Intermittent Slowing

Turn off your phone, relax, and float downstream.

Here’s a story you may have heard:

Human brain evolve in Ice Age. Back then brain only need know about predators, where find ripe berries, and who have more status than who in tribe.

Modern brain still in Ice Age, still think all info matter of life or death. "Maybe lion?" No, just Instagram notification. But brain go on high alert.

Brain also love happy chemical. Phone help make more of happy chemical. When post liked, brain get happy chemical reward. Like finding berries so not starving.

Ice Age brain love berry-finding feeling. Scroll, post, scroll for more berries. Never enough berries. More, more, more.

Now brain drowning in info tsunami. Brain not built for so many alerts, so much happy chemical. Brain jacked. Lit. Always ON. Ice Age brain confused, always craving, exhausted. Bad.

You’ve likely seen some variation on this “Ice Age brain” thesis put forward to explain just about every social ill that besets us these days. When it comes to our phones, the story tells us that humans are still working with an operating system that evolved to deal with sabre-toothed tigers and social groups of ten to twenty people, not cancel culture and thousands of “friends” on Facebook. If you give a smartphone full of constant social updates and irresistible games to a brain like that, the result is stress and addiction. These miraculous devices connect us to the rest of the world and the sum of all human knowledge, but we end up using them like crack cocaine because we can’t help ourselves.

The story is likely a simplification, if not a distortion. For one thing, our prehistoric ancestors may have been far wiser than we are when it comes to regulating their self-destructive cravings. After all, they survived the planet’s relentless campaign to kill them. We might not survive our own relentless campaign to kill the planet. Anyhow, whether or not the problem is our inherited Paleolithic wetware, we still need to take responsibility for what we do with it.

I’ve long been aware of my own addictive behaviour around my phone, and eventually, after multiple nights of staying up until 2 am scrolling political outrage and inane memes, it became desperately clear I needed to do something about it.

It’s probably obvious that the title of this essay is a twist on the concept of intermittent fasting, the diet trend where one cycles between periods of regular eating and periods of fasting. For example, you refrain from eating anything after dinner until noon the following day, and you repeat this fasting period every second day.

I’ve borrowed this dieting strategy and put it to use for my brain.

Intermittent slowing is what I’ve taken to calling my periodic “phone fast.” During a fast I keep my phone (and laptop) off and put away for a set number of hours, usually from dinnertime until the following morning. Any interval of at least 5 hours or so during the day can work, too, depending on one’s usual schedule of activities and whether—or when—you need to be available by phone for work or family. The idea is to stay off social media and any other form of digital consumption—this can include television if you really want to get hardass about it—for a long enough time to dissolve the pernicious effects of screen bombardment.

During these intermittent fasts, I’ve noticed some remarkable changes. The first hour or so feels like twitchy withdrawal—I catch myself reaching for a device, any device, to still the racing brain. By hour three my thoughts begin to flow differently. Ideas connect in ways they don't when I’m constantly interrupted by notifications. I become more aware the world around me, and in greater detail and richness. I’ve talked about this shift in consciousness during one analog day in an earlier post.

The benefits of these abstinence periods have been substantial. My sleep has improved. I've found my creative work flourishing in the morning after an overnight digital fast. I’m less like to react with impulsive annoyance and anger to the petty frustrations of daily life, and thus also less likely to turn to scrolling as a soother. During those times when I do have my phone with me, moments of boredom or restlessness no longer trigger an unreflecting reach for the device. I’m more likely to stop and ask myself whether I really need to distract myself this way or not. Usually the answer is no, and I can find something better to do with the down time.

It also doesn’t hurt to notice what digital addiction does to others. Let’s say I’m waiting somewhere in public, like at a doctor’s office—sometimes I’ll just sit and observe everyone else in the room bent over their phones, like catatonic extras in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. Sooner or later someone will stir, heave a sigh, then go right back to thumbing the little screen that has become their entire world. That little sigh says so much: the brain is overloaded, the neck and back are strained from craning forward, the emotional self is irritated and on edge. I can almost see the wise and beautiful human spirit in front of me trying to wake itself up from its trance, and failing. Watching this unconscious struggle and defeat happen in real time is often all I need to keep from indulging my own habit.

Trying an intermittent slowing practice doesn’t require drastic changes:

— Start small—just 2-3 hours before bed. Place your devices in another room, powered off completely.

— Create physical boundaries. Having a specific drawer or box where you “put technology to sleep” makes the fast more tangible, more a deliberate choice.

— Replace the absent temptation, don’t just hide from it. Have analog activities ready when you start a fast: a book you’ve been meaning to read, journalling, a recipe you want to try. Or simply designate this as walk and conversation time with a loved one.

— Notice your own resistance. The urge to check the phone for something that seems “necessary” in the moment will rise again and again. The discomfort or anxiety you feel is pretty good evidence of just how crucial a digital fast is to your well-being.

What makes intermittent slowing different from a cold turkey digital detox is its sustainability. Rather than attempting a week completely offline, only to find yourself sliding back into the same mindless scrolling, this practice creates a rhythm of engagement and disengagement that doesn’t ask for exceptional heroism and self-sacrifice.

And lastly, there’s something wonderfully subversive about claiming these lost hours back. In a culture that prizes constant availability and rewards the unprincipled oligarchs and tech pharaohs who are more than happy to keep us all distracted and addicted, choosing to shut it all off—and out—feels like a small but bracing fuck you.

Intermittent slowing might be the most influential act of resistance you make today.

So remember, fellow Ice Age brainers:

Phone off. Reclaim life. Good.

[Headline image ID: Creative Commons. “Distracted Lovers” image by Banksy.]