i want to get off the screen, too

hello.

this is an extension of a post i shared a while ago. it was a short, simple list of things to do instead of being on your phone. nothing urgent or groundbreaking. just a quiet invitation to come back to yourself.

it resonated more than i expected. i think that’s because so many of us are exhausted by constant noise. we’re tired of being pulled in a hundred directions, of filling every still moment with distraction. we’re not necessarily looking for discipline or detox, we’re looking for depth and presence. for something that feels like ours again.

this version goes a little deeper. it’s still gentle, but more layered. it’s not about productivity or self optimization or getting your life together. it’s not about becoming someone new. it’s about remembering how to live in your own life. how to be curious again. how to stretch your mind, tend to your body, take care of your space, and reconnect with something slower and more sacred.

we don’t need to quit our phones or escape the world. but we can choose to step away now and then. we can make space for boredom, for stillness, for focus. we can give ourselves the gift of our own attention.

what follows is a list. not a checklist or a challenge. just a collection of small, intentional things you can do when you want to feel more awake. more grounded and more like yourself.

you don’t have to do all of them. or any of them.
but if even one of them makes you feel more alive or more in touch with the present, then that’s enough.

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for your mind
things that stretch your intellect, sharpen your thinking, and make you feel awake in the best way.

read a book that challenges you
choose something a little difficult. a classic novel, a philosophical essay, a book with long sentences and big ideas. read slowly. keep a pencil nearby. you don’t have to understand every word. you just have to keep going.
start with: the ethics of ambiguity by simone de beauvoir, the book of disquiet by fernando pessoa, or the death of ivan ilyich by leo tolstoy.

study a topic you’ve always wanted to understand
make it impractical. make it obscure. maybe you start watching lectures on gothic architecture or learning the basics of quantum theory through youtube explainers. use free tools like coursera or open yale courses. let your mind stretch in a direction that doesn’t need to be useful.

learn chess
chess is meditation in strategy form. it teaches focus, pattern recognition, and patience. start with a free app like lichess or chess.com, which both have excellent beginner tutorials. watch a few short videos by gothamchess on youtube if you want to get into it fast. play against the computer. lose a few times. you’re still winning.

annotate poetry
you don’t need to analyze. just sit with the words. underline the lines that feel like bruises or breath. write little notes in the margins. you’re not performing intelligence. you’re just being present.
start with: sappho, rainer maria rilke, or louise glück.

write a personal essay or a letter you’ll never send
choose a moment in your life and narrate it like you're telling the story for the first time. write a letter to your younger self, or to someone you miss, or someone who hurt you. let it be honest and unfinished. burn it or save it. no rules.

do a page of logic puzzles or sudoku with pen and paper
challenge your mind to move differently. sit at a table, make it quiet, treat it like meditation.

learn the basics of a new language
language learning is one of the best ways to gently rewire your brain. it wakes something up. it teaches you to listen differently. start small. write out simple phrases in a notebook. say them out loud, even if your accent is terrible. duolingo is a good place to begin, especially for structure and streaks. if you’re learning mandarin, try red note or skritter for handwriting and tone practice. tandem and hellotalk are great for speaking with real people and building conversation confidence. if you're someone who needs immersion, switch your phone settings to the new language. watch children's shows in that language with subtitles. label objects in your room with sticky notes. let the language live around you.

make a list of questions you’ve never asked anyone and answer them for yourself
questions like: who do you feel safest around, and why? what part of your personality is performative? when was the last time you felt proud of yourself? be brave in the asking. be honest in the answering.

read something that disagrees with you
pick up a book or essay that challenges your beliefs. not to change your mind immediately, but to sharpen your reasoning. underline what makes you pause.

go to a museum alone and bring a notebook
give yourself at least an hour. don’t try to see everything. just choose one room or one piece to sit with. sketch it, describe it, or write down how it makes you feel. pretend you’re a student again. this is your field trip.

create your own mini syllabus
pick a theme: grief, memory, mythology, time, desire. choose three books, two essays, a film, and a podcast. give yourself a week or a month to move through it. keep notes. write a reflection when it’s done. this is your private university. you’re the professor and the student.

read the original source instead of the summary
go to the text. not the tweet about it. not the blog post. not the thinkpiece. read the actual thing people are quoting.
it’s harder, slower, and always worth it.

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for your body
things that ground you in sensation and get you out of your head.

practice real self-care
not the kind that gets marketed to you. not the bubble baths, the expensive skincare routines, the luxury candles, though those can be lovely too. real self care is brushing your teeth even when you're depressed. showing up for your doctor’s appointments. drinking water. texting your friend back. getting enough sleep. it's asking what your body actually needs, not what you’ve been told to buy. real self care is also collective. it’s making soup for someone sick. offering to babysit. checking in on the people you love without waiting for them to ask. it's being kind even when it’s inconvenient.

take a walk with no destination, just a jacket and a thermos
walk like you have nowhere to be. listen to the way your feet hit the ground. carry something warm (or cold) to drink. look up.
you’re not exercising. consider this a way to return to the world.

stretch while listening to jazz or rain sounds
choose music that feels like it could stretch with you. move slowly and hold each pose a little longer than you think you should.
let your body take up space without asking permission.

tidy a drawer or shelf like it’s a meditation
not because it’s messy. but because it’s yours. take everything out, wipe it clean, decide what goes back in.

put on a face mask and read one chapter of a book
give your skin some love, but don’t scroll while you wait. lie down. read something that moves slowly. your body is not a project, it’s a place to live in.

practice slow breathing while lying in the grass or on the floor
inhale for four. hold for four, exhale for four, repeat. put a hand on your chest or your stomach. feel what’s real. let the rest go.

light a candle and just sit with it
watch the flame.let the room be quiet. maybe journal or read a book.

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for your home
things that make your space feel more lived-in and loved. rooted in ritual, softness, and imperfection.

cook something with intention and eat it at the table
choose a recipe that feels comforting, even if it’s simple. chop slowly. stir gently. let the kitchen smell warm. set the table, even if it’s just for you. light a candle. pour water into a glass. sit down and eat without a screen. this is nourishment. not just for your body, but for the room you live in. cooking makes a house feel alive.

rearrange a corner of your room
don’t redecorate. just shift things around. move a chair, add a scarf to a surface, place a book where it can be seen. this is not about aesthetics, it’s about new energy. a small shift can change everything.

wipe down a surface you always overlook
dust the baseboards, clean the corners of a mirror, wipe a windowsill. not to impress anyone. just to say, this matters. care is often quiet, invisible, and sacred.

make a seasonal altar
gather what feels like now. a bowl of lemons, a feather from a walk, dried rice, a rock that feels heavy in your hand, incense ash from a morning you needed peace. arrange it on a small plate, a windowsill, a bedside table. let it shift with the seasons. let it remind you that time is moving, and you’re moving with it.

open the windows and play a vinyl or old playlist
air out your space like you’re letting something go. open every window and let the wind move through the room. play something familiar, maybe an old playlist, a record with static, a forgotten song from years ago. let the music fill the corners. this is how you shift the energy of a room. no deep clean required. just breath and sound and memory.

dry orange slices or press flowers in a book
slice the oranges thin, lay them on parchment, let them turn golden in the oven or the sun. press flowers between heavy pages and forget about them for a week. these small rituals of preservation are acts of patience. things that force you to wait, and in waiting, to appreciate.

hang something small and beautiful that reminds you to look up
a wind chime, a dried bouquet, a sun catcher, a paper crane. let it dangle. let it move when the air shifts. give yourself a reason to pause mid thought, mid scroll, mid sentence.

do your laundry slowly. fold it like a ritual
choose a quiet morning. sort your clothes with care. fold each piece slowly and smooth it out like you’re offering comfort. laundry can be sacred if you let it be.

make tea with full attention
choose your tea like you’re choosing how you want to feel. something grounding, something bright, something soft. boil the water and stay close. listen to it hum and rise. watch the steam curl into the air. pour it over the leaves and watch them swirl, then settle, then unfurl. this is the moment. not the drinking, not the caffeine, this.

embrace imperfection
cracked bowls, chipped edges, soft clutter. find beauty in what’s worn, incomplete, and real. let your home feel like a poem, not a showroom.

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for your inner child
things that are quiet, nostalgic, and not at all “productive.”

color with pencils or crayons, no goal in mind
open a fresh sheet of paper and let your hand wander. don't worry about staying inside the lines. use whatever colors call out to you, and just let the markings unfold like a secret map of your feelings. you can also opt for a coloring book.

reread a childhood favorite or watch a comfort movie
choose that book or film you once knew by heart. allow the familiar words or scenes to transport you to simpler days. remind yourself that there is magic in nostalgia, and sometimes it’s the light of childhood that heals us.

bake cookies and eat the dough
mix flour, sugar, and a sense of whimsy. relish the tactile pleasure of kneading dough, then steal a taste before it’s even in the oven. this is a little rebellion of sweetness. a moment where you honor spontaneity and taste without guilt.

play a board game or puzzle, especially with someone you love
sit down with a jigsaw, a classic board game, or even a simple card game. allow playful competition or collaboration to spark joy. these shared moments remind you that even in adult life, there is room for laughter and wonder.

write a short story with a magical animal in it
allow your imagination to weave a tale about a creature both familiar and fantastical. let your characters be kind, brave, or even a little mischievous. this isn’t about crafting perfection, it's about rediscovering the wild wonder of your imagination.

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for your spirit
things that reconnect you to meaning, mystery, and that quiet sacredness that’s hard to name.

journal about a question you’re afraid to answer
what are you avoiding? what don’t you want to name? write it down. then answer it anyway. no one has to read it but you. there’s courage in writing things you’re not ready to say out loud.

take yourself on a solo date to the library, garden, or church
go somewhere still and beautiful. take a book, bring a notebook, don’t rush. notice everything. we don’t always need conversation to feel connected, sometimes presence is enough.

sit in silence for ten minutes. breathe. observe. that’s it.
no music. no guidance. no goals. just sit and notice what it feels like to be in your body, in this moment. silence can be uncomfortable at first, but then it starts to feel like coming home.

tend to something small and alive
water a plant. sweep your doorstep. feed the birds. light a candle for someone you love. care for something that needs you.

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a final note

you don’t need to do all of these. or even most. maybe you just pick one. maybe you just think about picking one, and that’s enough.

if you’ve been feeling distracted or scattered, overstimulated or a little hollow around the edges, try trading your screen for something slower. something quieter. something that brings you back to yourself.

your mind deserves your attention. your body does too. and maybe there’s still a small part of you, curious and gentle and waiting, hoping you’ll come outside and play.

okay, that’s all i have for you today.

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i love you.

bye.

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