I’m not sure if this is strictly true in every sense but I feel like most of the time habits are harmless: doing something the same way each time is unlikely to hurt others, only yourself. Being trapped in a mental prison of same-ness is, at worst, going to infuriate those around you.

Up until recently, I had a habit that existed in the background of my life, the details of which I won’t go into too deeply. But suffice to say, this habit involved doing something multiple times per day (or hour, or even minute) of the ‘smoke variety’. The mind-bending smoke variety, shall we say.

For a long time, this habit wasn’t having a noticeable impact on my life; and in many ways, at the time when I kicked the habit, it still wasn’t.1 The true issue was being beholden to something – not being in control of what I was doing, needing something.

I know a lot of people who smoke,2 some of them my very closest friends, and that habit is expensive, comes with a certain odour, and is extremely difficult to quit. I’m happy to admit I probably drink too much, which is in itself a habit – going to the pub equals ordering a pint, which equals ordering another, and another – but this was my true vice in life.3

One fine Thursday, I decided I’d finally had enough. As someone who can struggle to find the right words to express my feelings – instead resorting to anger, or annoyance, or just saying nothing at all – I confided in Chat, in Incognito Mode. For all of its flaws, explaining your exact situation4 to an AI bot often yields helpful results.

Talking to someone – something, sorry – immediately made me feel better; a problem shared and all that. Armed with a script to read to my partner (again, not so good at finding the right words), I now had a plan: completely cut usage until 6PM every day, at the very earliest, and see how that went.

I’ve always thought I was someone with relatively high will-power, even accounting for the situation I was in, and to my comfort I found quitting to be pretty easy. After that Thursday, when I went until 6PM, the next days and weeks have remained blissfully free. I didn’t even get bad withdrawals.5

To keep myself honest, I’ve been occasionally logging my progress with Chat. Because of that, I can tell you I had absolutely nothing between May 29 until last week.6 Yeah, I had some (delicious) chocolate in that time, but these were not my main problem. The ubiquity of vapes, the ease, the routine, the eventual shame…

Going 56 days (or eight weeks) without proved to be pretty easy. Kicking the daytime habit was my main goal – that’s the part that made me feel unmoored and fundamentally a liar, at least by omission – and the evenings have been surprisingly easy to deal with.7

My main feeling is pride. Between November 2021 and eight weeks ago, I spent about 4.5 years – 54 months, or 237 weeks8 – in a daily prison, albeit a comfortable one. I’m not even sure how many vapes I bought in that time but it could easily be over 150. That habit is now totally gone, or at least functionally gone.

I don’t think I’ll ever completely quit Mary Jane – there is a pleasure there occasionally that I don’t want to lose, and I’m not the kind of person where setting hard rules like that works especially well. I ‘quit’ my excessive chocolate consumption (2015-2023) in much the same way: never buying it, and not having it in the house.

The funny thing is that I actually don’t feel too different now. In fact, the main difference is that I feel more honest: I’m no longer dependent on something, sneaking off, not being able to look people in the eye. I’m free. As I approach 30, or true adulthood, freedom is a blessing and a foundation.

Mentally, things are the same. I’m still sharp and quick to crack jokes; there was never really a dullness unless I had a lot, mainly because I always chose the light, head-y strains.9 Of course, this was part of the problem: having the ability at anytime, even early in the morning, is Not Ideal.

I’m sure there will be bumps in the road – how could there not be – but the truly hard work of admitting the problem, of taking the first days as they came, is over. I’ve now banked eight straight weeks of rewired experiences and survived. Now to get and sit in the park and enjoy the sun.

Recently, I got a new pair of glasses in the same frame shape but in an olive colour2 (as opposed to orange, or “Marigold”), just to freshen things up. The decision comes as part of a broader self-trend (to coin a bad phrase) of getting multiple pairs of prescription sunglasses alongside a few frames to rotate daily.3

I mention this not because me buying new glasses is especially interesting – someone else buying something, in general, is not very interesting – but because no one noticed the new colour of the glasses, across more than a week, at all.4

Now, you might think “Well, his friends are unobservant”, and that may well be true. In general, though, I think people just do not notice things about you. I’m talking new haircuts, new clothes, new glasses, anything new aesthetically outside the ordinary. Something you might perceive as a big deal does not even register with many interlocutors or the already observant.

Back in my teens, I started to realise that people wouldn’t notice a new haircut5 even when my hair had been long and, at least in my eyes, visually very different. As the years have passed, I’ve noticed that people’s ‘openness’ to noticing things – for want of a better phase – is pretty limited, and often things need to be actually pointed out to illicit recognition and a reaction.

I’m definitely part of this, by the way, and you would be surprised at how little you notice about changes in other people’s appearance, especially those you see regularly, if you talk to them about what they perceive as having changed recently. You might notice something big, or something made to be the focus of attention, but new haircuts, new glasses, new clothes, often fall by the observational wayside.

From the pool of my partner’s parents, her sister, and some of my best friends in the world – all smart, caring people – no one commented on my glasses changing from orange to a much darker olive, even after years of regularly seeing my old frames. A change I would recognise instantly in myself, and something I perceive as having altered a fairly fundamental part of ‘my look’, made not a ripple.

So, people are unobservant. And? It’s hardly revelatory, and there are good reasons: most people are thinking about something else – often how they look, or another detail in their own life – and therefore do not notice a change in you. People in general are also not especially invested in how you look, whether good or bad; your appearance affects people little.

Think about it from the other side: you see people for who they are (ie, Tom is just Tom, Sarah is just Sarah), and would rarely break down their appearance as you might your own. Have you ever thought your friend’s nose was “too big”, or something was asymmetrical about their face? I would wager very rarely, or only if you have a deeper insecurity about that feature on your own body.6

The implications for this are interesting when you go beyond the basic “people are unobservant” idea, and I think many people could benefit from taking this onboard and acting with more assurance about how they look or what they are wearing. Projecting even a modicum of happiness and confidence does half of the job.

Outside of schools, or especially mean friendship groups, very few people are bothered about how you present yourself and instead care about how you are to them. Whether you smile, whether you remember details of their activities, whether you are funny, and so on. Fundamentally, the fact that your lips are “not full”, or your ears are “too big” (to take two random examples), has no real impact on anyone else’s life.

Many people will express concern if your appearance changes rapidly, or you appear to have little care for your hygiene, but even then only when things get extreme and natural politeness is no longer an option.

In the day-to-day, though, I really recommend changing a little something about your look and just seeing who, if anyone, notices. Or try to notice small changes in others. Life is so busy and full of stresses, worries, thoughts that you are likely to struggle unless you really focus in.

In the end, being friendly and kind to people – opening with a smile, having warm eyes, seeing the implicit signs of how they want you to respond (letting someone vent, for example, or lightening the mood), being quick to laugh – are the true things people care about, and remembering this may help you in the future.

Historically speaking, I’m not a natural gym goer, or at least that was my self-conception up until February 2022, when I first started going to the gym near my house.1 No one in my immediate family has much interest in the gym, and I wasn’t particularly sporty in school, especially after selecting my non-sport GCSEs.

Fast forward to 2026 and I absolutely love going to the gym, and the weekly work time structure I’ve created2 means that I can go twice every week without so much as an internal “ugh I can’t be bothered”, at least in the vast majority of weeks. As a person of routine, incorporating two gym sessions is ideal, and feels totally natural.3

My workout stays nicely regular: a 40 minute treadmill run on the “cardio boosting” routine, comprising two-minute segments across various speeds and gradients; and then 30 minutes split between tricep and bicep workouts, plus stretching my legs and body. I could do more (and I could do less), but I find this general plan works well.

As time has gone on, I’ve become more “strict” about my diet, too, by which I mean I actually now consider what I eat and its nutritional content over just “this thing looks tasty and is quick”. The effect on my physique has been pretty satisfying to watch, especially after I added in the runs on a weekly basis, and I definitely feel more ‘vital’.

The basic premise that exercise takes time to manifest is annoyingly true, and there are definitely no (healthy) shortcuts to success. There is a long way to go until I have the same physique as other people in the gym, but my progress over the years is noticeable enough to easily see it.4

For the past year (or probably more like 18 months), I’ve been completely addicted to omelettes, a topic I’ll explore in another post,5 and I think this has provided the basis for a decent crack at getting “good” at the gym. The work I put in to grow my muscles actually, well, works; my extremely long arms are much bulkier in recent months.

All of this is a sort of preamble to the topic I want to discuss today: I never – and I mean actually never – take my phone into the gym.

When I tell people this, many people are aghast: How? they ask, and some days I do wonder the same; when the workout drags and Capital FM plays songs I’m not vibing with, things can get pretty tough. Add in a few pints the night before and, well…

On the most basic level, you’re far more aware of your surroundings when you aren’t protected and shielded by headphones; commensurately, other people’s actions have a much bigger impact. Navigating these realities is part of the dance.

There’s a regular at the gym, a man probably in his late 40s or early 50s, who runs on the treadmill on maybe the 20 speed setting,6 and it makes so much noise, while being completely out of sync with my own (slower) stride. Every time he does this – basically every Thursday – I have to actively rebalance myself and focus on my own breathing, and my own run.

A lot of people at the gym watch videos on the treadmills with no headphones, or have loud conversations on FaceTime. Anyone who has used public transport can imagine the scene, and the internal questions of Should I say something? Inevitably, I don’t.7

Ultimately, though, these are small prices to pay: working out without headphones helps my mind wander in a way that I never could with music or, God forbid, a podcast blaring straight into my ear canal. There’s a peacefulness, an almost meditative quality, to running for 40 minutes with just ambient sounds.

I’m not really the type of person who can aimlessly stare out of a window – probably more because of my self image as ‘someone who can’t do that’ – but tens of minutes go by when I’m peacefully without smartphone, ensconced in the gym.

After the run, I find it’s easier to cool down and, when standing at racks of weights or machines, I find it easier to manage my breathing and prepare for the next set, in a way that I just wouldn’t under the influence of delicious phone scrolling.

Now, some people might wonder if an enclosed room – a large room, yes, but an enclosed space – is the right vehicle for this practice. Surely the countryside would be better? or even a park? Running ‘open-eared’ in a gym is sadistic, some might say. You need to hear nature.

To this, I say: probably, but my strong preference is to run on a treadmill, so as to a) control my breathing more easily b) avoid running into random people and c) to ensure the workout is taxing in the right way. The part of London I live in is very flat, and research shows that incline runs are by far one of the best forms of cardio.

Under these conditions, the logic of having no phone in the gym makes sense. Maybe too much sense…

I made the decision to leave my phone in my locker almost by accident on the first day I went to the gym, back in early 2022. There’s a mandatory induction session to get acquainted with the machines, and in a split second I just left it.

A fairly radical act, looking back at it, but one I’ve stuck to easily. Everything and everyone can wait; there is no need to reply too fast.

In an age when we are all hopelessly addicted to our phones8 – and I wholeheartedly include myself here – one simple decision nearly 4 years ago has ensured I’ve had two carved-out times per week (around 2 hours 20 minutes in total) during the working day when I’m away from my phone and any screens.

The thing that has struck me most is how normalised it feels now; there is never really a time during my run or workout when I want (or need) to look at a phone.9 Everyone else in the gym is constantly looking at their phones, something you only notice when you’re living “outside” of this, at least for a brief moment.

If my phone was there, you can be sure I’d be looking at it, absentmindedly.

Now, a lot of people track their workouts on their phone, as well as listening to music and so on, and I definitely don’t begrudge that. But I think the unintended consequence is the gym becomes like every other space: one smoothed over by the presence of a beautiful iPhone display and its ever-changing array of images.

Freeing yourself from it, freeing yourself from The Rectangle, is liberating – and there really is no better place than the gym, where your hands can be occupied, and your body physically tired and reeling.

Anyone with a laptop job spends an incredible number of hours hunched up inside, a state that I think is unnatural historically speaking, and any way of breaking out of that, even for a moment, should be celebrated and encouraged.

Next time you go to the gym, try it out. Perhaps you find that it’s not for you. Even so, you will have spent an hour in state more open to mindful contemplation, noticing things about the world, your breathing; overhearing snippets of conversations; and practicing a small rejection of how things are.

Good luck, and thank you for reading.

Growing up in the countryside, or at least close to the countryside, is an experience that back then I don’t think I fully appreciated, but with a decade of hindsight, I can definitely see shaped my view of life and our times.

We are, after all, living in a country that sort of embodies one global idea of “countryside”, or at least as far as we can generalise such a concept. Rolling hills, old oak trees, inns, horseback; these are ideas that clearly have an enduring appeal, as evidenced by the stream of knightly and medieval TV shows1 and movies in the second decade of the 21st century.

In 2026, we are so distant from how our food is made, the inputs that go into both plant foods and into meats, that we barely even consider that the chicken breast we are holding in Tesco represents the life of one whole chicken,2 and I say this as someone who eats a huge amount of chicken every week. Moving to cities, away from nature, has fundamentally changed us in just 6 or 7 generations.3

For a huge number of reasons – the predominant one being “this is how the world works”, as someone who was born into a world moulded by our overarching, capitalist system – Western human society has shifted towards a meat production and food consumption model that privileges incredible quantity and, therefore, the ability to set relatively low prices. Chickens, and indeed all meats eaten by humans, are reared expressly to grow as big as possible before being killed and eaten.4

All of this is well known, studied, and felt by those who care to look, and so I’m mostly thinking about this with a link back to the English countryside.

My childhood wasn’t one living on a farm; I lived first in Ipswich and then in Woodbridge, looking out to the beautiful, flat Suffolk countryside and coast. This put me proximate to food production – mainly piggeries, and crops like oilseed rape – and I think showed me a part of the world that kids growing up in towns and especially cities are so divorced from.

Implicit in this, of course, is the fact that the labour and end product of these processes ultimately form such a vital part of everyone’s life. As we abstract away from working directly in food production, and increasingly into working sedentarily, sat in front of a screen, food becomes more of a brand, an idea conveyed through packaging.

An example I’ve been thinking about lately is baked beans5, an excellent tinned food derived from rehydrated haricot beans in tomato sauce that sits so far from its original ingredients while being a pervasive staple, used in mealtimes across the land. No one would ever make baked beans, though, and I think this tells us something.

Getting back to nature is tricky, and something I’m trying to do more of within the bounds of a North London lifestyle. Luckily for me, one of the most natural places in the city, or at least my part of it, is two reservoirs, one that houses a working lake and the other a nature reserve.

Being able to easily access these bodies of water, taking a quiet walk through a facsimile of the broader nature I know from Suffolk, has nourished my soul too many times to count while living in this city. (To give something back, I plan to volunteer there on a more regular basis.)

I originally went to the reservoirs when I moved to London in early 2022, after spying them on Google Maps. In a physical map I have6, they are clearly visible and appear next to a water works, the towers of which sit castle-like in the cityscape.

Not even 300 years ago, we had a completely different, much deeper, symbiotic relationship to nature and the countryside, a lifestyle that had endured for literally tens and hundreds of thousands of years.7 In the modern world, do we feel this alienation in some way; a yearning in our subconscious?

The beautiful film Hamnet, a story about William Shakespeare and his wife, Agnes – or really about Agnes and her motherly grief – set in 16th century England was, for me, a visual representation of how my life could have been, steeped in green, trees, nature, mud, animals, peace. Agnes’ peace in nature, from the opening shot of the film, is incredibly striking in our age of concrete and metal.

My affection for the countryside has definitely grown as I’ve become older; in some ways, growing up in it pushes you away and into the city, a place of amenities, shops, happenings. In time, I think I’ll definitely return and enjoy a life of green spaces, an interaction with the world and land around me.

If the sun is shining, I have to go outside, an impulse that somehow makes inside things I enjoy, like watching TV and the exchange of my mental labour for money, really annoying. On rainy days, the reverse is true and I could happily spend two or three days inside, provided I have enough food and there isn’t a gap in the clouds.

Again, I think this is a feature of growing up. I remember whole summer holidays in my teenage years spent inside, on my laptop, watching stuff, browsing the internet, blogging – worryingly close to what I’m doing right now – without a care for the outside world. The fact this delivered me an internet job only compounds things.

The exact outline of what I want to write is unclear, but probably some combination of musings, random thoughts, and diary entries. I’m pondering trying to spend, say, 30 minutes writing every day, or even just 15 minutes. Setting a goal like that can sometimes have the opposite effect, so let’s see.

Either way, writing is back, baby. Not that it ever left.

Some people seem to think that AI – and sorry to talk about AI so soon, in the first post – devalues writing. (The technology is, in its current form at least, primarily a symbol-generation machine.) In some contexts, this is undoubtedly true, but those contexts are largely professional, and I think in some ways AI could free us up to write less ‘boring’ work stuff and more personal, creative, and fun things.

You must offset that against the issue of, well, people are literally writing less, and while drafting some kind of corporate document doesn’t feel like a creative pursuit, it does at least get your brain familiar with writing – an important pursuit because, in many ways, writing is thinking.

The last time I actually got into a new hobby was probably in 2022, when I began going to the gym; a process that has taken a few forms, some of mixed dedication and thought1, but eventually got me to a physical standard I haven’t ever been at, probably. Having the ability to run semi-long distances without dying is nice, as it turns out, and I go in with no phone, a topic I think I’ll return to.

So, yeah, I’m going to write: without pressure, or at least with the right amount of pressure, and mostly as a stream of consciousness, read by few people. Maybe a post a day on a different topic for 30 days, something like that.

Closing out a piece of writing is always difficult, so I’m going to face it head on and end things here, with my head already spinning with ideas for what to write next.