I spent far too much of last year playing Candy Crush. That's either the game that also consumes far too much of your time too, or the source of endless frustrating Facebook requests that has you threatening to unfriend your Auntie Nora. It's a simple smartphone puzzle game, and it's also about as addictive as a substance can get before a government starts taxing or banning it. It consumed hours and hours of my 2014, certainly days, possibly weeks.
If that sounds far-fetched, let me lift the lid on my routine. I would play the game on the train, in waiting rooms, and on the loo (sorry for that mental image, but it's relevant). I'd play in a short break between work tasks; I'd play when I was procrastinating about writing something creative. I'd play just before going to bed, and if I was really stuck on a level (remember, we're trying to destroy rows of sweets here) I would occasionally wake up and play in the middle of the night. I got to level 487. I had slipped, quite unconsciously, into a pattern of addiction.
Except, it wasn't really an addiction. It was far too easy to give up; at the start of this year I simply deleted it from my phone and haven't gone back. I've had no side-effects; I wasn't addicted to Candy Crush – but for a year, I did allow it to steal my precious downtime. It fooled me into thinking I was having fun, when in fact I was just engaged in a highly repetitive pursuit.
As I think back over those moments which I'd fill with the game, I realise that these were the opportunities I had to relax and recover. My brain needed them; sometimes desperately. I could have spent that time thinking, praying, reading, writing, or invested in a thousand other noble pursuits. Instead I found myself binging on a junk-food substitute – unable to sit still with my own thoughts even for a few moments. The game convinced me that I was having fun, when in fact I was just satisfying my impulsive need for distraction. It's no exaggeration to say that – aside from sleep and times of strict retreat – I didn't give my brain a moment's rest all year.
You may not have a Candy Crush problem; but if you're anything like me, you'll recognise the problem of junk food relaxation. Ravenously consuming trash TV, wasting hours scrolling through Twitter... perhaps you too have a habit which steals your ability to really recharge.
Occasional, unexpected moments of silence and solitude, whether enforced by poor mobile reception or a long train delay, are a gift that we can often confuse with a curse. In an age of distraction, our culture suggests that boredom is an affliction that we no longer need to contend with. There's always something to do – on one screen, or on several at once. We never run out of email accounts and social feeds to check, hilarious animal videos to watch, candies to crush.
Those moments of pause become a choice, not a necessity. We never have to just be, if we don't want to. But if we never take a moment to stop, then we're never confronted by our selves. That level of vulnerability can be intimidating, which is possibly why we avoid it.
As I come to terms with just how much of 2014 I wasted, I'm motivated to use my time this year more wisely, and also to be at ease with myself. I hope that in 2015, when my soul gets hungry, I'll feed it something a little more nutritious than Candy, even if that's simply a few moments of thoughtful contemplation each day. It might seem counterintuitive, but if I'm going to achieve more, I need to get better at resting, and doing nothing.
Martin Saunders is an author, screenwriter and the Deputy CEO of Youthscape. Follow him on Twitter @martinsaunders
