photograph by anna traverse
A giant troll visits Memphis Botanic Garden.
In late January, I turned off the news alerts on my phone.
The fact that toggling the notification settings to “OFF” felt like a radical act is a sign of how badly it needed to be done: Not so many years ago, phones didn’t push news alerts to us — they were just … phones — but by early 2025, I was being pinged and chimed and buzzed dozens of times each day by the national media outlets I follow. And I was exhausted. Every time my little device lit up with the latest headline, my concentration would shatter, even if I didn’t click to open whatever the story happened to be; I was running on too much adrenaline, surrendering too much of my time and attention, feeling paralyzed.
Worse, I realized that the feeling of exhaustion was too easily mistaken for action. When Something Bad Happened in the world, and I metabolized the trauma in real time, it almost felt, on an adrenal level, as if I was doing something, making myself useful. But of course, merely witnessing terrible events unfold doesn’t help stop them happening, doesn’t provide aid to those in harm’s way. It merely wears us out, so that we’re less prepared to be useful.
I’ve found, since turning off the alerts, that my attention is a little more my own, my mind is a bit less clouded and dark, the paralysis starting to lift. It’s both radical and not — a slight intervention that’s made my days better, as well as a refusal to let algorithms and oligarchs decide what enters my mind every second of the day.
I’ve also noticed my own curiosity sparking more frequently, now that it’s not so drowned out by the endless waves of undifferentiated information. There’s so much amazingness out there, if we keep looking.
This isn’t to say that I’m not still paying attention to what’s happening. But I’m trying to pay attention more in the way I did 10 or 20 years ago: visiting an array of news sites each day, but for limited periods of time; listening to public radio on a commute, but not for hours on end; reading long-form analysis in print publications. I don’t miss the constant dings, and I don’t miss the constant updates. I don’t even fret that I’ve missed any significant stories by turning away from some of the clickbait — if anything, with renewed attention, I can think more circumspectly about events both in Memphis and beyond.
Maybe you were wiser than I to start — maybe you never downloaded a news app onto your phone, maybe you’ve never clicked on a “breaking news!” alert that tells you either something you never needed to know, or something that ruins the next 20 minutes of your day (or both). Maybe that’s why you’ve found the time to read this column in your local city magazine. Well done, you!
For me, the shift has been subtle but significant, and well timed. I thoroughly enjoyed writing this month’s cover story, on the photographer Huger Foote’s life and work; I don’t know that the process would have treated me so well, had I been operating with even a little less focus and attention. I love writing, always have, and I’ll admit it’s hard work — hard work I savor, but hard work all same.
I’ve also noticed my own curiosity sparking more frequently, now that it’s not so drowned out by the endless waves of undifferentiated information. There’s so much amazingness out there, if we keep looking. Did you know that a really gorgeous, joyful exhibit of paintings by the late artist Floyd Newsum recently opened at the Dixon? This is work that will make you breathe in a different kind of air, stretch your mind toward a younger, fresher version of yourself. Have you visited the troll sculptures by Thomas Dambo yet, at Memphis Botanic Garden? Pure delight. Did you flip through the Memphis Flyer’s annual 20 Under 30 recognition? Instant relief for any worry you may harbor about our city’s future. Further from home, did you know that a never-before-seen poem by Robert Frost was found recently? I stumbled on a story about the discovery in The New Yorker — thrilling, honestly, to this poetry nerd, and somehow even more so for having found my way there organically, sans iPhone chime. (In a wonderful little irony, the poem is called “Nothing New.”)
I’m not suggesting anyone shut themselves off from the news of the world. After all, I work in media. But I am advocating for finding a balance, especially if you’ve realized, as I did, that you’re wearing yourself down to a husk.
We aim to provide a different, slower, more thoughtful variety of news and information, in this magazine, and we don’t even have an app, so — no push alerts here. We’re happy you’ve chosen to spend some of your precious attention here, with us, and we hope to do right by the minutes you invest in reading our words.
