The Little Things Tech Can’t Replace (And Shouldn’t)

One of my favourite things in the world is watching trees. The way they move in the wind, the way the sunlight flickers through the leaves, the simple fact that they just are — calm, grounded, never in a rush. I could watch them for hours and never feel like I’ve wasted a second.

Another thing I love? My local magpie community. I watch them, talk to them (yes, really), and over time, they’ve gotten used to me too — these tiny wild friendships that no screen could ever give me.

I love real conversations even more — the kind where there’s no phone on the table, no notifications buzzing between sentences. Nothing beats sitting with someone, listening, learning something new, maybe sharing something back. That human moment where you walk away feeling like a better, deeper version of yourself.

When I choose screens instead — and I do, sometimes — I can feel it right away. That creeping sense of isolation. The disconnect from my own world, even though the screen is trying to convince me I’m more connected than ever. For me, too much screen time makes my social anxiety worse, not better. The less I interact with the real world, the harder it is to step back into it. But when I’m out there — talking to my neighbours, walking my dogs, chatting with the magpies — it’s like I stay desensitised to the noise. The gaps don’t feel so big.

These little moments matter because, honestly, without them I think I’d feel like a shallower person. It’s real connection — with people, with nature, with my own animals — that keeps me feeling grounded and fulfilled. It reminds me I’m part of something bigger than whatever tiny drama my phone is selling me that day.

There are so many reasons to look up — one is safety, sure, but another is the beauty you’d miss if you didn’t. Just this afternoon, I could’ve been on my phone while walking Conrod and Susan. But I wasn’t — and I got to witness Susan launch into the most ridiculous backflip I’ve ever seen, stick in her mouth, mid-battle with her brother. She flipped, landed perfectly with the stick still clamped tight, all while her brother tried to swipe it. If I’d had my head down, I’d have missed the whole thing — and that moment made my entire day.

So this is my soft reminder — for you, for me, for anyone who needs it: tech is wonderful, but it can’t do this. It can’t put wind in the trees. It can’t make friends with a magpie. It can’t do a surprise backflip with a stick in its mouth. And it definitely can’t hug you back when you need it most.

So look up. Put the phone down. Notice what’s here, right now. Protect these tiny, perfect moments — they’re where the real life is.

Scrolls fade. Memories like this don’t.