1. Don’t wake up with the Internet. Have breakfast, walk the dog, read a book, whatever … do something before getting online. Think of it as a way of preparing – physically, mentally, emotional, morally, etc. – for all that follows.
4. Don’t take meals with the Internet. Log off, leave devices behind, and enjoy your meal as an opportunity recoup, physically and mentally. If you’re inside all day, take your lunch outside. Enjoy the company of others, or take the chance to sit in silence for a few minutes.
11. Don’t go to bed with the Internet.
This reminded me of David Karp: “We have a rule: no laptops in the bedroom.”
The only solution [to social media addiction] is not one that most people want to face, which is to become lovers of solitude and silence… I love to spend time alone in my room, and in my ideal world the first hour of every day would be in bed, writing down thoughts, harvesting dreams, before anyone phones or you have any internet access. I write on paper, cause if you write on a laptop, it’s too tempting to go online. You look up a word and then an hour later you remember why you went on…
I think a good rule overall would be: No internet in bed or at the kitchen table.
I need to sort of tear down everything I’ve done and rebuild from scratch. And that’s a process that I think is not incremental…. I just need to just destroy everything that’s come before and see if I can kind of become a primitive again. I’m not even sure it’s possible. I don’t know if it’s something you could do…It means just throwing away everything that you’ve learned and thought and trying to become in essence a completely different filmmaker, because I’ve hit a wall of what I feel I’m able to do at this point - not because I’ve figured everything out, I’ve just figured out what I can’t figure out and I need to tear it down and start over again.
One of the engineers in the book [The Soul Of A New Machine] burned out and quit and he left a note that read: “I am going to a commune in Vermont and will deal with no unit of time shorter than a season.” And the thing that strikes me there is that he wasn’t just going to Vermont. He was going somewhere where time was different. He was going to get away from minutes, hours, days. He was back to seasons.
I’ve been seriously considering the possibility of taking some time off in a few years. I first started thinking about it when I watched this Stefan Sagmeister TED talk. His idea is that we dedicate the first 25 years or so to learning, the next 40 to working, and the last 15 or so to retirement — why not take 5 years off retirement and intersperse them in the work years?
As the interview notes, it’s all a matter of saving, budgeting, and planning. Dare to dream…
Lately, I’ve been wondering if sitting quietly in a café, pretending to read a newspaper, and not writing is the most earnest expression in our age: no echoes of language, nothing to reblog, just pure unmitigated self sitting with self. I might, after a time of blank staring, find myself constructing a sentences in my head, maybe a paragraph, simply letting the words roll around in my mind. I will not. I repeat. I will not write them down. They are my secret sentences, not yours.
Outstanding TED talk on how time off to daydream and recharge leads to better work.
His idea is that we dedicate the first 25 years or so to learning, the next 40 to working, and the last 15 or so to retirement — why not take 5 years off retirement and intersperse them in the work years?
I worked part-time for two years in between undergrad and my current day-job: I basically had tons of time to read and experiment. I think pretty much everything I do now comes from those years: the blackout poems, the cartoons (yes, I discovered cartooning in those two years), and the visual notes.