I consume less than an hour of digital media a day. 'Cheat days' never helped me cut screen time, but 'NPC hours' did.

It feels like everyone wants to scroll less, and every influencer has a bag of tricks to “make it easy.” If I have one trick to offer, it’s to stop relying on tricks and thinking that this should be easy at all.

Nearly a decade of struggling to curb my digital addiction has taught me that real transformation requires a substantial lifestyle change.

After years of trial and error, I’ve managed to cut my own digital-media use to less than an hour a day for more than six months.

For me, digital media means internet-based content I consume for leisure: audio and video streaming, social media, articles, ebooks, podcasts, and even casual browsing.

I don’t count work-related tasks or practical errands.

The key distinction is whether something is potentially addictive, offering the kind of endless, low-friction stimulation that can keep me coming back.

The less digital media I consume, the more I feel able to live by my true values.

And, in my quest to cut down on screen time, I’ve had a few key takeaways and breakthroughs.

My first detox meant going from consuming about eight to 12 hours of digital media per day (mostly YouTube videos and podcasts) on my devices to just using them to listen to music.

And although I knew this was going to be a major change, everything I’d previously read about scrolling less led me to believe that after a week or two of mild restlessness and boredom, I could coast.

Instead, every attempt I made to go offline, I became extremely irritable, depressed, unmotivated, and fixated on trivial things for up to weeks at a time.

This led to years of attempts fizzling out after the first few days, because I just assumed something must be wrong — as though digital media was a reasonable necessity for mental and emotional well-being, and I was starving myself.

I didn’t make real progress until I read “Dopamine Nation” by addiction expert Dr.

Anna Lembke, and understood what was actually going on.

Nothing was wrong, and I wasn’t being too extreme.

I was just going through a period of what Dr.

Lembke calls “acute withdrawal” — the initial withdrawal period associated with more difficult physical and psychological reactions.

Once I knew what to expect, though, I was motivated to tough it out until I could see what lay on the other side.

Over the years, friends and loved ones have regularly questioned the radicalness of my attempt not to rely on digital media for entertainment and fulfillment.

Some felt it’s unsustainable and have even pressured me to let loose, be more flexible, and cheat once in a while, so that I don’t crack later.

Although flexibility might be good advice for forming new habits, it was terrible advice for breaking my digital addiction.

In my case, it just led to fruitless cycles of binging and purging as I gradually backslid with every little indulgence — even after my first successful 30 days of digital abstinence.

Moderation is a reasonable goal, but I’ve found I could not break the cycle of addiction when I just gave in to temptation whenever I felt bad.

I’d just be resetting the clock on the acute withdrawal period and never reach that new baseline of stimulation and get the clarity of making it to the other side.

As a digital addict, I needed near-constant input to numb pervasive feelings of anxiety, boredom, and loneliness.

And yet, these inputs and virtual connections never fulfilled me, leaving me feeling both emptier and overwhelmed.

The solution was not just picking up more hobbies to fill my time, but also building a more substantial offline social life and fostering a sense of community.

This meant finding offline activities I could engage with regularly that were both fun and social — and adding physical activity and skill development to the mix whenever possible.

These were the key ingredients for making offline activities deeply fulfilling.

One hobby I picked up that checked every box was bouldering.

There is always a gym I can go to any day of the week, it’s easy to chat with other climbers and gradually develop a sense of community, and it’s something I improve at and get exercise from while also having fun.

There is also what my friends have dubbed my “NPC project,” which I’ve maintained for close to two years now.

This project was inspired by “Digital Minimalism” author Cal Newport’s concept of real-life “office hours.” For this, I go to set places at set times each week, where anyone is welcome to join me for an offline conversation or an activity.

In other words, I’m like a real-world NPC, or non-playable character, waiting in one spot for interaction.

At least one friend almost always shows up, and often four or more do.

We’re a community, and we have a physical communal space to reinforce that — similar to Central Perk in “Friends” or the bar in “Cheers.” It’s easy to be offline when you’re surrounded by conversation and company in real life.

For me, digital minimalism is a lifelong project, akin to pursuing sobriety.

There are still more adjustments to make as I find the right balance for a fulfilling life that aligns with my values.

And with every experiment, I rediscover something I had previously lost by giving the real world less attention as I gave digital technology more of myself.

My approach may seem radical, but I’ve enjoyed regaining the autonomy to commit my attention to what genuinely matters to me, rather than defaulting to whatever’s put in front of me online.