling. No intention, no payoff. I swear it set the tone for my day: distracted, comparing myself to others, just totally unsettled. I vowed never again (dramatic and almost certainly untrue), but the urge to step away feels real. There are too many sales. Endless emails to check. Instagram has rolled out yet another update no one asked for, serving content from people I don’t know and don’t particularly care about. It all feels so loud.

And listen, I know I’m part of the problem. I’m VP of Social & Influencer at a global agency network; it is, quite literally, my job to keep you scrolling. But like most things, it comes down to balance. Social media connects us, and it also isolates us.

So if, like me, one of your intentions for 2026 is to live a richer life offline, here are a few places I’m aiming to start.

go somewhere your phone would feel rude

Buy a ticket to the opera, a ballet, the symphony, or a lecture where the lights go down and attention is the price of entry. I personally will never miss a Munk Debate. It is calming to be in a space governed by etiquette, where pulling out your phone would feel not just distracting, but also totally impolite.

make something with your hands

The fastest way I know to exit the internet is to occupy my hands. Chop a really intricate, 20-ingredient salad. Rearrange a bookshelf alphabetically. Write a personal manifesto longhand. Bake an impractical cake. Fold laundry with care instead of resentment. Singular effort can be deeply regulating.

get lost in a book

My favourite of all, and perhaps the most effective. Reading occupies both your hands and your brain, leaving no room for half-attention. Between work and home life pressures, sustained focus on something unproductive feels increasingly rare and luxurious. My idea of perfect happiness? A lit candle, a glass of wine, a puppy on my lap, a classic, lyricless jazz album on, a man in the kitchen cooking me dinner, and a book I can’t put down in my hand.

take a walk early on a Sunday morning

Without your earphones in or a podcast on. Notice your neighbourhood in a way you haven’t before. Bask in the early morning light. Appreciate the Christmas decorations (the gaudier, the better). Take note of the typography on the storefronts. Glance into open windows and imagine the inner lives of the people who live there. Watch the bakery staff heading in to prep. You might be surprised by what even the most familiar places can reveal to you.

decide the areas of your life that are not meant for digital consumption

And be strict about it. I love to share online, but I’ve started being more intentional about which parts of my life are simply not for the internet. I don’t film my workouts. I won’t show the inside of my home. I don’t turn rest into recovery content. Not because these things aren’t lovely, but because they feel more special when they belong only to me.

be a beginner again

It is both uncomfortable and wonderful to take a class that has nothing to do with your career. Something tactile or unfamiliar, like learning an instrument or taking a knife skills class. I recently took a shibori intensive and found it humbling to learn without the pressure to improve. There is relief in being clumsy, vulnerability in not knowing the language yet, and bravery in being curious despite all of that.

make plans that don’t produce proof

Time together feels different when you choose not to document it. Go to a museum with a friend and actually talk about the art, instead of taking photos of yourselves looking at it. Take your mother out for breakfast and ask her what her life was like at your age. Go on a date night with your husband and leave your phones at home, or bring just one, turned off, only to call the Uber home. How sexy!

embrace small, analog pleasures

No, I’m not going all trad wife on you. But there is something quietly radical about doing things the old-fashioned way. Buying a physical book (see above). Having film developed and waiting for the results. Churning butter at home (it’s not even hard!). Listening to a record from start to finish. Cutting and pasting a collage instead of making a Pinterest board. Sitting and letting your mind wander while you wait. Allowing boredom to exist without immediately solving it. It’s amazing what can arrive in the gaps we’re so quick to try and fill.

But what do I know? Maybe we’ll all end up perfectly content behind Meta Ray-Bans, with stablecoin savings and personal avatars. I remain unconvinced. Substack doesn’t count, though. Or maybe that’s just what we tell ourselves to justify being here. In any case, let me know how it goes. By comment or carrier pigeon, whatever feels more right to you.

x E