Is This the Real Life? #044
A Story About Phones, Feelings, and What We’ve Forgotten to Notice
Imagine walking into a waiting room—and a 70-pound ball of muscle and teeth locks eyes with you.
Then, it growls.
Your legs fade. Your mind blanks. And instinct kicks in:
“Well… this is it.”
But wait—let’s zoom out for some context.
It was late afternoon, I know because dinner was just around the corner (my internal food radar never fails).
My best friend stood up and said, “Come with me.”
A walk?
A snack?
A carrot, maybe?!
YES. I saw some earlier. Jackpot!
But wait—he’s going outside?
Are we going?
To the park?!
Yesss! Let’s go!
He opened the wooden thing—the one where he stores the thing. The thing means car ride.
Jump higher, Ozzy! He’ll load it faster if you jump higher!
A quick lap around the room.
He’s coming back!
Leash in hand!
JUMPJUMPJUMPJUMP.
Wait… focus…
He’s saying something—
“Ozzy, calm down!”
Oh right.
That means Sit.
Yes. Sit. Focus. Breathe. Leash me up. Let’s go!
We’re at the door!
We’re going for a ride!
Hop in, roll around the back seat—this is the way.
I love this spot. My spot. My kingdom.
We’re moving!
Wait—we’re stopping!
Moving again!
I know this route.
We’re going to Luisa’s. Flor must be there. She’s cool. I love Flor.
Maybe Max is there too?
…Wait.
Why are we stopping here?
This isn’t Luisa’s.
I know this place… I know it.
First, pee. Mark the corner. Establish dominance.
But… oh no. No no no no.
It’s this place.
We’re here.
The vet.
Let’s turn around. Let’s go back. No need to do this. Please.
We’re sitting down. I see strangers. One friendly dog. One old dog—he’s hurting. I lay down, give him space.
Then… a Labrador walks in. I growl. Not to attack, just to say:
“Not now. I’m scared too.”
That’s how dogs do it. We speak with posture, tail, tone.
Not aggression—just honesty.
Then I hear it:
“Ozzy? You’re up.”
That’s me.
My best friend stands. I follow. Door opens.
They say, “Let’s weigh him.”
I know this drill.
Up.
I do it.
70 lbs. Of courage.
Then the room. The vet. The coat. The scent.
“Hi Ozzy, how are you?”
I try to say hello, but someone else speaks:
“Does he bite?”
My best friend replies:
“No… I mean… he might. He never has. But honestly, I think he’s more worried if you bite.”
One shot later, it’s over.
“You’re a good boy, Ozzy.”
We step outside. The breeze hits. The street smells different.
I look up at my best friend and think:
“So… how about going for a walk now?”
Ozzy Doesn’t Fake It. Should We?
While we were waiting, I watched Ozzy interact with the other dogs. He had different reactions to each one.
There was a small poodle, Ozzy wagged, sniffed, full tail-wiggle mode. Instant friendliness.
Then came an old cocker spaniel, one eye bandaged from surgery. Ozzy didn’t even try, just quietly lay down nearby, giving him space. Respect.
And then… the Labrador.
Ozzy growled.
Not out of aggression — I’ve learned that after five years.
It was more like:
“This is my space. Please don’t come closer. I’m not up for this today.”
That’s how dogs communicate.
They don’t fake interest.
They don’t perform politeness.
They greet with honesty.
If they want to play, they play.
If they don’t , they tell you. No drama. Just clear signals and honest intentions.
Cats… well, cats are another story. (I’ll save that for a future post.)
But now think about us … humans.
What do we do when we greet each other?
Are we honest about how we feel?
Your Auto-Reply Is Showing
I thought about jumping straight into explaining this…But I think a story will get us all into context.
Picture this:
You’re strolling through a park, a mall, maybe a restaurant.
You spot someone you know. You walk over.
They ask:
“Hey, how are you?”
And without thinking, you answer:
“Fine.”
“All good.”
“Amazing.”
“Living the dream.”
But… are you?
Do you actually feel fine?
Are things truly amazing?
Why do we say it like we’re reciting a pledge?
Like we’ve all agreed on a script?
It’s like someone grabs a karaoke mic and sings:
“Is this the real life…”
And the whole room chimes in:
“Is this just fantasy?”
We’ve turned greetings into rituals. What used to be a moment of connection has become a formality…a set of socially approved responses we all know by heart. There’s no room for pause, no room for truth.
But here’s the thing. Psychologist Adam Grant says that when we answer with things like “Living my best life,” we’re not celebrating joy, we’re performing what he calls toxic positivity.
That’s the pressure to appear upbeat no matter what, even when you’re hurting, even when you’re lost. It sounds supportive, “just stay positive” or “everything happens for a reason”…but in practice, it can shut down real conversations, invalidate pain, and make people feel ashamed for not being okay.
No Escape From Reality
But what happens if we do say how we feel? Intriguing, right?
The other day, I started reading The Upstart Spring, a book recommended by one of our subscribers, thanks, Cris.
At the end of the preface, a line stopped me:
“Ordinary life is a kind of slumber from which only a few extraordinary human beings have ever truly awaken.” — Sufi saying
It got me thinking…
Have we built our own slumber?
Not out of laziness, but from overload.
Addictive rituals, dopamine loops, that constant itch to check notifications… all of it designed to keep us scrolling, not thinking.
Reacting, not reflecting.
Comfortably numb. (Yeah, I said it.)
If you’ve never seen The Wall — the 1982 film based on Pink Floyd’s album — now might be the time.
Especially this scene: when “Comfortably Numb” plays and the main character, Pink, is completely unresponsive as the outside world tries to reach him.
It’s haunting.
And way too familiar.
Thunderbolt and Lightning, Very Very Frightening
Let’s bring all of this back to the real world.
Iran and Israel. It’s everywhere—news headlines, social media feeds, casual conversations.
You may have seen the videos…
Missiles lighting up the sky.
Cities in tension.
And somewhere, on a rooftop, a group of people sipping drinks, playing music, watching it unfold like fireworks in the distance.
But let’s pause for a moment.
How many people live in Iran?
What do they do?
What music do they listen to?
Are all of them building nuclear weapons?
Are they all behind their government’s decisions?
Iran has a population of roughly 89 million, spread across a landmass of 1.6 million square kilometers. It borders Iraq, Afghanistan, Turkmenistan, and others—and it’s one of the most historically rich civilizations on the planet.
It’s not a poor, isolated place.
It’s a country full of contradictions: rich in oil, culture, and military power… and yes, with a nuclear program that raises real concerns.
That’s what Israel sees as a threat.
And so, in response, they attack.
Not just one city, not one facility.
Reports mention at least 13 locations, most tied to the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC)—a powerful political and military group separate from Iran’s regular army.
The goal? Cripple capabilities. Send a message. Neutralize threats.
But these aren’t board game pieces being moved.
These are lives.
Families.
Infrastructure.
Fear.
And the ripple effect stretches far beyond the region.
I’m not taking sides here. The conflict is layered, historical, strategic, and emotional. If you want me to explore it in depth, let me know…I’m open to unpacking it in a future series.
Because Iran isn’t just “a threat.” It’s one of humanity’s oldest civilizations, home to ancient Persia and the Achaemenid Empire nearly 2,500 years ago. That story shifted drastically in the 1970s, when the Iranian Revolution overthrew the monarchy. Conservative religious leaders, long rooted in Iran’s traditional towns and seminaries, rose to power and established the Islamic Republic.
What followed was a complex story of ideology, diplomacy, and Cold War influence — one that still shapes the region today.
What I want to reflect on is something else:
Have we become so used to these stories, that we no longer feel them?
Easy Come, Easy Go
We don’t question the small things anymore. And when something big—like missiles in the sky—happens, we process it like just another post. Just another 8-second dopamine hit in an endless feed.
Have we become so overstimulated that nothing really shocks us?
There’s actually a name for this: doomscrolling desensitization.
It’s the habit of consuming tragic or extreme content, over and over, without fully processing it…until we go numb.
You see it in the loops.
People falling off bikes.
Fails played for laughs.
Perfect faces, perfect food, a missile, a meme, a massacre. All side by side.
Each post chips away at our ability to pause, reflect, or even react.
And while researching this piece, I realized I’m far from alone in feeling this way.
There’s a TEDx talk by Tyler Burns, a computational biologist who tackled this exact issue. He describes how he was stuck—swiping, scrolling, disconnected—until he started building an AI model to map news content based on his own values and interests.
Why?
Because he didn’t want the algorithm choosing what deserved his attention.
He wanted his brain back.
He wanted to decide what to care about, instead of being spoon-fed a crisis buffet curated for outrage and click potential.
As Tyler puts it, the system isn’t just failing us—it’s succeeding at making us all feel like we have digital ADHD.
And I’d add: it’s training us to feel less… not more.
Let’s Run a Little Experiment
The average American touches their phone 2,617 times per day.
Not checks. Touches.
That’s everything from unlocking it to mindlessly scrolling, tapping, or fidgeting.
So… try this:
Put your phone down. Walk away. Leave it there.
Just for an hour.
In that first hour, you’ll probably reach for it 3 or 4 times without realizing it.
That tracks. We pick up our phones about 52 times a day on average.
Now, what happens if you let the day go on.
By hour 6 or 8, you might feel a little restless.
By hour 12, full-on anxious. Maybe even irritable.
Why?
Because your phone, and especially social media, is designed to provide constant, low-level rewards.
Your brain starts to expect them. When it doesn’t get them, it panics.
That’s cortisol. Your body’s stress hormone. It spikes when you break the habit loop.
We think we’re just bored. But what we’re actually doing is withdrawing.
Now… what if we push the experiment to 24 hours without your phone?
That’s when FOMO kicks in.
Yep — Fear of Missing Out.
Your heart rate might spike.
Your blood pressure can rise.
Anxiety builds.
It’s not just discomfort, it’s withdrawal — the kind that’s been engineered into you.
Because social media didn’t just show up in our lives.
It hijacked them.
Yesterday, I saw it happen in real time.
We were at a bar … having beers, laughing, catching up.
One of our friends was with us… physically.
But mentally? He was somewhere else.
For two full hours, he was stuck to his phone.
Scrolling. Zoned in.
Deep into whatever the algorithm had decided to show him … fake, real, curated, or half-dressed.
It didn’t matter.
The machine knew what to feed him.
And he stayed there. Hooked. Even in the middle of a relaxed, joyful moment with real people.
He was looking at girls on his phone…
but not at the bar.
There were a couple of groups nearby … all women, laughing, talking.
Maybe one of them was single.
Maybe one of them was looking around.
But the algorithm had him.
It didn’t even let him lift his head to find out if the real world had anything better to offer.
And honestly… that moment stuck with me.
Because it worries me.
It worries me that our cognitive power, our ability to be present, to notice, to decide, is being hijacked.
Tricked by apps, pings, and notifications.
“Click this.”
“Check that.”
And here you go …. here’s your little cookie.
A small dopamine hit.
Rewarded behavior.
Like training a dog… only the leash is invisible.
And here’s what really got me:
A study published in the journal Environment and Behavior showed that after just seven days without a smartphone, participants had significant improvements in memory, attention span, and mental clarity.
Here’s the study if you want to dig into it.
What?!
Yup.
Seven days.
Now, let’s be real — most of us can’t just throw our phones into the ocean.
We work through them. We communicate with them. We build entire parts of our lives around them.
But maybe… if we’re aware of what’s happening, we can at least slow it down. Question it. Push back.
So here are 6 things you could do to detect and break the chuckles of the algorithm.
(Yes, chuckles. Because it’s laughing at you… and cashing in while you scroll.)
So You Think You Can Stop Me and Spit in My Eye?
If you want to test whether your brain is truly yours…try one of these. Start small. But start.
1. Track your screen time
Not just “be aware” — know the number.
2. Move your apps
Take social media off your home screen. Hide it in a folder called “Do I Really Need This?”
You’ll be surprised how many times your thumb still tries to find it.
3. Build intentional breaks
Set two 10-minute windows a day where you allow yourself to scroll — no guilt. But outside those times? Phone stays down.
4. Replace a scroll with a sense
Touch something. Smell something. Make coffee. Hug your dog. Step into the shower without music or a podcast.
5. Name it out loud
When you catch yourself scrolling, say:
“The algorithm got me again.”
It’s not self-shame — it’s self-awareness.
And awareness is the beginning of control.
6. Use custom concentration modes
Most phones let you build focus modes. I have one for the gym, one for work, and one just for reading.
When I activate reading mode on my iPad, even my phone goes silent — no distractions, no excuses.
Trust me, it works.
Open Your Eyes, Look Up to the Skies and See
So to wrap up…
Let’s try to be mindful.
Let’s stumble out of the slumber, one small step at a time.
Let’s open our eyes… not all at once, but just enough to notice what’s shaping us.
What’s influencing you?
What’s guiding you?
Because you might be guided in the wrong direction. And the scariest part? You might not even know it.
Start small.
Start with the way you answer “How are you?”
Start with noticing how long you’ve been on your phone.
Start by catching yourself mid-scroll and simply asking, “Why am I here right now?”
Not everything needs a detox or a digital cleanse.
Sometimes it just takes awareness, and a little courage to be honest — with others, and with yourself.
And look, even Ozzy doesn’t pretend to be fine.
He growls when he’s unsure. He jumps when he’s excited. He hides when he’s scared. No script. No filter.
Maybe that’s the goal.
Not to live offline or opt out completely — but to live unmuted.
So, if this resonated… drop a comment, share it with someone who’s still stuck in the scroll, and subscribe if you’d like more stories like this — real ones, honest ones — every Sunday morning.
Because the world’s noisy, the algorithm’s hungry, and distraction is everywhere.
But maybe — just maybe — we don’t have to be comfortably numb.
Next time you catch yourself deep in the scroll, think about this:
“Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?”
Say it out loud.
Yep — right there, mid-doomscroll.
Wait and see who joins in.
Then put down the phone.
That’s a fun way to start waking up.
I promise.