The thoughts attempting to break into consciousness might be about our mother and the strange disturbing things she said to us over lunch, or about how we should try to make better use of our talents, given what we learnt in a meeting with an old university friend, or about an unkind and sharp word our partner had with us this morning, which threatens to throw our relationship into question once again. How convenient, dreadfully convenient, that we should have invented a device to ensure that we will never have to meet ourselves again. And how darkly ironic that we should blithely refer to this as, of all things, an instrument of communication. We take pride in the time we have saved, the dictionaries we don't have to consult, the atlases we can throw away, the many strange and funny things we have discovered. And yet we ignore the fruitful boredom we haven't had, the daydreams we haven't entertained, the reveries we have throttled, the ideas we have not hatched, the novels we haven't written, the businesses we didn't start, the feelings we have not identified, the self-awareness we have lost. However, this doesn't have to be the end of the story. Precisely when we most want to pick up our phones, we should learn to do something very unusual, pause and ask ourselves a bold question. If I wasn't allowed to consult my phone right now, what might I need to think about? The answer can provide us with nothing less than a royal road into our unexamined lives. Rather than using our phones to stop ourselves from thinking, we can study our craving for them as a guide to when and where we particularly need to introspect. We can study the times we most want to flee to them, to understand what we should be staying put and exploring. So when our itch for distraction is at its height, we should turn over the following questions. What am I trying to do with the rest of my life? What should I concentrate on? What might I be sad about? What might