Man, December 2019. Most folks were all jingle bells and cheer, getting ready for the new year. Me? I was mostly just swimming in circles, felt like. Kinda like how they say Pisces folks do, just drifting, lost in the big ocean. It wasn’t a bad time, not really, but it sure as hell wasn’t a clear one. My head felt foggy, my days just sorta melted into each other. I knew deep down there was something I wanted to get after, some little thing I had brewing in the back of my mind, but it just wasn’t happening. Every time I thought about grabbing it, really digging in, I’d somehow just… not.
The truth is, I was stuck. Really, truly stuck. Not in a physical place, but in my head, man, and in front of a screen. My big “vice” back then was just this endless digital feed. Scrolling, watching, consuming. From the moment I’d wake up, grabbing my phone like it was an extension of my hand, to late into the night, just bouncing from one video to the next, one stupid article to another. My laptop was my window to… well, everything but my own life, it felt like. I’d tell myself it was just for a bit, just to unwind. But “a bit” became hours, and hours became entire days where I felt like I hadn’t actually done anything real. My brain felt like mush, always buzzing, never quiet. It was like I was constantly trying to fill some void, but all I was doing was digging it deeper.
I knew it was bad. I mean, you can’t miss it when you keep seeing the sun go down and then realize you spent the whole day just staring at glowing pixels. What really got me, though, was this little writing project I’d kicked off earlier that year. Nothing fancy, just some personal stories, thoughts I wanted to get down. I bought a new notebook, felt all inspired. And it just sat there. Day after day. Week after week. Collecting dust while my finger kept swiping up on my screen. I’d look at that damn notebook and feel a pang, like I was letting myself down. That feeling started getting heavier and heavier, especially as Christmas rolled around. Everyone talking about resolutions, fresh starts. And I was just… doing the same old crap, feeling chained to these devices.
Then, one evening, maybe a week before Christmas, it really hit me. I was on the couch, staring blankly at some goofy YouTube compilation, and I just looked up. The room was dark, cold almost. And that notebook was sitting there, catching the faint glow from the TV. I felt this huge wave wash over me, not sadness, not anger, but just this profound, heavy disappointment. “This ain’t it, man,” I just thought to myself. “This is not how you want to end the year. This is not you.” That was the moment, kinda. It wasn’t a loud declaration, just a quiet, sinking realization that I had to do something. Anything. I was tired of feeling like I was just watching my life from the sidelines, disconnected.
Taking Back Control (One Crappy Step at a Time)
First thing I tried was stupid simple, and honestly, kinda dumb. I just started putting my phone in another room when I actually wanted to do something. Like, if I decided I was gonna sit down and write for ten minutes, the phone went on the kitchen counter. Even just for those ten minutes. It felt like a monumental effort at first, like cutting off a limb. I’d actually walk into the kitchen, grab it, unlock it, scroll for a minute, then force myself to put it back. Ridiculous, right? But hey, it was a start.
Then I tried to give myself boundaries. Like, I’d tell myself, “Okay, after dinner, from seven to eight, you can go nuts. Check everything. Then it’s done.” That rule was probably the hardest to stick to. I’d often blow past it, get caught up again. And I’d feel like a failure. But then the next day, I’d try it again. Just kept trying. I also got myself a cheap, old-school alarm clock. My phone used to be my alarm, which meant the first thing I did every morning was grab it and immediately dive into whatever notifications popped up. Switching to a real clock meant I had no excuse to touch the phone for at least the first hour of my day. That was surprisingly helpful, gave my brain a little space to wake up slowly.
I also tried to replace the habit. Instead of mindlessly reaching for the phone when I was bored or waiting for something, I’d consciously grab a physical book. Or just stare out the window for five minutes. Just to break the reflex. And probably the toughest rule I tried to implement: no phone in the bedroom, ever. Seriously. It stayed out on the kitchen counter at night. That one took some serious wrestling with myself, felt like a constant battle against my own urges. There were plenty of nights I almost caved, almost went out there to grab it, but I just… didn’t. Every small victory felt massive.
By the very end of December, I wasn’t a changed man, not by a long shot. I still had the urges, still caught myself getting lost sometimes. But I had made progress. That little writing project? I actually got a few pages written. Not a ton, but it was something. And more importantly, my head felt a little clearer. That constant buzz, that foggy feeling, it hadn’t completely gone away, but it had quieted down. That December, that “Pisces Update” for me, it was about learning to actually define some boundaries in that blurry, watery world I’d been drifting in. It was about facing the discomfort of not being constantly entertained, learning to sit with myself, and trusting that what I wanted to create was more important than what I was mindlessly consuming. It wasn’t about being “cured,” but about understanding the current, and learning to swim just a little bit against it.
