mingyuan

The first two weeks are the hardest.

All through the house is nothing but silence.

The need inside of me is not an ache, it is caustic, sour, the burning desire to be distracted, to be listening, watching, scrolling.

Some of the time I think I'm happy.

I think this is very good.

I go to the park and lie on a blanket in a sun with a book and a notebook.

I watch the blades of grass and the kids and the dogs and the butterflies and I'm so happy to be free.

then there are the nights.

The dark silence is so oppressive, so all-consuming.

One lonely night, early on, I biked to a space where I had sometimes felt welcome and thought I might again.

What are you doing here?

the people ask.

I'm three days into my month of digital minimalism and I'm so bored, I just wanted to be around people.

No one really wants to be around me.

Okay.

One of the guys had a previous life as a digital minimalism coach.

The first two weeks are the hardest, he tells me encouragingly.

Hanging out there does not go well.

My diary entry that night reads I sobbed alone and life felt unbearable and I wondered what Cal Newport's advice is when your digital declutter just uncovers that there is nothing in your life, that you are unwanted and unloved and have no community or connections.

It is not a good night.