Going watchless
There's a freedom that comes with not having stats or even the time
My smartwatch unexpectedly died a week ago, and I've felt strangely happy about it. Gleefully giddy, even, There's a sense of freedom that comes with not knowing your stats or even the time, and I think I'm better for it.
As broken watches don’t sync to phones, it was disheartening at first when I could not ‘see’ the digital impact of my kayaking exercise or the steps I had covered along the way. Glancing down at my left arm every hour had become habitual. How many steps have I done now? What about now? Have I done enough?
It was around this time last year when I had become steadfastly determined to complete 2025 with an average daily distance covered of 10 kilometres (6.2 miles) as recorded in my health tracking app. To do so, I’d need to average at least 13,000 steps Monday through Friday, and in the final few months, I had to really push.
It wasn’t uncommon for me to not-so-quietly panic upon seeing an unsatisfactory steps tally, before lacing up my shoes for a midnight stroll. My wife would hear me shout, “Oh crap!” from the other end of the house as she readied for bed. Her heightened and concerned voice would call back, “Oh-my-god, what’s wrong?!” to which I’d reply, “Ugghh! I haven’t done enough steps today!” How calming.
Needless to say, I was a little unsettling to be around. I’d make myself do laps around the office between meetings. I’d stand up during dinners or board games with guests to pace back-and-forth across the room so as not to waste the opportunity to increase my step count. I didn’t have time to just sit there and idly chat, I needed to get moving if I was going to meet my goal!
December 31st then came, and as the New Year’s ball was about to drop, I took a screenshot to prove I had made it. Yes! Momentary pride! And then it was gone.
The whole point of meeting my target was to feel physically healthier, yet I didn’t stop to consider that all my stressing over it was likely doing the opposite.
I had no intent of following suit in 2026, much less raising the bar, but it didn’t take long before I was secretly counting steps again like an addict afraid of what would happen to me if I stopped. It was then that my so-called smartwatch decided it’d like to try tasting the waters of Kawakawa Bay, and rather than being bummed out, I actually felt a bit of relief.
I hadn’t gone watch-less since my first visit to sunny San Diego in 2011. It was after a day of [attempted] surfing that I realised how mentally freeing it was to not care what time it was or where I “had” to be next. I could just stay out there on the water for as long as I was enjoying it.
My wrist was bare and my step count remained a mystery for a few more years until sometime around 2015 when I was gifted a Fitbit. I remember being hesitant to strap myself to it; my sunk-cost mindset was annoyingly persistent back then, which meant that I felt obliged to use it simply because it was an expensive thing now existing in my possession. Pedometer screenshots in my photo gallery show me that it didn’t take long to be unpleasantly hooked.
Flash forward fifteen years, and here I was again, out on the water, about to ditch this digital device once more—even if this was less by symbolic choice and more because it had too much to drink apparently. I’m glad to be back to a bit of that time-casual Californian vibe. I’ve since slept many nights without knowing my sleep score, and gone for long walks because I wanted to.
Having one less device to upkeep has already bought me so much time back. I’m still glancing at my left wrist, but I’m getting a little grin when all I see is hair and skin.
This reflection started as a Substack comment I wrote on someone's Note, which I felt interested in turning it into something bigger—and by bigger, I only mean longer plus a few images. That original note reply was probably the perfect length for getting to the point, but it’s been fun to explore and explain my mindset a bit more.
One thing I keep noticing in technology is that what gets measured often begins to shape our identity. "I'm someone who walks 10,000 steps" can slowly become more important than "I'm someone who enjoys walking."
Your piece reminded me that some of our most meaningful experiences aren't necessarily the ones we can measure.