9 Ways to Go Offline Like It’s the 90s

Simple analog rituals to reclaim your attention, slow down, and remember what life felt like before smartphones

Burn Your Phone

In winter, we light the fire. Fire is primordial. Fire awakens our genetics to the deep ancestors, the ones who circled the fire at night to keep predators and dark spirits away. The ones who lived with the land, sun, moon, plants and animals as humble participants in the whole interbeing of existence.

When I see the fire, I want to throw my phone into it.

I want to toss my pocket computer into the red embers and hear the screech and shatter of glass as it melts into tiny pools of silicon liquid and deformed casings, while I inhale the smells of toxic fumes.

Diabolical, I know.

Thing is, I miss the Nineties.

Remembering Life Before Smartphones

From 1990-1999, I was 15-24 years old. I wish that when I was in them, I appreciated them more. Instead, I was always worried about what I was going to do with the rest of my life.

If I knew then what I know now, I would have told myself to relax, chill out and enjoy the peace and quiet before the world descends to digital madness dependent on a hand-held screen.

If I knew then about social media and that the future would be filled with strangers I call friends, I would have appreciated more the real connections I made every day at the market, bar, bookstore, video store, concert hall, park, classroom, or club.

If I knew the future was filled with impossibly filtered comparison culture, I would have appreciated that I was able to distance myself from celebrities and models as advertisers, instead of perceiving them as real people streaming on my digital feed that I somehow had to live up to.

If I knew the future was filled with constant screens I stare at while ignoring my surroundings, I would have stared into space even more.

If I knew that in the future I would be obligated to be in constant contact with people, that all plans would be triple verified, that anyone could reach me anytime anywhere, I would have gotten lost more often.

If I knew then that in the future, I would have access to everything I could possibly want to know at my fingers and feel dumber than ever, I would have appreciated the mystery more. I would have spent more time sinking into the unknown, the liminal space between asking a question and wondering if you’ll ever have the answer, the joy when the answer comes, the ability to be okay with wondering, cluelessness, and confusion. I would have enjoyed the fact that to learn something from someone, I had to go to them, sit in their presence and be able to ask questions in real time.

If I had known what the future held, I would have seen another rock show, spent more time perusing indie bookstores reading zines, made another mix tape for my next epic road trip with my girlfriends, gone to another reggae festival at a farm, made eye contact more often and enjoyed people-watching people who weren’t on their phones but were doing interesting things with their lives.

What We Lost When We Went Online

But those days are past and there is no going back. I love all the conveniences of the world on-demand. Anything I want is available anytime I want it as long as I can afford it. I love that I don’t have to leave my house.

Still, sometimes I want to go back to times when it felt normal to be bored and waiting.

So, in honor of the winter season and its burning fires, I am offering a list of all the ways you can metaphorically burn your phone and enjoy life offline for an afternoon, day or maybe even a week if you are wild.

Next time you feel the urge to scroll on your phone, do these simple offline activities instead to break your phone habit. (There are actually 10 things, but I like the way 9 sounds better.) Instructions are specific and I urge you to try to follow them. It will feel awkward at first, but I know you can do it! Start with the one that feels the easiest. Who knows, maybe you’ll discover a new interest.

Note: This section is reserved for paid supporters because it takes time, care, and life experience to create. Putting it behind a paywall helps keep the writing sustainable and ad‑free, and signals that this kind of long‑form, reflective work has value.