Don't get me wrong: I can and do waste time on the Internet with

In the words of Jonathan Dee: “Don’t get me wrong: I can and do waste time on the Internet with the best of them, but in some respects, I am an embarrassingly analog guy. I am not on Facebook. I write whole books on yellow legal pads. I do not own a cell phone.” These words carry both humor and defiance, a declaration of simplicity in an age consumed by digital noise. They remind us that even as the world races into the ever-expanding web of technology, there remains wisdom in the slower, older ways—ways that anchor the mind, sharpen thought, and keep the soul free from the constant demands of the machine.

The ancients, though they knew nothing of screens and algorithms, understood the danger of excess distraction. Seneca, the Stoic philosopher, warned against scattering the mind upon too many diversions, for he knew that wisdom requires stillness and discipline. Dee’s rejection of Facebook, his refusal of the cell phone, and his devotion to pen and paper echo this ancient discipline. He admits to sharing in the weakness of wasting time online, but by choosing the analog path, he preserves a space for clarity and deep creation.

There is great symbolism in the yellow legal pad. Unlike the glowing screen, it does not clamor for attention, does not lure the mind with endless notifications, does not tempt the writer with the easy erasure of thought. It requires patience, the deliberate flow of ink, the physical act of shaping words. Many great works of history—Lincoln’s speeches, Dostoevsky’s novels, Gandhi’s letters—were born not from machines, but from pen and paper. Dee stands within this tradition, affirming that some of the most profound human creations require the humblest of tools.

Consider the story of J.R.R. Tolkien. Long before the internet, he filled countless notebooks with the language, lore, and history of Middle-earth, all written by hand. His slow and meticulous process, far from a hindrance, allowed him to build a depth and richness that endures to this day. In contrast, the modern writer often struggles against the distractions of the digital world. Dee’s practice of writing books on legal pads reminds us that slowness is not weakness—it is a form of strength, a way to carve thought with precision.

The deeper meaning of the quote is a critique of dependency. The modern age teaches that one must be constantly connected, always available, forever consuming streams of information. But Dee proves by example that one can reject much of this and still create, still thrive, still live meaningfully. His refusal to own a cell phone is not a rejection of progress, but a declaration of freedom: that he will not let the machine master him. It is a stance both humble and heroic, for it resists the tide of conformity that drowns so many.

And yet, Dee does not set himself above others; he confesses his own weakness with the Internet. This honesty makes his stance stronger, for it shows that discipline is not the absence of temptation, but the courage to create limits. He wastes time, yes, but he also sets boundaries. In this balance lies wisdom, for the goal is not to escape the modern world entirely, but to keep one’s soul from being enslaved by it.

So let this teaching endure: in a world that glorifies speed, distraction, and constant connection, choose sometimes the path of analog. Write by hand. Sit in silence. Step away from the screen. Do not believe the lie that to disconnect is to disappear; rather, to disconnect is to reclaim your soul. For as the ancients taught, mastery of the self is greater than mastery of the world. And remember Jonathan Dee’s lesson: it is not shameful to be “embarrassingly analog”—it may, in fact, be the only way to remain fully human in an age that would make us machines.