I’m writing these words in mid-January as the threat of a winter storm looms. Our outdoor faucets are protected by men’s crew socks and aluminum foil (an unprepared man’s substitute for insulated covers) and I’m thawing beef for a slow-cooker stew. My plan for today is to prepare as much food as possible in the event that we lose power in the next day or two. Eating cold stew is better than eating raw potatoes, after all.
In the South, people don’t quite know how to prepare for winter storms — the roads aren’t salted with the efficiency of states a little further north. People buy up all the milk and bread at grocery stores. (Since we avoid gluten and dairy, we aren’t much impacted by this detail.) Pipes burst because people forget to leave their faucets on a low drip overnight. (I couldn’t possibly know this fact from personal experience.) Then, there is the very specific preparation that many families of young children undertake. When I was still on social media, I saw those preparations take shape in stories and grid posts: charge all devices and back-up devices; charge mobile devices and back-up mobile devices to create hot spots for kids’ devices—and the list goes on.
We’ve chosen to do things differently in our home. Over the past year, my family and I have intentionally embraced a slow-tech lifestyle. (Let me be clear: I’ve set this intention because it’s right for our family. I’m describing our day-to-day, rather than prescribing it.)
What is a slow-tech lifestyle?
You’ve likely heard of the slow food movement. That movement — birthed in 1989, when no one read ingredient labels — was highly counter-cultural. Today, it is common to see shoppers flipping over packages in grocery-store aisles. “Oh, no, honey, we can’t buy that. It has high fructose corn syrup.” This generation of children is fairly educated on terms like MSG-free and whole-foods diet — terminology that was wholly foreign to my own childhood.
Slow-tech is an emerging concept; at present, there are fewer than a million Google search results for the term. Digital minimalism is a much more popular term at twenty-two million results. The terms aren’t necessarily synonymous, however. Digital minimalism is about curating your online activity and personal devices (maybe you get rid of Instagram but keep Facebook — or, in terms of hardware, ditch a superfluous Kindle in favor of using the Kindle app on your iPhone); slow-tech, as I understand it, is a philosophy as well as a practice. The person who chooses a slow-tech lifestyle curates digital activities, sure, but also rejects “fast technology” (i.e., pretty much anything with the word smart in front of it) on, well, ethical grounds.
At this point, I know I’ve lost a great deal of people. Sanctimonious might be running through some people’s heads. Self-righteous. Moralizing. No. I’m interested in this lifestyle because I was desperately unhappy living a tech-heavy lifestyle. I’m interested in this lifestyle because I want my kids to remember my face and not the iPhone model in front of it. I’m interested in this lifestyle because tech giants like Steve Jobs and Bill Gates restricted their kids’ access to technology and I suspect they had good reasons for that. I’m interested in this lifestyle because I’ve read articles about kids with digital addictions so serious that, in one case, a nine-year-old boy began to experience panic attacks, “writh[ing] on the floor,” because his access to the popular online game, Fortnite, was limited. For me, getting intentional about a slow-tech lifestyle is mostly about seeking balance and preventing addiction. As fun as it sounds, this isn’t about cosplaying Laura Ingalls Wilder and family. I am interested in this lifestyle to support my family’s mental, emotional, and spiritual health.
Slow-tech isn’t No-tech
My older son has non-speaking autism. His must-have tech item is a battery-operated cassette player. As long as we have batteries, we’re in good shape. My younger son loves to play solo tabletop games and handheld electronic games. By handheld electronic game, however, I don’t mean Nintendo Switch. Behold this beauty:
His favorite Christmas gift this year was a handheld electronic Monopoly game:
My ten-year-old gasped when he opened this gift. I smiled, knowing I paid thirty-five dollars for this treasure on eBay. It was the one electronic game he opened on Christmas (the rest were board games, books, and small toys). Why am I giving my kids outdated technology like battery-powered games and cassette players for major holidays? And why are they happy about it? How is this handheld Monopoly game, you may wonder, superior to an iPad or iPhone outfitted with the Monopoly Go! app?
Technologically, of course, it isn’t superior. If you value convenience and speed, the iPad outfitted with Monopoly Go! is far superior — just as, if you value convenience and speed, a fast-food sandwich is superior to a carefully prepared farm-to-table meal. This is a values discussion.
This is a conversation for everybody.
My intention in writing this short manifesto is, importantly, not to create a system of moral outbidding around tech with extreme, if unspoken, rules (i.e., the older the tech, the more ethical). Particularly, as the parent of a non-speaking autistic child who has used an iPad as a speech-generating device, I understand the vital place of many technologies in our society. I still carry an iPhone. While I’d like to swap my smartphone for a Wisephone or Light Phone at some point in the future, I’m not yet able to make that switch (and, as long as the convenience of digital library apps like Libby persist, I’m not in a huge hurry to make that switch). There are plenty of people who engage with technology in a much sparser, and much more thoughtful, way than I do. I recognize, too, that technology enables many people to earn a living (including my husband, who works remotely as a computer programmer) and, in many ways, improves our quality of life.
This discussion is not intended to shame or point fingers — and it is not intended to fence anybody out of the conversation. If you aren’t ready to cancel two-day shipping just yet, this is still a conversation for you. If you earn a living using ride-sharing apps, this is still a conversation for you. If your kids are hopeless screen addicts, this is still a conversation for you. Slow tech — for me, at least — is about using technology mindfully and minimally. It is about taking inventory of the devices and vices in our homes and hearts, assessing where we can do better. It is a rallying cry against a scrawling, sinewy addiction that threatens to consume the next generation, and ours, if we don’t take serious steps to curb our daily habits.
Again, none of my words are designed to be prescriptive. However, I do think it is important to share my thoughts and feelings on this topic to support those who may be battling the same ghosts I battled. Maybe that isn’t you. But maybe it is — maybe you’re lost in a dark, unending forest and this idea, the idea that technology could be managed better, doesn’t read as sermonizing. Maybe you’re tired of living with digital Stockholm syndrome, justifying the abuses of tech lords who traded the mental wellness of billions of users for money. Maybe you’re tired of waking up and going to sleep, refreshing notifications. If your nerves are fried and your heart is heavy, I pray these words double as a flashlight — illuminating possibilities.
Heather Cadenhead’s writing has been featured in The Rabbit Room, Wild + Free, and other publications. She publishes a monthly newsletter, Firelight, about mothering her non-speaking autistic son through the lens of the Christian gospel.