Pause. A Restful Uprising
By Ellie Hay
There are moments when the idea of taking time away from my devices makes me a bit twitchy. Usually when I need it most. Instead of disengaging, I’ll slip into an infinite scroll, a mindless pacifier for my overwhelm. All this really does is steepen my downward spiral, but I’m already in too deep to come up and gasp fresh air.
On more than one occasion, my therapist has reminded me that I am a human being, not a human doing, “Be here.” He pauses. “Be here.” He pauses again, but this time for longer. I instinctively place my hand on my heart, my lungs slowly exhaling and my shoulders softening. I am suddenly aware of the ground beneath my feet. Oh, here I am.
Curious about this growing resistance to time offline, I picked up Johann Hari’s Stolen Focus: Why You Can’t Pay Attention. The book explores the fragile nature of human attention, our crumbling ability to focus, and the ethical debates surrounding tech products. There was some relief in reminding myself that my own deterioration wasn’t a personal failing, but a byproduct of deliberate design and a much larger systemic issue. Silicon Valley is expertly engineering our daily interruptions; “your distraction is their fuel,” Hari explains. The financial incentives to keep users scrolling and distracted — at speed — are nothing short of monumental.
At best, Instagram – my infinite scroll of choice – is a versatile tool; it’s the storefront for my business, a channel for creative expression, cultural happenings, community, international connections and a portal of hilarious memes. At worst, it’s a non-refundable waste of time, a supply chain of self doubt, a facilitator of imposter syndrome, a brazen display of financial disparity and host of existential fear.
Growth, for me, happens outside of where I expect it to: a run in the park when I can smell the trees; rinsing my hair in the shower; peeling potatoes for a Sunday roast; engaging in unplanned conversation, or lying in bed with a morning coffee, gazing outside of my window. These interstitial moments — the spaces between doing — are where I am most open, willing and without distraction. I place no demands on myself. I am accepting, I am whole. I am here.
During a recent bout of digital burnout, I turned to my bookshelf and unearthed The Extreme Self by Shumon Basar, Douglas Coupland and Hans Ulrich Obrist – a compact, and compelling volume I had purchased at the Serpentine Gallery a couple of summers ago. It includes a double page spread that catalogues states of contemporary fatigue. The book examines how our hyperconnected world accelerates culture whilst diminishing individualism. Hans Ulrich Obrist explains: “We’re not built for so much change so quickly. Technology has outrun our ability to absorb it.”
Some weeks later. A serendipitous gift arrived — ironically, via a notification on Instagram. It was an antidote to my digital discomfort from Jennifer Armbrust, the author of The Feminist Business School. Years earlier, I had purchased her handbook as an exercise to define the purpose of Patter, the business I was building. Her thinking served as a compass, one I revisit whenever I feel unmoored. Armbrust’s new work was being introduced in person as a live online talk. She explored the idea of “establishing patterns of ease to create a meaningful and joyful life”. She described this ethos of self-nurturing as a feminist act, and likened it to the uprisings of the punk movement. I can’t wait to read more.
Pause is part of this new wave – a digital space that supports rest for accelerated creative minds. The concept for it emerged out of my own exploration, and developed into an open resource to expand your day, uplift your soul, and awaken your senses. Pause offers a slipstream out of the endless scroll — a chance to realign and reconnect with a deeper sense of self. Accessible from the very desk you might otherwise lose yourself at, in distraction.
When the current drags us so rapidly, the simple act of grabbing onto a branch, and hoisting ourselves out of it to rest – even for a brief minute – feels like a compelling uprising towards a more pleasurable life.
