Flipped: My Spiritual Transformation After 48 Hours With Only a Flip Phone

 

This week, I finally did something I’ve wanted to do for over a year: I got a flip phone. I have owned an iPhone for years and was tired of the screen’s constant pull. It was hard to stop picking it up, clicking, and scrolling— and I realized how much of each day I was missing.

I tried deleting social media apps and email to cut back, but I could still find something to swipe aimlessly at. I only needed the basics, but I kept getting caught up in all the nonessential features.

So, after some encouragement from a friend who had “survived” with a flip for a while, I decided to give it a go. I ended up going with dumb.co’s Dumbphone 2.

It lets you forward messages and calls from a smart device and syncs to the smart device’s contacts. I now keep an iPad at home for creating and sending graphics and documents, but I don’t bring it with me regularly.

After setting up the flip phone, the first thing I noticed was that it was going to be very hard to get distracted. It’s not much fun.

But that was the point, wasn’t it? For the past two mornings, I woke to its alarm, checked my messages, tossed it in my bag, and headed out.

The first major change I noticed was on my drive to work. Instead of flipping through songs via Bluetooth connection, I had time to think.

In those 30 minutes, I shared some difficult thoughts with God and I made a mental list of my favorite sounds. I hummed an old Gospel song that came to mind and made up lyrics I’d forgotten.

I remembered. I created.

I saw a beautiful sunrise and I didn’t try to snatch my cell and send a photo of it to anyone. I just looked at it. I let the appreciation settle within me before I handed it off like a hot potato.

I began to realize how much room there was in my head when I processed what was in front of me, instead of constantly adding more images and information. Normally, I collect news flashes and how-to’s every five minutes.

Now, that fire of information wasn’t being fed so quickly anymore. It slowed down.

I started craving something to fill all this empty space. I didn’t know what to do with all the extra room. I didn’t have Instagram at my whim.

Without the thousands of online voices I usually filled my head with, I turned naturally to more genuine, steady voices in my life. I revisited past conversations and advice from loved ones, from those who knew me.

And then there was room still left over for myself. There was space for my mind to speak its thoughts into.

I found myself reflecting more than I had in months—without rushing to finish because I needed to send this text or check this site. I forgot how nice it was to think for thinking’s own sake.

There was room to process more feeling, too. My heart jumped at the chance to bleed its own emotions out into the space. I saw what I was holding in my body and finally let it out rather than burying it in strangers’ experiences.

In this space, I rediscovered the ability to really pray. I still have to work on not rushing through, on finding room to be present. But that space exists now and I can see, feel and know enough of myself to bring it forward to God.

I realize the common smartphone addiction may be more than flashy apps and sounds: Maybe the concept is so attractive because we never have to be with ourselves. There is always something to focus on other than our own problems, always something to feel other than our own feelings, always something to view other than our own surroundings.

But this doesn’t help us commune with the Divine. We cannot make a friend solely through sending other people’s thoughts, posts and comments.

Eventually, the one we befriend will want to know our story. And we may not know that story well enough to tell if we are consumed by our consumption.

Here’s my favorite part of the flip phone: It closes. That seemingly small function speaks volumes. It says: There is a time for this, there is a purpose for this…and then there is not.

My little flip has its use. But it doesn’t sit out all the time, demanding my attention. Closing it has let me open that room of presence in my life, where I can be present with God, with others, and with myself.