What Losing My Phone for 24 Hours Taught Me About Being Present

I lost my phone the way people lose socks. One minute it was there, the next, gone, swallowed by the mysterious black hole that exists between a Pilates studio and a coffee shop. There was no great tragedy. Just a slow realization that I was about to spend the next 24 hours as a person from 2006.

Naturally, I panicked a little. Not full-on tears, but enough of a fluster that the café barista politely offered me a paper cup of water. I nodded like I have just experienced a great personal loss. Which, in a way, I had.

Because let’s be honest: our phones do everything. They're our calendars, our maps, our cameras, our conversation enders (“oh sorry, just checking something”), and sometimes even our comfort blankets. Without mine, I felt a little... itchy.

The first hour was rough. I kept reaching into my bag like it was a reflex. I tried to check the time, forgetting I haven’t worn a watch since the eighth grade. I instinctively wanted to Google “can you function without a phone?.”

But once I got over the phantom vibrations and the feeling that I was missing everything, something shifted.

I slowed down.

Without a screen to stare at in the queue for coffee, I people watched. Not in a creepy way, more in the “huh, that guy’s shoes are oddly formal for a Tuesday” kind of way. I looked up at buildings I’ve passed a hundred times and noticed the funny names of salons.

Walking became an activity again, not just something I did while catching up on voice notes. I didn’t have Spotify, so I had to listen to the actual sounds around me, birds, car horns, snippets of strangers’ conversations (I now have theories about a couple named Lara and Zayn. Stay strong, guys).

And the most surprising part? I didn’t hate it.

Being unreachable for a day felt weirdly luxurious. Like I'd stepped out of the group chat and into an old-school romcom montage where people read paperbacks and smile at dogs.

I realised how often I escape into my phone, not just to text or scroll, but to avoid being bored, or awkward, or alone with my own thoughts (which, let’s face it, can be a chaotic place). Without that option, I was forced to be in the moment. Not in a deep, spiritual way. Just... actually there.

Lunch was eaten without photographing it. A friend I bumped into got my full attention. And when I sat on my balcony in the evening, instead of catching up on reels, I just stared at the sky for a bit. It wasn’t particularly profound. But it was kind of nice.

Of course, the next morning I found my phone. It had slid behind a stack of tote bags by the door…classic. I picked it up like an old friend, gave it a quick wipe (because obviously), and powered it on. Seventeen notifications, four missed calls, one meme, and zero life-altering emergencies.

And then I did something unexpected.

I put it on silent and set it face down.

Just for a bit.

Because it turns out the world doesn’t fall apart if you’re offline for a day. You don’t miss anything that can’t wait. And the things you do mis real conversations, quiet thoughts, and accidental moments of peace, are the ones worth logging back into.

I’m not going full digital detox. I still love my phone. It makes life easier, funnier, more connected. But after 24 hours without it, I’ve realised that being present isn’t something you need a wellness app for. It’s just about occasionally choosing the world around you over the one inside your screen.

And sometimes, the best way to be here... is to get a little lost.