Bill is troubled. He says he is facing a dilemma, the parable of a hollow life.
“Every night, my home is robbed,” Bill explains. “The burglars steal money, jewelry, and irreplaceable valuables. Some of these things I will never get back. Never.”
Tears fill his eyes.
Jim looks at him, horrified. “OMG, that’s a nightmare! Have you called the police? Do they smash the windows or bust down the door with a ram?”
Bill shakes his head. “No, I won’t call the police. And I insist on leaving the doors unlocked.”
Jim, utterly confused, asks, “I don’t get the problem. Why don’t you just lock your freaking doors? Better yet, lock them and install a security system. Do something and stop these robbers from stealing your precious stuff!”
“Well, that’s my thing,” Bill says, looking away sheepishly. “I don’t want to lock my doors, and I certainly don’t want to install any security.”
Jim looks dumbfounded, his mouth hangs open.
Bill continues, “You see, the burglars always leave me a plate of chocolate chip cookies. And they are the most delicious cookies I’ve ever tasted. In fact, I think there might be some type of narcotic baked into them because I simply can’t get enough of them. They are so good that now I leave my doors unlocked every minute of every day.”
Bill picks up one of the cookies and takes a bite, his eyes rolling back into his head in satisfaction. “And now I’m going broke.”
Bill finishes his cookie and continues. “The problem is, I know these burglars are robbing my life blind, but I can’t seem to find the motivation to lock my doors.”
Jim stares at him. “So not only are you getting robbed, you’re being drugged?”
“Yes,” Bill whispers.
“And you continue to allow it?”
Bill looks at the empty space where his life used to be. “Yes.”
He kept his doors unlocked and his alarm system disarmed — and somewhere between the first cookie and the last, it wasn’t his house that was hollowed out. It was his life.
The Parable of a Hollow Life: Your Screen is the Burglar
This isn’t a story about burglars, jewelry, or a house—it’s a story about the glowing box in your pocket that whispers in your ear every minute of the day.
Your smartphone is the open door. The algorithm is the burglar. And all those notifications you refuse to silence? Those are the narcotic-laced cookies.
Every “like,” every “ping,” and every “infinite scroll” is a carefully engineered bribe designed to keep you sedated while Big Tech pillages your most irreplaceable asset: Your attention. Your precious, irreplaceable time. They are stealing your focus, your ambition, and your presence with your family, and they are doing it in broad daylight. And if you’re like Bill, you are complicit in the theft, refusing to make the Hard choice.
Newsflash: You aren’t “staying informed” or “staying connected.” You are being processed. Monetized. You are trading your time (and a potential legacy) for a digital sugar high that might as well be a narcotic.
If this doesn’t freaking piss you off and inspire action—sorry—nothing will.
My total screen time per day is over 3 hours.
Wow, MJ, you’re an addict!
Actually, if you subtract Spotify (music while working or writing) Audible (audiobooks while dog walking or while I’m asleep) my daily screen time drops to 52 seconds per day.
52 freaking seconds.
I choose Hard.
I have no idea who Sidney Sweeney is. Clavicular mog? I have no idea WTF any of this means. You see, you can always tell who is wasting their lives away in the cultural black holes of Chaos, and allowing their lives to be pilfered. I’m not drug addict.
Choosing the undisciplined “Easy” (the drug) of the scroll mandates a “Hard” life of regret. Being underskilled. Underfocused.
Under-FN-everything.
Choosing the “Hard” discipline of locking the door: deleting the apps, silencing the pings, and reclaiming your time and attention, is the only way to set the groundwork for a life of persistent ease.
The burglars won’t stop until there is nothing left to take. Lock the damn door.
It’s a simple choice—but a damn FN hard one.
MJ DeMarco