这一年,我不在线(全文)

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I was wrong.

One year ago I left the Internet. I thought it was making me unproductive. I thought it lacked meaning. I thought it was “corrupting my soul.”

It’s been a year now since I “surfed the web” or “checked my email” or “liked” anything with a figurative rather than literal thumbs up. I’ve managed to stay disconnected， just like I planned. I’m Internet free.

In early 2012 I was 26 years old and burnt out. I wanted a break from modern life—the hamster1） wheel of an email inbox， the constant flood of WWW information which drowned out my sanity. I wanted to escape.

I thought the Internet might be an unnatural state for us humans， or at least for me. Maybe I was too ADD2） to handle it， or too impulsive to restrain my usage. I’d used the Internet constantly since I was twelve， and as my livelihood since I was fourteen. I’d gone from paperboy， to web designer， to technology writer in under a decade. I didn’t know myself apart from a sense of ubiquitous connection and endless information. I wondered what else there was to life. “Real life，” perhaps， was waiting for me on the other side of the web browser.

My plan was to quit my job， move home with my parents， read books， write books， and wallow3） in my spare time. In one glorious gesture I’d outdo all quarter-life crises to come before me. I’d find the real Paul， far away from all the noise， and become a better me.

But for some reason， The Verge wanted to pay me to leave the Internet. I could stay in New York and share my findings with the world， beam4） missives5） about my Internet-free life to the citizens of the Internet I’d left behind， sprinkle wisdom on them from my high tower.

At 11：59 PM on April 30th， 2012， I unplugged my Ethernet6） cable， shut off my Wi-Fi， and swapped my smartphone for a dumb one. It felt really good. I felt free.

This was going to be amazing.

I dreamed a dream

And everything started out great， let me tell you. I did stop and smell the flowers. My life was full of serendipitous7） events： real life meetings， Frisbee8）， bike rides， and Greek literature. With no clear idea how I did it， I wrote half my novel， and turned in an essay nearly every week to The Verge. In one of the early months my boss expressed slight frustration at how much I was writing， which has never happened before and never happened since.

I lost 15 pounds without really trying. I bought some new clothes. People kept telling me how good I looked， how happy I seemed. In one session， my therapist literally patted himself on the back9）.

I was a little bored， a little lonely， but I found it a wonderful change of pace. I wrote in August， “It’s the boredom and lack of stimulation that drives me to do things I really care about， like writing and spending time with others.” I was pretty sure I had it all figured out， and told everyone as much.

As my head uncluttered， my attention span expanded. In my first month or two， 10 pages of The Odyssey was a slog10）. Now I can read 100 pages in a sitting， or， if the prose is easy and I’m really enthralled， a few hundred.

I learned to appreciate an idea that can’t be summed up in a blog post， but instead needs a novel-length exposition. By pulling away from the echo chamber11） of Internet culture， I found my ideas branching out in new directions. I felt different， and a little eccentric12）， and I liked it.

It seemed then， in those first few months， that my hypothesis was right. The Internet had held me back from my true self， the better Paul. I had pulled the plug and found the light.

Back to reality

For the most part， the practical aspects of this year passed by with little notice. I have no trouble navigating New York by feel， and I buy paper maps to get around other places. It turns out paper books are really great. I don’t comparison shop13） to buy plane tickets； I just call Delta14） and take what they offer.

But one big change was snail mail15）. I got a PO Box16） this year， and I can’t tell you how much of a joy it was to see the box stuffed with letters from readers. It’s something tangible， and something hard to simulate with an e-card.

And then， for some reason， even going to the post office sounded like work. I began to dread the letters and almost resent them.

As it turned out， a dozen letters a week could prove to be as overwhelming as a hundred emails a day. And that was the way it went in most aspects of my life. A good book took motivation to read， whether I had the Internet as an alternative or not. Leaving the house to hang out with people took just as much courage as it ever did.

By late 2012， I’d learned how to make a new style of wrong choices off the Internet. I abandoned my positive offline habits， and discovered new offline vices. Instead of taking boredom and lack of stimulation and turning them into learning and creativity， I turned toward passive consumption and social retreat.

A year in， I don’t ride my bike so much. My Frisbee gathers dust. Most weeks I don’t go out with people even once. My favorite place is the couch. I prop my feet up on the coffee table， play a video game， and listen to an audiobook. I pick a mindless game， like Borderlands 2 or Skate 3， and absently thumb the sticks through the game-world while my mind rests on the audiobook， or maybe just on nothing.

People who need people

So the moral choices aren’t very different without the Internet. The practical things like maps and offline shopping aren’t hard to get used to. People are still glad to point you in the right direction. But without the Internet， it’s certainly harder to find people. It’s harder to make a phone call than to send an email. It’s easier to text， or SnapChat， or FaceTime， than drop by someone’s house. Not that these obstacles can’t be overcome. I did overcome them at first， but it didn’t last.

It’s hard to say exactly what changed. I guess those first months felt so good because I felt the absence of the pressures of the Internet. My freedom felt tangible. But when I stopped seeing my life in the context of “I don’t use the Internet，” the offline existence became mundane17）， and the worst sides of myself began to emerge.

I would stay at home for days at a time. My phone would die， and nobody could get ahold of18） me. At some point my parents would get fed up with wondering if I was alive， and send my sister over to my apartment to check on me. On the Internet it was easy to assure people I was alive and sane， easy to collaborate with my coworkers， easy to be a relevant part of society.

I fell out of sync19） with the flow of life.

My plan was to leave the Internet and therefore find the “real” Paul and get in touch with the “real” world， but the real Paul and the real world are already inextricably linked to the Internet. Not to say20） that my life wasn’t different without the Internet， just that it wasn’t real life.

12：00 AM， May 1st， 2013

I’d read enough blog posts and magazine articles and books about how the Internet makes us lonely， or stupid， or lonely and stupid， that I’d begun to believe them. I wanted to figure out what the Internet was “doing to me，” so I could fight back. But the Internet isn’t an individual pursuit； it’s something we do with each other. The Internet is where people are.

My last afternoon in Colorado I sat down with my 5-year-old niece， Keziah， and tried to explain to her what the Internet is. She’d never heard of “the Internet，” but she’s huge on Skype with her grandparents. I asked her if she’d wondered why I never Skyped with her this year. She had.

“I thought it was because you didn’t want to，” she said.

With tears in my eyes， I drew her a picture of what the Internet is. It was computers and phones and televisions， with lines connecting them. Those lines are the Internet. I showed her my computer， drew a line to it， and erased that line.

“I spent a year without using any Internet，” I told her. “But now I’m coming back and I can Skype with you again.”

When I return to the Internet， I might not use it well. I might waste time， or get distracted， or click on all the wrong links. I won’t have as much time to read or introspect or write the great American sci-fi novel.

But at least I’ll be connected.

我错了。

一年前，我离开了互联网。那时我认为它使我做事无成效，我认为它缺乏意义，我认为它正在“腐蚀我的灵魂”。

到现在，我已经有一年时间没有“上网冲浪”“查收电子邮件”或者象征性地而非真正地竖起大拇指“赞”过什么了。正如我事先计划的那样，我成功地保持了离线状态。我摆脱了互联网。

2012年初，我26岁，累得筋疲力尽。我想从现代生活中抽身一段时间——电邮收件箱像仓鼠转轮一般不停歇，万维网源源不断的信息洪流淹没了我的理智。我想逃离。

我以为互联网对我们人类来说，或者至少对我个人而言，可能是一种非自然的状态。也许我专注力太差，难以掌控它，抑或是我太冲动，不能够有节制地上网。我从12岁起就开始经常使用互联网，从14岁起就把网络当成了自己的谋生之道。在不到十年的时间里，我从一名报童成为网页设计师，后来又成为科技作家。除了感受到无处不在的连接感和无穷无尽的信息外，我对自己一无所知。我想知道生活还有没有别的内容。“真正的生活”也许正在网页浏览器的另一头等着我。

我的计划是辞掉工作，搬回家跟父母一起住，读书，写书，沉溺在自己的闲暇时光里。这一伟大的举动将使我战胜所有即将到来的青年危机。我会找到那个真实的保罗，远离一切喧嚣，成为更好的自己。

但出于某种原因，The Verge网站（编注：美国的一个科技新闻网站）想花钱请我离开互联网。我可以待在纽约与世界分享我的发现，向被我丢下的互联网网民们发送信件来介绍我的离线生活，从我的高塔上向他们播撒智慧。

2012年4月30日晚11点59分，我拔掉了以太网线，关掉了无线网，把智能手机换成了非智能手机。那感觉真好。我感觉自由了。

这一切将会很精彩。

如梦一场

老实告诉你，刚开始一切都很棒。我确实停下了脚步，闻到了花香。我的生活中充满了偶然事件：真实生活中的聚会、飞盘、单车骑行和希腊文学。我写完了一半小说，并且几乎每周都会交一篇文章给The Verge网站，我都不太清楚自己是怎么做到这些的。起初有那么一个月，我的老板还因为我写得太多而表达过轻微的受挫感，这样的情况以前可从未发生过，以后也没再发生。

我没怎么努力就瘦了15磅。我还买了些新衣服。人们总是跟我说我看起来有多精神、多快乐。在一次治疗期间，我的治疗师还当真自夸了起来。

我感觉有点无聊，有点寂寞，但我觉得这种节奏的改变很美妙。8月份，我这样写道：“正是无聊和缺乏刺激驱使我去做自己真正在意的事情，比如写作，比如与他人共度时光。”我非常确信我把所有问题都弄明白了，并这样告诉每一个人。

头脑清静后，我的注意力的持续时间也变长了。在开始的一两个月，看十页《奥德赛》对我来说都很费劲。现在，我可以坐在那儿一口气读一百页，或者，如果文章简单又很吸引我的话，我可以读上几百页。

我学会了欣赏单靠一篇博文总结不了的思想，这种思想需要一部小说的篇幅来阐述。远离了网络文化的“回声室”，我发现自己的思想沿着新的方向长出了枝条。我感觉自己跟以前不一样，还有点古怪。我喜欢这样。

于是在最初的那几个月，我的假设似乎是正确的。互联网曾经阻碍我成为真正的自己——那个更好的保罗。在拔掉插头后，我发现了光芒。

回到现实

这一年生活中实际的方方面面大多是在不知不觉中过去的。在纽约，我可以凭感觉去想去的地方，没有困难；要去其他地方逛，我就买纸质地图。事实证明，纸质书真的很不错。买机票的时候，我也不用货比三家，直接给达美航空打个电话，他们有什么票我就买什么票。

不过，一个大的变化要属传统邮件了。今年我有了一个邮政信箱，看到信箱里塞满了读者寄来的信件，我别提有多高兴了。这些信件是有形的，是电子卡片难以模拟的东西。

后来，也不知为何，连去邮局似乎也成了一项工作。我开始畏惧那些来信，几乎憎恨它们了。

事实证明，一周收十几封信可能会和一天收一百封电子邮件一样让人难以招架。而我生活中的大多数事情都在朝这个方向发展。不管有没有网络可以作为替代品，读一本好书都同样需要动力。走出家门和别人玩也需要跟从前一样多的勇气。

到2012年年底，我已经学会如何在没有网络的情况下以一种新的方式做出错误的选择。我丢掉了离线状态下的好习惯，发掘出了离线状态下的新恶习。我不再将无聊和缺乏刺激转化为学习和创造力，而是转向了被动消费和隐遁。

一年过去了，我没怎么骑车，飞盘上也积满了灰尘。大多数时候，我甚至一周都不会和别人出去一次。我最爱的地方是沙发。我把脚支在茶几上，玩电子游戏，听有声书。我会挑一个不用动脑子的游戏，比如《无主之地2》（编注：一个射击游戏）或者《滑板3》（编注：一个滑板游戏），然后心不在焉地用拇指摆弄着操纵杆，穿行在游戏世界里。这期间，我的思绪则停留在有声书上，或者可能什么都没想。

任何人都不是一座孤岛

所以，没有了互联网，人们所面临的道德选择并没有很大不同。像纸版地图和实体店购物这类实际事物倒不难适应，人们依然乐于为你指引方向。但没有了因特网，找人肯定会更加困难。打电话比发邮件要麻烦一些；发短信，或者用SnapChat聊天，或者用FaceTime联系都比去别人家里拜访更为简便。我倒不是说这些障碍无法克服。起初我确实克服了这些问题，可是没有坚持下来。

很难确切地说是什么变了。我想刚开始的几个月之所以感觉那么好是因为我感到网络带来的压力消失了。我的自由是可以感知的。但是当我不再置身于“我不上网”这一背景来看待生活时，线下的生活方式就变得平淡无奇，而我自己最坏的一面也开始浮现。

我经常连续好几天宅在家里。手机会没电，没有人能联系到我。有时候我的父母受够了猜想我是不是还活着，就派我姐到我的公寓来探查情况。在网上，很容易就能让大家放心我还活着，神志正常，很容易就能与同事合作，很容易就能参与到社会生活中。

我感觉跟不上生活的脚步了。

我当时的计划是离开网络，从而找到“真实的”保罗，接触“真实的”世界。但是，真实的保罗和真实的世界早已和网络紧密地联系在一起了。虽不能说没有了网络我的生活还是一切如旧，只是那就不是真实的生活了。

2013年5月1日中午12点

关于互联网如何使我们变得寂寞或愚蠢，抑或寂寞且愚蠢，我已经看了足够多的博客文章、杂志文章和书籍，以至于我开始对它们信以为真。我曾想弄清楚互联网“对我做了”什么，从而可以进行反击。但是互联网并不是个体的消遣活动，而是关乎人与人之间的相处。互联网就是人们所在的地方。

在科罗拉多的最后一个下午，我坐到五岁的侄女凯西亚的身旁，努力向她解释什么是互联网。她从没听说过“互联网”，但是却经常用Skype跟爷爷奶奶聊天。我问她可曾纳闷我今年为什么从来没用Skype跟她联系，她说她纳闷过。

“我以为是因为你不想呢。”她说。

我眼中噙着泪水，给她画了一幅画来解释什么是互联网。画中有电脑、手机和电视机，相互之间由线相连。这些线就是互联网。我指了指我那台电脑，给它画了一条线，然后又把那条线擦掉了。

“我过了一年没有网络的生活，”我告诉她，“但现在我回来了，又可以跟你Skype了。”

重返网络后，也许我不能好好利用它，也许我会浪费时间，或是分心，或是点击很多不该点的链接。我不会有过去那么多时间去阅读、内省或是创作伟大的美国科幻小说了。

但至少我不会与社会脱节。

1. hamster [?h?mst?（r）] n. [动]仓鼠

2. ADD：注意力缺乏症（attention deficit disorder的缩写）

3. wallow [?w?l??] vi. 溺于，沉湎

4. beam [bi?m] vt. 定向发出（无线电信号等）；（有针对性地）广播（节目）

5. missive [?m?s?v] n. 信件；〈谑〉长篇大论的书信

6. Ethernet [?i?θ?（r）net] n. [计]以太网

7. serendipitous [?ser?n?d?p?t?s] adj. 偶然发现的，意外获得的

8. Frisbee [?fr?zbi] n. （投掷游戏用的）飞碟，飞盘

9. pat someone on the back：对某人表示赞扬（或鼓励）

10. slog [sl?ɡ] n. 艰苦的努力

11. echo chamber：（为广播、录音等设计的）回声室

12. eccentric [?k?sentr?k] adj. （人、举止或行为等）古怪的

13. comparison shop：货比三家

14. Delta：指美国达美航空公司（Delta Air Lines， Inc.）

15. snail mail：（相对于快速电子邮件的）蜗牛邮件，邮递邮件

16. PO Box：邮政信箱（Post Office Box的简称）

17. mundane [?m?n?de?n] adj. 平凡的；单调的

18. get ahold of：找到，与……联系

19. out of sync：不同步的，不协调的

20. not to say：即使不说是，虽不能说