In early December 2021, I experienced a setback when my phone broke.

At that point, it was already struggling; the flashlight was out of commission, the volume buttons had long ceased to function, and the home button was temperamental, forcing me to rely on the accessibility touch-screen feature. After dropping it one too many times, the screen finally gave way.

You could say I'm quite adept at fixing my own devices. As someone who frequently drops phones, I've replaced shattered screens, removed batteries, and even pieced together a working device from parts of two broken ones. However, when I opened my refurbished first-generation iPhone SE, which I had bought second-hand in May 2019, I realized it was irreparable. The touch screen had detached from the main component, and replacing the entire unit wasn’t worth it for a six-year-old discontinued model.

Despite having revived this SE multiple times before, this time it was unequivocally dead. I couldn't even unlock it to transfer any of my photos. So, when I say I mourned the loss of this device, I genuinely felt it. I had purchased my first iPhone SE shortly after its initial release in 2016 and had three refurbished versions since. I even created a "Frankenphone" from the remains of both mine and my brother's devices when his screen cracked, and my battery was dying. I knew the first-generation SE intimately — its quirks, its flaws, and its delicate parts. I’ve applied countless glass screen protectors over the years, losing count long ago.

Did I mention that I'm a habitual phone-dropper?

I never opt for new phones for this very reason. I tend to fall asleep while holding them; they frequently slip from my pockets (why are women's pockets so small?); they drop from my hands in moments of excitement; I toss them in frustration. Although I understand they are pricey gadgets, I struggle to keep one in working condition for more than two years, even with frequent repairs. Thus, I stick to inexpensive refurbished options.

However, I had never gone more than a few days without a phone since Christmas 2008, when I first received a purple LG Lotus, a flip phone with a QWERTY keyboard. At that time, I was in eighth grade and among the last of my friends to get a mobile device. Text messages cost $0.25 each, and I only had internet access through Wi-Fi.

I acquired my first iPhone in late 2010, a lime green iPhone 5C, and I never looked back. I am an Apple enthusiast. The Health app serves as my pedometer, my calendars are synchronized, and my phone acts as my notebook, social media platform, camera (as an avid amateur travel photographer), music storage, alarm clock, medication reminder, watch, and podcast provider. I even used Medium on my phone, connected to a Bluetooth keyboard.

You truly don’t grasp how dependent you are on your smartphone until you find yourself without one.

For the first time since the COVID-19 pandemic began, I dined at a restaurant. We gathered for lunch after a small family event to inter my grandfather-in-law’s ashes; due to restrictions, we hadn’t held a funeral when he passed in 2020, but we could come together this year (outdoors) to pay our respects before lunch. I made reservations, and the restaurant was only half-filled. I made sure to print my vaccination proof just in case it was needed.

Not only did everyone need to present their vaccination proof, but the restaurant only accepted the app for orders. No phone meant no app. They agreed to accept my paper proof but required a photo ID to verify my name matched the one on the form. I usually don't carry a wallet; I don’t drive, so I lack a driver’s license. I don’t keep my passport on me. When I need an ID, I usually display my virtual student card on my phone. No phone, no ID.

(Luckily, my husband had saved an image of my passport in his email from when we applied for our Danish residence permits. His phone came to the rescue.)

In 2022, smartphones have become an essential tool for navigating life. Without one, accessing vaccination records, which are crucial for entering many public spaces, becomes a challenge. When Denmark initiated lockdowns, buses ceased accepting cash and only allowed tickets purchased through their app.

Everything has become app-centric.

You can't escape it. Whether it's for bus tickets, your COVID pass, banking, or Zoom meetings, internet-enabled devices are vital in a post-COVID world. Many establishments no longer accept cash. Cash App and Apple Pay have taken the place of traditional currency. Depositing checks involves taking a photo with your phone rather than using an ATM. Paper boarding passes are nearly extinct; now, boarding passes are QR codes in your Apple wallet. Restaurant menus are often QR codes displayed on signs instead of printed materials. You cannot enter a restaurant or hotel without your COVIDPASS QR code. Everything revolves around apps and/or QR codes.

Every other day, I come across articles criticizing my generation (Millennials) for our perceived inability to function without our phones. The reality is, none of us can anymore, regardless of age — mobile phones have replaced numerous devices and practices, making life without one nearly impossible in 2022.

When was the last time you spent an hour without checking your phone? I mean it. A recent article in The Guardian noted that, on average, Americans check their smartphones 96 times daily (roughly once every 15 minutes), and two-thirds of Americans check their phones more than 160 times a day. I suspect the numbers are even higher in Denmark, where I reside. Here, everything is app-based, both for public health measures (like minimizing physical contact between customers and essential workers) and due to a cultural inclination toward the latest technology.

Upon moving to Denmark, we quickly learned how many apps would be crucial to our daily lives. First, there’s NemID, a government-issued security code granting access to your eBoks (the digital inbox for medical and tax information and other government communications) and virtually any service in Denmark. Next is Midttrafik, the app for booking tickets for buses, trams, and trains. Shortly after, we downloaded Coronapas, which displays your vaccination status and PCR test results as a QR code for entering public places. (In Canada, you use the ArriveCan app for similar purposes.) Cash App or Apple Pay are also essentials for personal transactions (like buying items on Facebook Marketplace), along with various banking apps. Social interactions in Denmark predominantly occur through WhatsApp or, less frequently, Facebook Messenger. And that doesn’t even touch on “fun” social apps, such as TikTok, Instagram, or Snapchat. I have an app for my student ID, one for my university schedule… it truly never ends.

Anyone claiming that a phone is a luxury item has clearly never attempted to navigate life without one.

I frequently hear older generations criticizing Millennials and Gen Z for our apparent over-reliance on phones, and it’s becoming tiresome.

> “If you want to save up for a house,” they say, “you need to cut back on luxuries. Brew coffee at home instead of going to Starbucks, skip the pricey avocado toast, and consider a flip phone over an expensive smartphone. Back in my day, we managed without data/internet/cell phone plans! You can live without those.”

As if skipping avocados or coffee could help us save for a down payment when we can barely make rent. As if owning a used or refurbished iPhone (or even a newer model) is what’s preventing us from having a retirement fund. A phone (or food, or coffee) is not a luxury in most parts of the West anymore. Even job applications now require online resumes, quizzes, and document uploads. You can be homeless and still need a phone.

Living without a phone is akin to having a disability in today’s world. To replace a smartphone and its functionalities, one would need to buy various gadgets, which would cost a significant amount:

• watch
• pedometer
• alarm clock
• digital camera
• data storage device (USB stick or hard drive)
• laptop or tablet
• music player (iPod, discman, cassette player?)
• calendar
• GPS
• wallet, cash, credit card
• calculator
• flashlight
• a “home” phone, as people need to reach you
• television
• books and newspapers
• pen and paper for notes

On my first day without a cell phone, I had a meeting scheduled for 2:00 PM. Normally, it takes me about 45 minutes to walk downtown. With my phone, I would leave a bit early, listen to a podcast or audiobook while enjoying the stroll, resting on benches along the way to relax and soak in nature. Without my phone, I had no entertainment for the walk (not the end of the world) and no way to keep track of time. I found myself sitting on a bench, panicking that I might be late due to my lack of a timepiece, and hurried on my way. I arrived on time, but I was sweaty and out of breath; without a watch, I felt like my life was spiraling out of control.

That was Day 1.

By Day 10, I still instinctively reached for my pocket when leaving the house, only to panic when I realized my phone was absent. I often forgot my wallet, too. I used my iPad for at-home functions like setting my morning alarm, but it felt cumbersome and not suited for many tasks.

About two weeks in, I noticed my attention span was improving. I still craved the rush of checking Twitter during dull moments, but I also found myself becoming more present in my surroundings. I walked without obsessively tracking my steps since I wasn’t counting anymore. I read more books. I learned that I didn’t have to fill every moment with information or entertainment and could sit quietly for longer without feeling bored or anxious. Interestingly, I experienced fewer headaches.

After almost a month, I received a “new” phone for Christmas — a refurbished iPhone 8, three models newer than my previous SE, yet still considered “old” by smartphone standards. It lacks a headphone jack, which I find perplexing, but it has fingerprint identification, and all the buttons work.

I left it in its box until just a few days ago when I was preparing to return to Denmark.

Even though I only spent a month without a smartphone, I feel changed — as if I need it less. Sure, having a phone remains crucial for basic tasks. I’m glad to have a pedometer, a camera, and an alarm to remind me to take my medication. However, I've found myself doomscrolling less on Twitter now. I check my texts less frequently. I hardly checked my email throughout the month, which has helped create a better work-life balance than I had before.

While you may need a smartphone and a plethora of apps to function in today’s society, I believe we sacrifice something valuable when we become so reliant on a single, costly device for many of our material needs. This experience has taught me that I must treat my phone as what it is — a useful tool — and not as what it isn’t — a lifeline.

I can set it down now. I can leave it in another room. I can feel it vibrate and wait a moment before checking the notification. I don’t need to form an emotional bond with this piece of technology:

I am free.