Somewhere along the way, life quietly moved into our phones. Not all at once, of course. It started innocently enough: check the weather, pay a bill, maybe order something you forgot at the store. Then suddenly there we were, living in what I like to call the Deep App State—that mysterious place where bills get paid, groceries appear, building supplies arrive, hotel rooms are reserved, credit scores are checked, insurance cards are “somewhere in the app,” and three hours vanish into a social media rabbit hole without so much as a goodbye.

Apps lure us with speed, convenience, and the promise that we may never again have to put on real pants just to buy paper towels. Fast delivery? Done. Dinner? On the porch. Medicine refill? Tap, tap, tap. Need to pay a credit card bill at 10:47 p.m. while also checking tomorrow’s rain chances and wondering if that package will arrive before lunch? There’s an app for that, too. There is always an app for that.

And I’ll admit it… some of it is wonderful. At this stage of life, there are days when not leaving the house feels less like laziness and more like a blessing wrapped in two-day shipping. If I can order what I need, check the weather, read the news, and pay the electric bill without hunting for shoes, that is not nothing. In a chaotic world, even the simple act of getting information without drama can feel like a small mercy.

But I do miss the old ways sometimes. I miss strolling through aisles with no particular mission. I miss picking something up, turning it over, putting it back, then circling around five minutes later like it had called my name. I miss the tiny adventure of searching for something special—the unexpected treasure on a shelf, the quick conversation with a cashier, the random discovery that never would have shown up in a “recommended for you” list.

The apps do serve a purpose. I won’t pretend they don’t. But there is a difference between using them and being used by them. Too much screen time is not good for my health, my mind, or my old body. There have been plenty of days, and more than a few nights, when I looked up from the glow of the phone and thought, Well, there went another hour I am not getting back. I wish I could win back some of that lost time, but maybe this is just the evolution of life. Or maybe it is life wearing a tiny blue notification badge.

Of all the apps I use, social media is probably the one I feel worst about—Facebook especially. It used to be fun. It used to be vacation pictures, recipes, birthday wishes, and the occasional blurry photo of somebody’s dog looking guilty. Now, too often, it feels like a town square with bad lighting and everybody yelling. The political world has made it sobering to learn what some friends, neighbors, and people from the old days really believe. That has been one of the stranger and sadder side effects of living through apps… they do not just show us products, headlines, and memes. Sometimes they show us people in ways we cannot unsee.

Still, here I am. I just paid a couple of bills, checked my credit score, looked at the weather, searched for some news—real news, if I can find it—and probably saved myself a trip across town. So no, I do not hate apps. I just do not want them to become the whole house I live in.

And for the record, my Bible app is probably the one I do not regret. Some apps drain the battery. Some drain the soul. That one, at least, helps me charge something back up…