Turn the computer off. Tonight.

The introduction of the personal computer into the home – and, more particularly, the introduction of the Internet to that personal computer – has probably had more of an impact on family life than any other social force in decades. Home is no longer a bastion or place to withdraw; it is just another node on a vast network.

This is a good thing, on the whole. Educational opportunities abound. Personal skills have the opportunity to grow in new ways. New friends are made, and old ones are rediscovered.

But when this connection is allowed to persist 24 hours a day, seven days a week – which it generally is, thank you DSL and cable – it can become a massive psychic sink, a vacuum sitting in the corner, quietly tugging at your energy and awareness all day and all night, without you even noticing it.

Try this experiment. Tonight, once all essential computer-related tasks are done, turn the computer off. Don’t put it in sleep mode, and don’t just turn off the monitor. Turn the whole damn thing off. Unplug it if you want.

Take some deep breaths. Notice anything different? Suddenly, things don’t feel quite so harried. Suddenly it seems possible to do everything that you want to do tonight – read a book, play a game with your kids, catch up on some movies.

Here’s why computer activity in general, and the Internet in particular, are so different from other hobbies and pursuits like reading, watching movies and playing games: It has no end. Books have an end. You’re done with them at some point. A game of Monopoly naturally comes to a close. A television show wraps up after 40-some minutes, and that’s it. You’re finished with it.

Computer activity, though, is never finished. There’s always something left undone. There’s always something more to explore, something you haven’t completed. And it stretches thusly in infinite directions. Is it any wonder we leave our desks feeling drained, empty, unsure if we’ll ever get caught up?

We won’t. Turn the damned thing off. Read a book to your child, or to yourself. And savor that moment when you turn the last page and it’s over and the whole world is once again yours.

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