Digital Minimalism, Silence, and Economic Uncertainty
Baking blueberry scones for Pancake Tuesday to share with friends.
I write this on Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent, as my oldest child is decidedly not sleeping during her rest time. She is happily singing away in her room, thankfully not disturbing my youngest who thankfully IS sleeping in the next room. Sound machines are wonderful, miraculous inventions in modern-day mothering.
Acknowledging the converging of world events, their impact on my daily life, and rooting it in time and place (like the start of Lent), feels meaningful. Why is the start of Lent important? How does it relate to silence? How does it relate to the idea of digital minimalism? How does it relate to the economic uncertainty we find ourselves in? Somehow it’s all coming together for me today. As my child sings away, full of freedom in her room.
the start of lent and economic uncertainty
This morning as I unlocked my phone I noticed an email from Soul Care talking about the start of Lent, inviting people to join their Lent group. This was how they described what Lent is all about:
I feel drawn to the aspect of Lent that calls us to abstain. As we sat around the dinner table with our friends last night at our weekly dinner we talked about the opportunity to “give something up” for the period of Lent to help us draw near to God.
I didn’t feel a particular urge to give anything up if I’m honest. It’s not a practice I’ve engaged with much in the past, and not one I’m required to do as a follower of Jesus. At the same time, I felt a pull in my heart towards more silence in my life. Did that mean I needed to quit listening to podcasts? Avoid the news? Spend more time off my phone? Should I really give something up and abstain during this 40 day period?
Maybe.
In the converging of all the things this week, our country (Canada) has also entered a season of economic uncertainty and period of retaliatory tariffs with the United States. It’s a discouraging and stressful and uncertain time.
It reminds me actually of the start of the pandemic five years ago. Forces too large above our control were now impacting our daily lives in a way that felt scary and unknown:
How long will it last?
How do I manage the flurry of emotions within me?
How can we get through this time and make it to the other side?
I ask those same questions now. I feel torn in two directions: one side is luring me to believe the lie that knowing more information will give me more control over the circumstances. It says that if I listen to more news, invest time and energy in consuming all the opinions and commentary maybe it’ll be easier for me to feel a sense of control over what is happening. Sometimes more information does lead to greater agency. But there’s a tipping point where engaging too much starts to burn our soul and increases levels of anxiety and fear.
The other side lures me towards silence and abstaining from the world. To pull back and pull out of the news cycle completely. To create a bubble of protection–and yes, disengagement–from whatever is going on. Would putting my head in the figurative sand help me lead my family and thrive while our economy threatens to burn? At some point the painful realities of our world knock on my front door. They directly impact my family, our plans, our dreams, and hopes for what we thought this month, year, or maybe decade would look like. There are real world consequences for my family, community, city, and neighbours from the decisions world leaders (thinking they are gods and we their pawns), make.
digital minimalism
I’m curious if a middle way is the path of digital minimalism.
I really enjoy reading Katherine’s writing with The Analog Family on how to parent in the digital era. This week she published a piece about digital minimalism that I’ve been mentally chewing on all week.
In the Substack post above, Katherine quotes Cal Newport:
“digital minimalism [is] a philosophy of technology use in which you focus your online time on a small number of carefully selected and optimized activities that strongly support things you value, and then happily miss out on everything else.”
Perhaps this middle way can help me navigate both this season of Lent, whereby I want to draw closer to God and deepen my faith, but also not succumb to the anxiety, panic, and overwhelm of a season of economic uncertainty.
I can peek out my metaphorical windows to notice what’s happening in the world and engage when I have capacity.
I can choose to take breaks from listening to podcasts as I go about my day, bake, or drive around the city. But I can also listen in to topics that are life-giving or help me think critically about what is happening in the world.
I have freedom to unplug for a few hours (or days!) and take breaks from the raging news cycle to centre back in on my home, and seek to be faithful to the ministry God has called me to (both in my home and vocation).
I can prioritize in-person conversations about elections and political parties and help formulate who to vote for alongside my values.
I can enjoy periods of silence both in my home but also in my mind. Allowing myself to rest and allow creativity to flow without being hindered from constant content overload.
I can listen to classical music on the radio as I drive in the car, or use my phone to connect with friends by recording audio messages as I walk the dog in nature.
Silence isn’t scary
The pull in my heart towards greater silence I believe is an invitation from God into his presence. A month before the pandemic lockdowns started I found myself at a silent retreat for a weekend. Sometimes we feel like entering silence is scary, because when we remove the constant hum of social media and entertainment, emotions rise to the surface that we would rather avoid.
That weekend five winters ago was hard but also transformative. Entering silence and stillness and allowing God to meet me in my emotions, pain, and hard questions.
Silence can feel scary when we are left on our own, feeling abandoned with no help to process what rages inside us. But when we sit in silence and meet with a known God who loves us and cares for us, it can be comforting. We can offer our doubts and questions, our hopes and dreams, and surrender our fears to God who knows all and somehow holds it all together.
~
Life converges in interesting ways sometimes. As I finish writing this my child has settled in their bed after belting out “songs” from the hymnal in their room which they affectionately call their “Bible”. She let her energy run it’s course and now she’s still and silent in bed as she (thankfully) naps.
This first Wednesday of Lent brought the first spring rains, which also ran their course today and now the sun streams in the living room window warming the damp, cold air outside.
The news cycle runs it’s course too. It never seems to stop, but I can choose when to stop engaging with it. Allowing the moments of silence and stillness to settle over me–opening up mental and emotional space to consider what God is drawing me into and inviting me to trust him with.
So perhaps I will consider “abstaining” from a few things after all in this 40 day run-up to Easter Resurrection Sunday. I can consider how an approach of digital minimalism can help me have agency in what I engage with, prioritizing a mix of in-person dialogue, time outside, and quiet time off my phone.