Notes on Passivity

On a rainy and warm afternoon, I decided to take a long walk, with a destination loosely in mind. I mapped out my path on paper and then set myself free, starting with the simplest step: powering off my phone.

As I strolled, I came across a city hall, its facade church-like, and above the door a clear cursive inscription: “God has given commandments unto men. From these commandments men have framed laws by which to be governed. It is honorable and praiseworthy to serve the people by administering these laws faithfully. If the laws are not enforced, the people are not well governed.”

I stopped, and to my surprise, I pulled out my phone to take a photo. But of course, the screen was black.

I can best describe the feeling as when I sit down at a piano, close my eyes, and let my subconscious take over: playing that piece by heart, because I have played it so many times. But alas, instead of creating music, as though on autopilot, I reached for the phone I am overly attached to.

At that moment, I realized I was letting myself be a passenger. Not that taking a photo is wrong, only that I had done this countless times before and could predict what would happen next. This photo would join the pile of quotes and “interesting” things I have saved and never returned to. A photo taken to be stored, not reflected on. A moment gone and passed by, replaced by the illusion that I had kept it.

Phoneless, I copied the inscription into my journal, and in writing it, I actually read it. My first instinct was to see it as a message to keep people subservient to a system. Or maybe it was a call to service. Words like these hold a variety of truths, maybe lies, and surely interpretations, all left to the reader’s discretion, mine included. Still, I could not shake the sense that it asked its readers to follow, not to question. To be passengers

Then I closed my eyes and stopped interpreting the words above the door. Instead, I turned to myself: my own thoughts, my own actions, the many moments I had left unexamined, taken at the surface instead of met with curiosity. I suspect I am not alone in this.

To me, passivity is letting the default motion replace the intention. It does not stay contained to the phone; instead, it bleeds into daily interactions with others and the Earth. It is passing by someone homeless on the street, not deeming them worth a smile or a “good day.” It is a wrapper dropped lazily on the ground. Or something as small as adding a recommended movie to a list, without ever asking why they recommended it in the first place. It is an act of coasting by, rather than actively engaging with what is around us.

I became curious as to why we coast, and I learned of the basal ganglia, a system deep in the brain that turns repeated actions into habits. Under stress, it pulls us back to our default: what is already familiar. This biological system is designed to preserve energy, but I believe it has been hijacked. We live in constant noise: busy streets, shining lights, endless content. And when it overwhelms us, we reach for more of it: the phone, the scroll, the substance, many designed to feed our stress rather than relieve it.

What are we reaching for? Relief, perhaps, from boredom or discomfort, something to fill the gap. Neurologically, we reach for possibility: the promise of something new, some small reward. Sometimes it is connection, as though each notification proves we are thought of and cared for. And sometimes we are like the tippler in The Little Prince, who drinks to forget he is ashamed of drinking.

Buddhists have a word for this: taṇhā, meaning thirst. It is the craving that drives us to reach, again and again. Whatever we reach for, we rarely find it; instead, we become thirstier. Each reach becomes more automatic, until we no longer notice we are choosing at all. And without that noticing, I think we lose something essentially human.

This is not our fault, per se, if only because it is so easy, and likely designed to be this way. It is so easy to put on headphones, turn your chin, and let the bright souls and sights pass you by. It is so easy to stifle your own thoughts, about yourself and others. It is so easy to keep numbing the mind with noise. So easy, in fact, that I wonder: what if it becomes who we are?

Humans run on systems: our hearts beat, our bodies heal. We need habits in our lives, but it is important to be aware of them. This is the first step to combat passivity, and the true power of meta-awareness: the ability to observe our minds while they are at work. I became aware of my subconscious action as I pulled out my dead phone. Once you are aware of something, why not question it?

This does not stop with the individual. As we live within the systems of our bodies, so we live within larger ones: laws carved above doorways, technology and food engineered to capture our attention, ways of living we inherit and rarely examine. When enough of us notice our own defaults, we begin to notice the shared ones, too. That is how a people moves from being governed by its systems to governing them.

I might suggest: one day, silence the distractions and take off the headphones to relish the softness of life’s melody. Listen to others’ stories, truly listen. Seek new experiences, and whenever you do, reflect. In doing so, you drive your own understanding and deepen your relationships: with others, with yourself, and maybe something else.

My dad once told me: do not be a passenger. Create direction and intention in your life. You can ride a bus, but buy the ticket yourself and know the direction you’re headed. Know why.

That day, I bought my own ticket: I finished my walk with my phone dark in my pocket. Now I work on my phone addiction daily. I ask more questions. It is hard, but recognition is the first step. Cognition will follow, and with it, a beautiful, tuneful life.