I got my first smartphone at 30. It ruined my life.

Texting was so much easier on my smartphone with a full keyboard — I found myself in constant communication with friends via message threads and group chats.

I love exchanging updates and sending silly photos, but now, when we meet in person, I find there isn’t much to discuss. We’ve already covered everything while being in touch 24/7. When it came to actual real-life conversations, my comprehension took a hit — I wasn’t truly listening anymore.

The other day my sister came over, sat on the couch, and launched into a diatribe about her workday. Without thinking, I reached into my pocket and began to scroll. I was displaying the same antisocial behaviors I had previously scorned in others.

At the same time, with hundreds of apps at my fingertips, I found myself seeking connection on apps instead of in person.

Instead of going to a bar, I swiped on Tinder. It was fun, but I quickly became horrified by how I could use the dating app’s filters to find a human tailor-fit to my exact preferences. Within an hour of downloading it, I had a date on the books for that evening.

While I’d like to think this is a nod to my own prowess, it’s really just a testament to how easy smartphones have made it to order human interactions with a few clicks.

The date was fine, though it lacked a certain substance. Having met on an app meant we had no shared context in the organic world. We hadn’t met through our community or at work — there was no social fabric connecting us.

Our hopeful romance fizzled as quickly as it started.

I miss my flip phone, but there’s no going back

I now view my life in two distinct eras: before and after the iPhone.

Life was simpler with my flip phone, but having a smartphone isn’t all bad.

I can fire up Google Maps to get around instead of stopping at a gas station to ask the clerk for directions. Spotify helped introduce me to some of my favorite artists. And yes, I do need all 200 photos of my cat backed up to the Cloud.

Yet I still find myself yearning for simpler times — when I communicated with words instead of emojis, when I wasn’t reaching into my pocket every 15 minutes looking for another cheap dopamine hit, and when I could fully immerse myself in the world around me.

There are smartphone alternatives (“dumb” phones) available that harken back to the days of old, promising to “curb your screen addiction” by restricting apps and web browsers, but we’re only kidding ourselves.

There is no going back. Now that I’ve had a smartphone, I rely on it far too much to give it up.