I Need to Confess Something

I need to confess something.

And I don’t say that lightly. It’s a real problem, and I want to talk about it.

Ever since I “graduated” from physical labor a few years ago (more accident than choice), I’ve picked up a habit of snacking. I’m 28, and my brothers and I have always been on the skinny side (well… most of us). There’s nothing wrong with snacking - in moderation. But habits creep, and this one has crept until it’s practically taken over.

Helen is an amazing cook (those of you who’ve eaten at our table can testify), yet too often I come home for lunch or dinner not even hungry. But also never full. The chips and jerky and rice cakes and granola bars add up to rob me of fully experiencing a good meal. You know that feeling?

But this confession isn’t actually about food. It’s about mental carbs. Dopamine micro-doses.

I’m talking about the snacking we do on our phones.

Monday afternoon, after finally wrapping up my weekend catchup, I sat down to write like I always do. And that’s when the reckoning hit. I was in a complete creative free fall. It had been building for days, but it wasn’t until I sat there helplessly that I realized I was in a cage.

And it was locked.

I fumbled at the keyboard for way too long, distracting myself with anything I could find. But for the life of me I could not write anything. Not even the beginning of a short, three-minute newsletter. My brain felt like a bear mid-hibernation.

And it wasn’t just writing. I’d filmed three or four full videos - good ones I’ve been excited about - yet I found zero motivation to edit them. I’ve dreamed of this filmmaking thing for a while and now I was finally teed up: the gear, the software, the basic know-how.

But I simply could not swing.

Why? I don’t know. I just felt numb. Nothing.

And I refuse to do anything without some kind of feeling pushing or pulling me.

Then, as my apathy morphed into anger, even shame, I began to type. And this confession spilled out - messy and raw. There’s nothing like being totally honest with yourself via the written word. It felt good, and I was beginning to see something. The real villain I was up against.

Then I looked out the window.

But I didn’t just look - I saw.

The December sun was sinking behind the cottonwoods along the creek. It spread stripes of gold across the winter grass around The Nook.

I knew what to do.

The chilly air stung my face as I stepped through the oak door. No podcast in my ears. No catching up on messages. No agenda at all. Just me, a few birds, and the evening landscape.

When I reached the orchard, my phone rang. I would’ve ignored it, but it was my friend Rory.

Rory is a rare gift - an artist, author, singer, and songwriter. One of the best out there. And one of the best friends, too. He’s seen a lot - lived a lot - and carries loads of wisdom.

He asked how I was doing. So I told him. The cold, hard truth.

But he didn’t just listen - he heard.

Few others have inspired my desire to write as much as Rory, and as I explained the haze I felt stuck in - and the culprit I was beginning to see - his gentle voice felt like a lighthouse cutting through fog. He could relate to all of it, and he encouraged me to write about exactly what I was experiencing.

So here we are.

We talked for a good hour about business, art, direction, and life. By the time his sweet wife Rebecca had dinner on their table, I think we both felt fresh and inspired. I know I did.

There’s nothing like a good old-fashioned conversation with a dear friend.

My mind was clearer and I was beginning to see the rocks I’d run up against.

The culprit was hiding right in my pocket.

Pondering all of this, I became suddenly aware - and ashamed - of my mindless habits. Pulling out my phone every few minutes to “check it.” Swiping up to refresh likes and comments, swiping down to see the next piece of whatever nonsense the all-knowing algorithm thinks I’d like to see. But it’s not just social media. Obsessively checking email. YouTube analytics. Stripe. Slack. All of it.

And even worse, not just when I’m at work, but when I’m with my friends, my wife, our little boys. Even a couple nights ago, as I lay in bed unable to fall asleep (because of all the blue light?), I pulled out the snacks. Of course I think it started with a note I needed to write down for “work.”

The CEO of Netflix once said his company’s competition wasn’t other streaming services like Amazon or HBO. It was sleep.

We don’t even own a TV, but the little devices in our pockets seem to me a far greater threat.

Folks, it’s high time we wake up to the cold, hard truth. And stay awake (but not on Netflix or our phones). I feel like I can see more clearly than I have in a long while the danger to me in all of this.

It takes accountability. Honesty. Regular conversations with friends, with partners.

And barriers.

I know some folks do a phone sabbath once a week. My mom just told me she’s gone back to using handwritten planners to schedule her appointments, make grocery lists, etc.

For me, I’ve decided carefully on two simple things:

1. Remove social apps from my phone
2. Leave my phone in a room other than where I sleep

And I’m trying my best to replace the noise with two simple things:

1. Relationship - with people, and with God
2. Art: books, longer-form films, walks in nature - the real masterpiece

If you’re struggling creatively, or with meaning and purpose, look around you - and not at a screen. Out the window, into your heart. It’s remarkable how quickly clarity returns when we put a dagger through the distraction.

Let me be clear - there’s nothing wrong with snacking. And I certainly hope you won’t take me as preaching about any of this. But snacking always wants a little more of you. Especially the kind that happens on screens.

Take seriously your attention, your presence, your time - our time. It’s a precious, oh so precious thing to have, and we lose it forever by simply going along. The world we’re in is engineered that way (it's called the "attention economy" for a reason).

Let’s declare war on the distraction that creeps in unnoticed. A little here, a little there - even in the sheep’s clothing of “work,” multi-tasking, and productivity. Let’s save our appetite for the real deal. Meals that fill us up and make us feel whole. In food, in knowledge, in relationship.

In life.