According to my findings, it is commonly expected that you exchange Snapchat profiles and Instagram feeds with people you first meet before further engaging in bonding activities. Hence, when I tell them that I do not have a smartphone, I’m always amazed at the way their eyebrows climb towards their forehead to express the utmost bewilderment.

I chuckle as their mouth slowly opens to form a round hole from which the following words flow: “How do you survive?” I usually respond that I’m doing pretty well, apart from the occasional back pain or the tiredness induced by my daily activities. What I’m truly wondering is how I survived before, when I did have a smartphone.

I remember the constant noise, the visual stimulus popping on my screen, every minute of every hour of every day – notifications from a multitude of people I barely knew, as a thousand trumpet players preventing me from thinking straight, gigantic blinders blocking my view.

I remember the vicious strategy implemented for me to waste as much time as possible, eyes bound to the glass rectangle, deaf to the world around me – feeding off my love for things to capture me inside a virtual cage.

Covered by the false purpose of connecting people, the hellish device wanted nothing less than the death of my capacity to enjoy the moment.

Who needs to be available at all times, his brain constantly exposed to mainly irrelevant information and useless content? Is it a life to be permanently chained to others, unable to escape from requests for attention? Does it matter to you this much?

Now that I’m out of there, looking back gives me the chills. When I walk in the world and I see all those still trapped in their virtual cage, I wish to scream at them, shake their arms, throw their $999 device far away and watch it burn as a weight is being lifted off their shoulders.

Living without a connected smartphone is completely doable. I have a functioning iPhone 4s, no data plan, and four apps installed: Messenger, WhatsApp, YouTube, and Spotify – hard to survive without music, I’ll give you that. As long as I don’t have a Wi-Fi nearby, I’m off the grid. I also carry a “phone” with me in case of emergency – one of these old black brick with a week-long battery capacity.

Indeed, every trip becomes more of an adventure since using Maps is not an option. I reconnected with people as I asked my way around, and I rediscovered the mere excitement induced by getting lost. Every walk is a pure enjoyment of my surroundings, every conversation an uninterrupted flow of care, every downtime an occasion to think and reflect rather than watching pictures of places I’ll never go.

It relates to our most precious resource – time – and what we decide to do with it.

Don’t get me wrong: technology is fantastic. I’m more resentful towards the intrusion of social networks in our daily lives, the constant claim to our attention, and the seldom realization of the issue. As we constantly concede the “now” into a box made of glass and plastic, we give some of our humanity away.