“Scrolling to Reading”-- A Little Experiment on the Porch
CASA DE ROSA MARIA · ISSUE NO. 3
I brought a book out to the porch, along with my phone. The book was there because I wanted to read. The phone was there for that familiar “just in case” feeling.
Before opening the book, I gave my phone one last scroll to make sure I wasn’t missing anything. Then I put it down and began to read.
Something about the transition caught my attention. My eyes were on the page, but I wasn’t quite settled into the words. I felt as though my mind needed a moment to slow down.
That small experience stayed with me. But first, let me tell you why the porch has become such a meaningful part of my days.
When I was growing up, porches and picnic tables brought people together. Family and friends shared food, played cards and games, read newspapers aloud, and passed magazines around. People had time to sit, talk, and enjoy one another’s company. There were no phones in everyone’s hands, no constant stream of updates asking for our attention.
Somewhere along the way, we began carrying a much larger world into those quiet moments.
I remember during my career when having hundreds or even thousands of online “friends” or LinkedIn connections seemed like something to aspire to. Yet it was possible to have all those connections and still find ourselves longing for acknowledgment from strangers. Families could sit in the same room, each absorbed in a screen.
We had made room for people, but had we made time for them?
Lately, I’ve been paying more attention to people choosing a quieter pace. I’ve noticed examples of people taking walks without their phones, meeting outdoors, and creating personal websites where they can share their interests in a space of their own. I find myself drawn to slower reading, too, whether it is a book, a magazine, or someone’s thoughtful account of an ordinary day.
I wonder whether others are feeling the same desire to protect a little more of their time and attention.
I notice my own adult children protecting their time as well. They make time to work out, train, and run 5Ks. They get away with their families to places without Wi-Fi, sit on their mountain cabin porches, or spend an evening together around a fire pit.
It makes me feel good to see them leave their phones behind and protect that part of their lives. It reminds me of when closing up shop meant we were done for the day, and closing on Friday meant we wouldn’t return until Monday morning. There was a boundary between work and home. I’m glad to see them making boundaries of their own, paying less attention to algorithms and more to their families and personal well-being.
Which brings me back to the book on my porch.
Once I settled into reading, I realized I wasn’t missing the scrolling. The book felt wonderful in my hands. The lighting was just right. The typeface was comfortable to read. There was something nourishing about giving my attention to a page and staying with it.
I became curious about those first moments after putting the phone down. So I tried the switch again and paid closer attention to what I felt.
Then I asked Rich to try it.
He described something similar. At first, his mind felt fuzzy. He had trouble settling into the reading. After a minute or two, he began to feel calmer.
I started calling this little informal experiment “Scrolling to Reading.”
What interested me was the adjustment itself. We had chosen to read, but our attention seemed to need a little time to follow.
I’d like to put that question out there for researchers to explore. What happens when we move directly from scrolling on a phone to reading a book, immediately, in the same sitting? Does the pace of scrolling affect how easily we settle into reading? How long does any adjustment take? Would people of different ages or reading habits describe the experience differently?
Our two experiences cannot answer those questions. But they gave me something worth noticing, and perhaps something worth studying.
At our home, the front porch is where I like to sit in the late afternoon. In the morning, I often find myself on the back porch. I watch the birds, look through the tall pines, and notice the changing light. Sometimes Rich and I sit together. Sometimes I read. Sometimes I just listen.
Some may say, “Yes, but you’re retired now. You have time to watch the birds.” But I did this long before retirement. I needed time to think, to develop ideas, and to consider new strategies. Your mind needs a date with itself.
I’ve come to understand that sitting quietly by yourself can be a kind of freedom. There is room to breathe, hear your own thoughts, and let your attention rest on something without being asked to move immediately to the next thing.
The porch doesn’t need to offer anything extraordinary. Its gift may be the simple permission to pause.
And I no longer wait for evening. I do some of my best reading mid-morning.
If you’re working, or don’t have a porch, perhaps there is still a small opportunity to take your book outside. A bench, a chair, or even ten minutes standing by yourself. Leave your phone behind for a little while.
You deserve that time.
Somewhere in all of this, CASA de Rosa Maria found its purpose.
It became a place where I could quietly collect my thoughts, write about ordinary days, and share my photographs. Working on it, away from the social platforms, gives me somewhere to put my attention without getting pulled into another round of scrolling.
Now, when someone asks, “Are you on Facebook?” I can say, “No, but I have a quiet page where I write and share my photographs.”
At casaderosamaria.com, I’m gathering the things that stay with me: a conversation with Rich, changing light through the pines, a photograph, a question about reading that began with a book on the porch.
If you have a page of your own, or decide to build one, please share it with me. I enjoy a good, quiet read away from all the scrolling.
Leave me Your Thoughts
Thank you!
