I didn’t expect the first morning to feel so uncomfortable. The house sounded louder without my phone buzzing next to the bed—pipes ticking, birds outside, the soft hum of a refrigerator going about its quiet business. I noticed how infrequently I let anything finish without multitasking as I brewed coffee slowly and stood motionless while it dripped.
I had to embrace conflict once more in order to live like my grandparents. Simple tasks took longer because they required presence, not because they were more difficult. It felt weird at first to fold laundry without listening to a podcast, but then it was strangely grounding, like stretching muscles I hadn’t used in years.
| Area of Life | Before the Experiment | During the Month |
|---|---|---|
| Daily Pace | Rushed, notification-driven | Slower, deliberately paced |
| Food | Packaged, convenient | Cooked from scratch, seasonal |
| Spending | Impulsive, frictionless | Intentional, notably reduced |
| Movement | Sedentary, scheduled workouts | Built into daily chores |
| Social Life | Digital-first | In-person, community-centered |
| Mental State | Fragmented, restless | Calmer, notably improved |
By the third day, I had almost unintentionally changed the way I spent money. I made fewer purchases and gave careful thought to what I did buy when there were no apps encouraging me to take advantage of sales or temporary promotions. At the end of each week, more money remained untouched thanks to the remarkable effectiveness of that restraint.
My days became anchored by cooking. Meals that involved chopping, simmering, and waiting began earlier and ended later. Although the food was unimpressive, it was filling, and the rhythm of preparation helped to slow my racing mind.
I had viewed convenience as a need rather than an option for the previous ten years. That presumption was subtly disproved this month. Planning meals around what was already in the cupboard, repairing a torn sleeve rather than replacing it, and washing jars to reuse them all felt surprisingly economical, both financially and mentally.
Exercise became something that just happened to me rather than something I planned. Scrubbing floors, carrying groceries, walking to local stores, and caring for a tiny patch of soil all added up. Gentle but incredibly dependable, the movement appeared daily without guilt or motivation.
The sharp decline in screen time was due to substitution rather than discipline. After dinner, evenings were spent reading, writing letters, and relaxing in silence. The silence was awkward at first. Then, like a deep breath held a little longer, it became something I looked forward to.
Conversations also shifted. I listened more intently, not looking at a phone. Visits grew longer. The neighbors hung around. Organizing dinner felt more like a team effort, with each person making a modest but significant contribution.
While shelling peas at the kitchen table and watching the daylight fade out the window halfway through the month, I couldn’t help but think—without nostalgia, just with clarity—that this pace used to feel normal.
The change was subtle but noticeable on an emotional level. The anxiety subsided. It felt less urgent to make decisions. Even if the tasks were routine, living one task at a time instead of ten incomplete ones proved to be very calming.
There was room for memory because there was no continuous stimulation. At the same table where I now folded linens, I recalled my grandfather fixing tools. I recalled my grandmother’s insistence that if you were willing to try fixing something first, nothing was really broken.
The goal of this experiment was not to completely reject modern life. It had to be rebalanced. By the end of the month, technology had returned, but it was no longer in control of every moment. The notifications remained silent. Purchases decreased. Most meals were still prepared by hand.
The most surprising thing to me was how long-lasting these changes felt. Unforced habits tend to stick, and this month I rewired my perception of what was essential versus just convenient.
Life was not diminished by living like my grandparents. It clarified it. Time dragged. The focus grew. Redefined, progress started to resemble alignment more than speed.
These days, my life is not exactly the same. However, I’m closer to it. And in ways I didn’t anticipate and wouldn’t trade back, that closeness—which is measured in awareness rather than rules—has significantly improved.