I got my first smartphone at 30. It ruined my life.

iStock; Rebecca Zisser/BI

• At 30, I reluctantly bought a smartphone once life with my flip phone became too difficult.
• Now that I text so much and use social-media apps, I have less to talk to friends about in person.
• Despite the benefits of having a smartphone, I feel more isolated and like I rely on it too much.

I held off on getting a smartphone for as long as I could.

Having grown up in the age of cellphones, my flip phone felt more than good enough since I could call and text anytime, anywhere.

When I used it in public, people would ask if I was "detoxing" or making some sort of political statement by not having a smartphone. My answer was simple: I just did not trust myself with unfettered access to the World Wide Web in my pocket.

As smartphones became ubiquitous for things like boarding passes and concert tickets, life became increasingly hard to navigate. Even dining out became an obstacle because my phone couldn't scan the QR code to reveal the menu.

In the summer of 2023, as major carriers began shutting down older 3G and 4G networks in favor of sparkly new 5G ones, my flip phone fully stopped working.

Defeated, I walked into the Verizon store and left with a brand-new iPhone 13 and a sinking feeling that my life would be forever changed.

I quickly became glued to my phone

Within the first week of having an iPhone, I was averaging four to five hours on it daily. I was almost hit by cars when walking because I was glued to my phone screen.

My screen-time and usage report also showed that I was picking my phone up an average of 57 times a day. With my old phone, I'd be surprised if I used it for 30 minutes or checked it more than a handful of times in a day.

Repulsed with myself, I silenced all notifications. I tried leaving the phone in another room to avoid distraction, but I couldn't resist. After an hour of peace, I'd give in and be rewarded with 24 missed messages — none of them important.

After a few weeks of using my smartphone, I began having neck pain from spending hours hunched over the precious device. I swear I could feel my spine starting to curve.

Despite being more connected than ever, I feel so isolated

I (not pictured) became glued to my phone.

Jaap Arriens/NurPhoto

Texting was so much easier on my smartphone with a full keyboard — I found myself in constant communication with friends via message threads and group chats.

I love exchanging updates and sending silly photos, but now, when we meet in person, I find there isn't much to discuss. We've already covered everything while being in touch 24/7. When it came to actual real-life conversations, my comprehension took a hit — I wasn't truly listening anymore.

The other day my sister came over, sat on the couch, and launched into a diatribe about her workday. Without thinking, I reached into my pocket and began to scroll. I was displaying the same antisocial behaviors I had previously scorned in others.

At the same time, with hundreds of apps at my fingertips, I found myself seeking connection on apps instead of in person.

Instead of going to a bar, I swiped on Tinder. It was fun, but I quickly became horrified by how I could use the dating app's filters to find a human tailor-fit to my exact preferences. Within an hour of downloading it, I had a date on the books for that evening.

While I'd like to think this is a nod to my own prowess, it's really just a testament to how easy smartphones have made it to order human interactions with a few clicks.

The date was fine, though it lacked a certain substance. Having met on an app meant we had no shared context in the organic world. We hadn't met through our community or at work — there was no social fabric connecting us.

Our hopeful romance fizzled as quickly as it started.

I miss my flip phone, but there's no going back

I now view my life in two distinct eras: before and after the iPhone.

Life was simpler with my flip phone, but having a smartphone isn't all bad.

I can fire up Google Maps to get around instead of stopping at a gas station to ask the clerk for directions. Spotify helped introduce me to some of my favorite artists. And yes, I do need all 200 photos of my cat backed up to the Cloud.

Yet I still find myself yearning for simpler times — when I communicated with words instead of emojis, when I wasn't reaching into my pocket every 15 minutes looking for another cheap dopamine hit, and when I could fully immerse myself in the world around me.

There are smartphone alternatives ("dumb" phones) available that harken back to the days of old, promising to "curb your screen addiction" by restricting apps and web browsers, but we're only kidding ourselves.

There is no going back. Now that I've had a smartphone, I rely on it far too much to give it up.

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