The Hidden Addiction That’s Stealing Your Life in Plain Sight
(And the Quiet Practice That Can Bring You Back)
Being fully present feels like switching from 360p to 4K.
Everything sharpens.
Colours return.
Silence becomes a song.
In this digital world, we are trapped inside our own algorithms.
Our phones know us better than we know ourselves.
They finish our thoughts before we’ve had the chance to feel them.
This is a calling, my brothers and sisters—
To come home.
There’s the extreme way: ditch everything.
Throw away your phone. Move off-grid. Live in the jungle.
But for most of us, that’s not realistic.
We need daily ways to return.
To come home in the middle of the noise.
Over the past few years, I’ve tried everything.
Social media detoxes. App blockers. Time limits.
Still, these screens affect the way I move through the world.
They influence how I think.
How I speak.
How I see myself.
And somewhere deep down,
There’s a quiet itch that says:
This can’t be all there is.
Surely we weren’t born just to spend our lives online.
Surely our bodies weren’t meant to be this addicted.
Sometimes it feels like I’m a crack addict,
Chasing the next hit of scrolling.
Eyes glazed. Mind racing. Soul numb.
We scroll through our healing.
We scroll through our friendships.
Even our training. Even our meditation.
But there’s another voice inside.
A softer one. Still.
The voice of presence.
It’s been knocking at the door for years.
I carry a small book with me.
Thich Nhat Hanh. A pocket edition I found in a Bangkok bookstore.
The words are so simple they almost feel wrong.
Too obvious. Too soft.
But I keep returning to one chapter—
Deep Seeing.
Practising deep seeing feels like the world was never blurry—
I just hadn’t set the focus.
When I’m caught in the rush—scrolling, working, racing—
Life feels flat. Dull.
Like I’m just passing through.
But when I pause.
When I really see...
Suddenly, every moment becomes a miracle.
Every breath becomes nourishment.
Like I’m drawing life into my soul.
I don’t feel this all the time.
But the more I practise,
The more I build quiet paths back to a home that was never gone—just forgotten.
A home beyond race, age, ability, or belief.
A home that belongs to every human being.
Deep seeing is the art of looking deeply.
It’s mindful living—
Noticing the mug in your hand.
Feeling the warmth.
Savouring the coffee as it moves through your body.
It’s walking without rushing.
Driving with no music.
Washing dishes like each one matters.
It’s allowing the world to breathe you.
There are a thousand ways to return to the present.
You don’t need a special ritual.
You just choose the thing you’re already doing—
And do it consciously.
Especially when your mind is racing.
Especially when boredom creeps in.
Especially when you feel far from yourself.
It may take longer on the tough days.
But if you sit with it—
If you’re willing to breathe through the discomfort—
It always works.
The second layer of deep seeing is this:
Everything changes.
The sun rises, then fades.
The moon appears, then disappears.
Fire burns, then cools.
The body breaks, then heals.
Your favourite clothes become someone else’s.
Your loved ones are here—then they’re not.
Even the flowers you admire today
Will be gone by next week.
This impermanence, when seen clearly,
Breaks your heart in the most honest way.
And then it opens it.
That’s what humbles me.
In a world of noise and speed…
There’s still a place you can return to.
It’s not viral.
It’s not new.
It’s not fancy.
It’s the breath.
The step.
The moment.
It’s the part of you that’s never been lost—
Only forgotten.
Being present.
Truly present.
Is like watching life in 4K.
Suddenly, the ordinary becomes sacred.
Even one breath can flood you with gratitude.
Not for a thing.
But for existence itself.
Your life is a miracle.
But these devices will tell you otherwise.
They’ll convince you to rush.
To doubt.
To scroll past the beauty that is already here.
Please, don’t fall for it.
Come back to your body.
Come back to your breath.
Even if this moment is difficult.
Even if the present feels heavy—
There is still relief in the act of breathing.
And that is always enough.