The Time Away From the Screen

ゆうひさす
かわべにのこる
ひとのこえ

yuuhi sasu / kawabe ni nokoru / hito no koe
evening light / voices linger / by the riverbank

I don’t really manage my screen time.
I counterbalance it.

The world on a screen moves too fast, too brightly, too close to the nerves. It compresses everything — thoughts, emotions, time — into something flat and glowing. You can’t feel the air there. You can’t smell rain or watch the way light moves across water. So, to keep my mind from turning pixel-shaped, I seek the exact opposite: time with people, or time in nature.

That’s my reset.
Not an app, not a timer. Just friction. Reality with texture again.

When I start to notice my attention thinning, I go outside. I don’t even need to go far — a walk by the river, a park bench, a forest edge, a conversation that doesn’t require typing. Anything where things move at the speed of wind instead of Wi-Fi.

It’s strange how the body seems to remember balance even when the mind forgets. After hours of scrolling, everything starts to feel abstract — distant. But the moment I touch a leaf, or hear someone’s laugh in person, the distance collapses. The world comes back into focus.

There’s something sacred about the unrecorded moment. Sitting with someone without a phone between you. Watching clouds drift without needing to capture them. Listening to water without a soundtrack. These are the moments that recalibrate you — slow, quiet, imperfect.

When I’m outside or talking with others, time stretches again. It becomes three-dimensional. A single hour feels like a whole life, because it contains weight, sound, breath. It reminds me that being alive isn’t a feed — it’s a pulse.

Screens compress us into observers.
The world expands us back into participants.

So, I don’t really “limit” my screen time.
I dilute it with reality — with laughter, cold wind, sunlight through trees.
The kind of time that doesn’t need managing because it manages you.

If you ever feel burned out from being too online, don’t delete everything.
Just step into something real.
Go talk to a friend until your throat goes dry.
Walk until your thoughts start making sense again.
Let your eyes rest on something that doesn’t emit light.

That’s how I manage my screen time —
by remembering that there’s a world that doesn’t need a password to enter.