‘It helps me feel more alive’: How ditching my smartphone inspired a Fringe play about texting

I don’t know why I feel such shame about it. Abandoning my smartphone was a choice I made after long, careful reflection—and one I haven’t doubted or regretted since. The die was cast last year, following a hiking trip to Patagonia, one of the largest national parks in Chile. Knowing that I wouldn’t have internet and mobile connectivity, I left my phone in storage. In the week that followed, I noticed something odd. My mood was generally better, I was far less anxious than I usually am, and far more optimistic. I made new friends. I had a keener sense of my itinerary and surroundings.

The breathtaking landscapes I was moving through definitely helped, as did the lovely people I encountered on my hike. But there was something more to it. It hit me when I reunited with my iPhone in Santiago and spent my last two days in Chile glued to it. This was the closest experience to an epiphany I’ve ever had. Back in London, I purchased what became known as my Barbie phone due to its pink, clamshell design, reminiscent of the noughties.

Let’s make it clear: I’m not an evangelist, a technophobe or a reactionary. I don’t think everyone should throw their smartphones into the Water of Leith (Although I do suspect the world might be a better place for it). Despite my long-standing mistrust of corporations and Big Tech, I don’t have anything against technology per se. And yes, I do have WhatsApp (there’s a desktop version, fortunately).

Being smartphone-less has had a similar effect on me as the best theatre I’ve seen: it grounds me in the present. It helps me feel more alive and more connected to the world around me. It reminds me every day of the finite time I have on this planet and my subsequent responsibility to make the most of it.

And yes, it is a privilege that not everyone has access to; I don’t think I could do it if I had a high-pressure job or caretaking responsibilities. Not having a smartphone also brings with it a host of compromises. No dating apps, no Uber or Deliveroo, no Netflix, Instagram, or Twitter/X during what people describe as “the dead moments” of life.

It can be boring. It forces me to navigate new cities on my own without the help of Google Maps. It means I have to mutter an excuse every time I can’t show an e-ticket to an usher at the Fringe. And still, to me, it is a textbook case of benefits outweighing drawbacks. It doesn’t immunise me against the many ills of our society. I still spend much more time than I would like doomscrolling through the news, refreshing emails, and watching videos of silly cats and angry kids. After all, there’s no escaping the algorithm and its mischiefs. But there is resisting it. Dissecting it. Becoming cognisant of the toll it takes on us and our relationships. We can – we must – challenge the empty promises its champions have been selling us for years.

“Connecting people,” announced Nokia’s slogan in 1992 when the mobile phone industry was in its infancy. Seventeen years later, Mark Zuckerberg was much more candid in his social network’s branding: “Move fast and break things.” And break they did. Our play Long Distance charts a breakage of this kind. It portrays a long-distance, queer relationship exclusively through an exchange of texts over the course of one year. The contents of these messages vary in their tone and subject matter – from cybersex to curry recipes to fighting.

And yet, the same questions, as old as humans, hang over each and every scene. Can we bridge the gaps that unavoidably exist between us? If so, how? How do we, strange creatures of contact, come together in this age of miscommunication and divide? I can’t think of a better place to ask such questions than a theatre. It was there that I found the connection, compassion, and community that I desperately needed as a kid. If a mending can take place, I think it starts in that dark room, where we gather to peek into the lives of strangers and reflect on who we are and who we want to be.

Eli Zuzovsky’s play, Long Distance, is at ZOO Playground, 2pm, until 25 August

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