It started last year when Alexandra Franzen, one of the writers I admire most, announced she quit Twitter. I was angry, almost offended, at the idea of life without Twitter. A bit of an overreaction. That was when I knew I had a problem. I felt compelled to reach out and ask what life without Twitter was like.
“A little withdrawal at first, and then… just a beautiful feeling of quiet,” she replied. “Like somebody finally fixed the noisy fridge that was always humming in the background of my mind. Oh. Right. THAT is what silence sounds like.”
That sounded incredible. A life with Twitter is a life constantly on edge, wondering what I’m missing out on every moment that I don’t refresh my feed. But it also sounded terrifying. According to Rescue Time, my time tracking app, I spend between one to two hours every day on Twitter. Seven to 14 hours a week. I tell myself it’s because I use Twitter to network, to keep up on the news, to find sources for articles. But really, I’m addicted to the endorphin rush I get every time I see a retweet.
So it took something drastic to extract me from Twitter.
A little over a week ago, I published an article about the Bob Ross painting marathon on Twitch.tv. I wrote that Ross’s optimism appeared to be bringing positivity to what I observed was a profoundly unfriendly group. Like clockwork, and with no sense of irony, the messages began pouring in as Twitch users threatened to show me just how friendly the community could be.
This isn’t my first rodeo. I know that as soon as you engage with a troll, you lose. So I’ve made a habit of avoiding Twitter for a few hours after I publish something. It cuts down on the temptation to reply. But when I signed on again a day later, tweets I shouldn’t reply to were still coming. I figured this was exactly the push I needed to launch my Twitter-free experiment.
Let me emphasize this one more time—I was NOT driven off of Twitter by trolls. This was an active choice, not a passive reaction. I saw an opportunity to expand my normal post-publication routine into something more positive, and I took it.
I deleted Twitter from all of my devices and used the StayFocusd app’s Nuclear Option to blacklist it on my computer. Thus began my Seven Twitterless Days. Here are the highlights:
Wednesday
Instead of checking Twitter on the train to Japanese-language class, I practice on a Japanese study app called Kanji Senpai. Usually I just try to occupy myself with my commute, now I’m using it to improve myself. I relish the feeling that I don’t have to look at anything unpleasant that anyone sends to me and then panic about whether I should defend my pride and reply.
Later, my husband John comes home from work and asks if I’ve seen some funny thing he’d retweeted. “No, I quit Twitter,” I say a bit irritably, totally wishing I could look at the funny thing. As the evening progresses, I realize how often my husband and I tell one another, “You should tweet that,” after a particularly funny turn of phrase. Twitter is part of our relationship.
Thursday
My phone alarm goes off at 7 a.m. and I reach to silence it and check Twitter. Half-asleep me doesn’t remember that I’ve removed the app from my phone. Without Twitter to check, there’s nothing to do but give my inbox a cursory glance and get up.
By the time I’ve had breakfast it’s only 7:30. Usually I start my day later, after a good 15 or 20 minutes on Twitter. The rest of the day goes slowly, or should I say quickly? I’m working for several different clients right now, both as a writer and a web developer. Every time I switch gears to work on a different project, I instinctively try to visit Tweetdeck, only to be greeted by StayFocusd’s “Shouldn’t you be working?” banner. I finish my work for the day by 3:30 p.m. I’d like to celebrate that on Twitter, but I don’t have it so I prep for the webinar I teach on Sunday.
Friday
Twitter is my social life. I spend a lot of time at home in my apartment but until I cut myself off from Twitter, I didn’t feel lonely. When I’m getting validated by mentions and retweets, I feel like the most popular person on Earth. I have more than 5,000 followers and I follow more than 1,000 people—more people than I could ever meet without the aid of the Internet—which means there’s always somebody to talk to.
Instead, I plan a nicer than usual night-in for John and me I stop by World Market and pick up red wine and antipasti and order a pizza. We play The Vanishing of Ethan Carter, a short but spooky puzzle game, and watch terrible but funny anime. I realize how much time John and I spend together but alone—he at his computer, me at mine.
Saturday
Wrote a blog post letting people know about my Sunday webinar. Usually I share my blog posts on Twitter, but today I refrain. I thought this would have a bigger effect on my blog views, but Google Analytics shows just a 100-person difference. I’m guessing more of my readers have a feed-reader and don’t just click on tweets.
Since I have more spare time today, I find myself on Facebook. It’s not as satisfying, only a mediocre Twitter surrogate. I spend 30 minutes browsing baby pictures posted by distant relatives and various political rants before I decide to use StayFocusd to nuke Facebook, too.
John and I go downtown to see the Washington Capitals play the Toronto Maple Leafs in an especially intense hockey game that ends in a shootout. I can’t help but notice that everyone else in the stadium has their phone out. When the Caps win, people are cheering, yes, but also snapping photos and sending tweets. I don’t feel superior to them for “living in the moment,” I just feel sort of jealous.
Sunday
Nearly 80 people attend my webinar, even though I haven’t been frantically tweeting about it. I’d consider that a success. Despite the mailing list and blog posts, I’m surprised anyone remembers I am holding it. I personally feel like I’ve fallen off the face of the Earth.
I think leaving Twitter has been especially hard because lately I’ve been sharing everything about myself there. It doesn’t even feel like over-sharing anymore to tell Twitter about my current moods, my deepest fears, my every waking thought. Over time it seems I’ve come to crave that validation, even when it comes in the form of negative attention, showing that I exist.
In the seven years I’ve been on Twitter, I have tweeted 23,000 times, or a good 3 million characters. That’s a novel, to put it lightly. It might be interesting to piece together all of my tweets to see if there is some kind of story thread in there, but probably not. I tweet to feel like I’m funny and entertaining, not to say anything profound.
Monday
For the first time since this experiment began, I wake up and I don’t instinctively try to check Twitter on my phone. Whatever muscle memory I had for Tweetdeck is disappearing, too. I don’t try to separate the blocks of my day between Twitter sessions.
That night, I light some candles and take a bubble bath while reading through a stack of paperback literary magazines I “don’t have time” to read. For the first time, I don’t miss Twitter.
Tuesday
Beginning to notice some serious gaps in my knowledge. Apparently people are upset that Starbucks has solid red cups now. Also, there are some racism scandals at two universities. I find out about them immediately after Googling, but I wouldn’t have known to Google them.
My editor asks me to write about a terminal Star Wars fan who died after seeing the movie early. I was surprised I hadn’t seen that on Reddit. Apparently Twitter had it first. I take a pass.
Wednesday
It’s over! I can binge on Twitter again! Only, I don’t think I’m going to.
After a week away, I’ve decided I still want Twitter to be part of my life. Just a smaller part. So here’s how I’m planning to meter my consumption:
Stay off Twitter first thing in the morning and last thing at night. It just gets my heart rate up. I feel more relaxed limiting it to the newsgathering hours.
Make conscious time for my family. I live with my husband and sometimes I still feel like I don’t see him enough. Catching the funny thing he retweeted just can’t replace that connection.
Keep Twitter off my mobile phone. It’s just a time-waster for me. If my excuse is that I need Twitter for work, I’m sure not working on my phone.
I logged into Tweetdeck before completing this article, but I didn’t feel the relief I thought I would. It’s like returning to a home I no longer recognize. My @ mentions have almost dried up, and my favorite tweeps have moved on to discussions I’m no longer a part of. In that time I wasn’t on Twitter, life went on.
In those seven to 14 hours I usually devote to tweeting, I spent more time with my husband, I ran extra miles, I read books far longer than 140 characters. And, certainly, I desperately missed Twitter and I’m glad to have it back. It’s just too useful an information tool to entirely remove from my life. From now on, though, I’ll make sure I’m using it as a resource, not a forum for validating my existence.
It only took a week to gain this depth of perspective about my life and the way I manage my time. Just think about what a Twitter hiatus could do for you.
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