I can't shake a feeling I've had since before Easter.

Sometimes I can almost forget it. But like my tinnitus, it's always there when I stop and think about it.

It feels like a chapter of my life may be ending. And I feel...mournful. Sad.

If you've read my previous blog posts, you know that I have long been concerned about the effect modern technology – especially smartphones – has had on me and on humanity in general. I have written about doing media fasts, cutting back my technology use, privacy and security, making sure you use your technology intentionally and that it doesn't use you, and other related topics. Well, I'm somewhat embarrassed to say that over the past 18 months, I have been “off the wagon” when it comes to technology addiction. But for a few weeks now I've been trying something that is helping me snap out of it (again). And I need to share my experience if only to show solidarity with others who are going through this same thing.

I have long had a love-hate relationship with technology. I love what digital devices empower us to do, but I hate that it's so easy to abuse or be abused by others through those same devices.

Today I had an experience that reaffirmed my appreciation for smartphones. In my church, adults and youth are given responsibility to look after and help other individuals and families in our community. We call this “ministering.” My 16-year-old son and I are ministering companions and we have the opportunity to minister to four different households.

I have caught myself slipping. Picking up the smartphone out of pure habit to cycle through apps and websites. Grabbing the laptop to tinker or look something up on the web or whatever. I keep removing apps, using website blockers, etc. I just reinstall apps, pause website blockers, etc. But the impulse remains. There is a deeply ingrained urge, a need to stare at a screen – any screen. For any reason or no reason at all.

My favorite talk from the October 2022 General Conference was President Russell M. Nelson's: Overcome the World and Find Rest.

I don't know everything, but I know enough.

When a young Neil L. Anderson was preparing to serve his mission, he felt inadequate. He prayed: “Heavenly Father, how can I serve a mission when I know so little?” As he prayed, he had the impression: “You don’t know everything, but you know enough!”

Whenever I am struggling in body or in spirit, whenever I'm wrestling with confusion or doubts, I try to direct my thoughts to the plain and precious things I know about my faith, and how I came to know these things.