My life on the river, WiFi-free

I would often spend more than six hours a day on my phone, just scrolling social media — particularly at the start and end of the day. At those crucial times, when I felt tired and needed to unwind, instead I would overload myself with information, photos, videos, parties, people having fun — focusing for seconds on each image. And it would leave me empty.

And so, a little over a year ago, I cancelled my home WiFi, deleted my social media, swapped my smartphone for an old flip phone, and made my home — a 25ft by 7ft narrow boat that I bought for the value of one year’s rent in London — completely offline and internet free.

It’s a peaceful haven; in the cool evenings, the dark wooden interior is illuminated by the warm light of a candle, and an old stove gives off heat and a golden glow. But my favourite feature is the protection it provides from the bombardment of the online world.

When I first converted my house into an offline space, mornings were the most different. I still had that tug the moment I woke up, of wondering what had happened in the world while I was away and asleep; I felt an impulse to grab my phone and scan the tantalising wall of notifications, those likes, bits of news, text messages and work emails, that used to wrench me into the waking day.

For weeks, I would clumsily grab at the place where my phone used to be, like an addict’s tick. Confusion in that innocent state of morning thinking, would — upon finding no phone — give way to calmness. Eyes closed, I had the time to roll back over and ease into the morning. I would arrive at work reset, ready for whatever the online world had in store.

At the office, I spoke with Nicholas Epley, a professor of behavioural science at the University of Chicago Booth School of Business. I mentioned that when I made my home internet free, it didn’t only soften the assault of the online world, it also helped me meet my local community.

“People are really interesting to speak with; they have stories and connecting with them makes us feel incredible,” he said. “The problem is that it’s slightly easier to use your phone than to talk to strangers . . . and so phones and social media create this big hurdle we have to jump over before interacting with strangers [in person].”

That really resonated; since turning my home offline, I have begun to embrace my community. Recently, I met a man called Ali — I moored my boat next to his, and with no algorithmic attention-grabbing hurdles to hop, I had the freedom to introduce myself. He was the son of an Egyptian philosopher, and was now squatting on an old metal boat.

Not long after our first meeting, I got home from work and shouted, “Hey Ali!” He shouted back, “Sebastian! I’m cooking, come join me for a meal!”

He lived alone, with no phone or internet, and had done so for his whole life. I asked him how I could stave off loneliness and find a community. “Sebastian”, he said, “first, let me correct your English, you are not by yourself, but with yourself. Make friends with that voice in your head.” He added, “Also, my friend, you have just found community.”

We chatted for a long while, and eventually I said goodnight to Ali and went home to my boat. It rocked as I stepped on it. I felt peace at having left the infinite online world — full of bleeps, dings and pings — firmly where it belongs: at work.

The longer I go without internet at home, the more plentiful my supply of attention grows; my boat window has usurped my phone. Instead of scrolling I stare at the scenes outside.

A duck bobs by and we exchange nods. A man smokes a cigarette on his balcony, a willow tree sways in the wind and slowly the clouds light up with a magnificent performance of pinks, reds, yellows and then darkness.

Sometimes, though, the silence grows loud and I feel alone and isolated. Before, when I was home alone, I could sit with my phone and feel a vague sense of connection to my friends — exchanging likes, comments, seeing photos and videos and sharing memes. But now, just silence. Sometimes I worry I might cease to exist without constantly reminding my friends of all the fun I’m having.

But those dark moments are punctuated by some intense and exhilarating stimulus; whether it be the right song at the right time on the radio, a pleasant memory or a curious swan tapping on my window. I’m always pulled back up and firmly planted in my body in this gentle space that is my home. And I feel happy to be moved by the little things I wouldn’t have noticed while watching hours of YouTube videos or scrolling to the far reaches of Facebook.

Of course, turning a home into an offline space isn’t for everyone — so many people work from home, are carers for relatives or are deep in the throes of burgeoning online romance. And although I can still receive calls and texts, there are the obvious difficulties, such as not having access to online banking at home; lacking online maps and relying on paper ones and directions from strangers; or incurring the fury of loved ones who worry after not receiving a quick response.

But I felt like something needed to change: for those of us who have grown up in an online world, the internet’s constant grinding demands for attention can be overwhelming.

As I have found, though, we can redefine our relationship with technology, and the home may be a good place to start.

So, a suggestion: give it a try. Pick a day, and as soon as you clock off from work, turn your phone’s data off and see if you can go without the internet until you get back to work the next day. See how peaceful your home feels; notice those small details which stood little chance of beating algorithms in the fight for your attention — and, perhaps most importantly, notice the abundance of free time.

I did, and then filled much of this new free time with a hobby of woodworking. I’ve now stopped work as a tech reporter, slipped my mooring and moved from London to travel up the canals to North Wales, where I work as a carpenter and freelance writer.

While we don’t all have to delete our social media accounts, move on to boats and get rid of our smartphones, simply limiting the prevalence of the internet in the home could be a significant step.

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