I don’t know if it’s just me and my social media algorithm, but everyone seems to be bricking their smartphones these days.

A couple months ago I had no idea what it even meant, to brick a phone. So when I started seeing influencers casually mention it in their content, I had to Google it.

And, as it turned out, Brick is this small device you pay $50 for that turns your smartphone into a dumb phone (a brick, really) in a single tap. You open your Brick app, tap your phone against the device same way you’d do to use Apple Pay, and it blocks social media apps and/or specific apps of your choice, so you can live a little.

To unbrick your phone, you need to tap it against the physical device again, which creates additional friction every time you feel the urge to open Instagram or TikTok and, in theory, makes it more likely for you to stay offline for longer stretches of time. You can’t just tap ‘ignore’ whenever your phone says you have already reached your intended screen time limit for the day.

I like the idea, I think we very much need something like Brick to help us break free from the choking vines of social media, but at the same time it is deeply troubling to me that we as a society got to a point where we need one smart device to improve our unhealthy relationship with another.

But, as they say, desperate times call for desperate measures.

Long story short, I have Brick of my own now.

And, in full transparency, I did not pay for it (even though I was totally planning and willing to do so). But before I made it all the way through the customer journey and ordered one, the brand kindly sent it to me as a gift (no posting required), just so I can test it and see if it’s right for me.

Long story short Vol 2, it is.

For the first few days, it was my husband who’s been using it (he is more of an early adopter in our family) and I was just observing. I’d watch him approach our fridge (this is where our Brick lives in lieu of traditional fridge magnets), tap his phone, and go on with his day. Hours later, he’d come back there, tap one more time, and unbrick his phone to spend some time doomscrolling or whatever it is guys do on their phones when they want to spend some time being unproductive.

Then I noticed he’d do the same before he goes to bed at night. He’d tap his phone, put it on the kitchen island and go to bed (he is so much more evolved than me, my phone always sleeps next to me). In the morning, he’d unbrick it for an hour or so just to catch up with everything and then brick it again before starting to work.

Me personally, I’ve only been using Brick for my writing. Now I am always bricking my phone when I sit down to work on my novel and, even this very article you’re reading right now is being written with my phone in its dumbest mode.

So, again, I hate it that we got to a point where we even need something like Brick to exist. But I also love it that people find smart, relatively affordable solutions to help us build better relationships with our phones, social media, and the internet at large.

So, if you’ve been thinking of buying Brick, this is your sign. It really is a cool little device that can make a big difference. And the best part is you can share it with your family (one per household is just enough) and even friends (say, you’re hosting a dinner party for your friends, they come over, they tap their phones upon arrival, you all spend the loveliest time fully focused on each other).

And if you’re not as far along the way as to buy a device to limit your screen time, maybe just try deleting your social media apps for a week or two. I tried it a couple months ago and it was the best thing ever.

Why?

Because being chronically online is no longer sexy or cool. Nor is it healthy.

Because not everyone can afford to go offline and, therefore, being able to do so, even for some time, is indeed a new luxury.

Because all of a sudden (but not really), people on the internet are obsessed with analog hobbies (irony detected).

Because we have finally reached a tipping point when it’s clear as day that social media brings about a lot more poison than good, and it is our own responsibility to protect our mental wellbeing and our time on this crazy blue planet.

P.S. You know I’m not an influencer and, thank god, I no longer aspire to be, BUT it’s one of those twice-in-a-lifetime moments when I feel like promoting a product can actually do some greater good.

So if you want to buy Brick, here’s a link with a 10% discount.

Before you get on me for using generalizations like ‘everyone,’ let me try and explain myself first. I promise you it’s not an exaggeration. Unfortunately, it isn’t.

I am a Ukrainian (we’ve got a full-scale war in my country) living in the United States (we’ve got a borderline insane political climate here). As a result, when I say everyone, I refer to one of the four categories of people who pretty much make my social circle these days.

The first category is Ukrainians who’ve been living in the brutal reality of a war for the past four years. If you’re lucky to have no clue what this reality entails, here are some of the keywords: missiles, blackouts, drone attacks, dozens of cities flattened to the ground, tens of thousands of people killed.

The second category is Ukrainians scattered around the world because of the war. Some, like myself, happened to be abroad when the war started and lost their chance to come back home safely. Some fled Ukraine during the first months of war, hoping to return home as soon as it’s safe, and now it’s been years. If you’re one of those who found themselves in a foreign land because of a military conflict, I’m sure you know what it’s like. And if you’re someone who’s lucky to have no idea, here are some keywords for you too: homesickness, having to start from scratch, career crisis, language barrier, legal status worries.

The third category is educated, intelligent, empathetic Americans who used to believe their country was democratic, safe, and…sane. Those are the people who never did and never would support what’s been going on here since Trump’s inauguration in January 2025. Tariffs, ICE, Epstein files, Venezuela, Iran are just some of the things that went (and are still going) terribly wrong here and, because of the US’s prominent role in the global politics, in the world at large.

And the fourth category is immigrants from other countries who now live in the US. Because the United States has always been and, I hope, will always be a home for everyone from everywhere, my friendship groups have never been more international. Some people I spend time with are from Venezuela, Israel, Puerto Rico, Mexico, etc. As you can imagine, all of them have a lot to worry about too.

So when I say everyone I know is anxious or depressed or simply stressed as f*ck, I genuinely mean it. Because you’d have to be completely delusional to feel happy and calm and optimistic at times like this. If you move through the world thinking about and feeling for what’s going on these days, there’s no way you can be totally OK.

Now, forget about the demographic profile of my inner circle. Let’s talk people at large. Even those who are spared the brutality of being from or living in a war zone can’t (and probably shouldn’t be) too happy and optimistic.

Because climate change is still real. Wildfires and flooding and earthquakes and sea levels rising, this all is still happening in the background or in your backyard, depending on where you live.

AI threats are more real than ever. A lack of governmental regulations, coupled with the ego and greed of ultra-rich, has already resulted in mass layoffs, and it’s not even the tip of the iceberg yet. Everyone I know feels insecure about the future of their career, regardless of what it is they do for a living. And, while on the subject of AI, let’s not forget deep fakes, loss of critical thinking, and other consequences of the greatest technological advancement humanity has ever known.

Ha, and to make it a full-circle moment, advancements in AI are accelerating climate change. And yes, in theory, maybe artificial intelligence will come up with a solution for that, but as long as ultra-rich humans with a God complex are in charge, I’m not feeling particularly optimistic.

And it is funny how sometimes I watch someone from afar (either literally in real life or metaphorically on social media) and think: wow, they seem to be doing really well. But if/when I happen to get closer and talk to them, I quickly learn it’s just a façade. And, much like myself and everyone I know, they are either anxious or depressed or simply stressed as f*ck. Because, again, how can you not be?

I don’t know why I’m even sharing this, if I’m honest. I guess I’ve been thinking about it for way too long and, at this point, I need an outlet. And if it resonates with you and makes you feel less alone in your thoughts and emotions, I’m happy it does.

But there is a question I have, the one I can’t find a good answer to.

Is it just that we are adults now and this is what being one feels like? Is it just that we’ve lived enough now to see that sometimes things change not for the better, but for the worse, and that sometimes terrible things happen to amazing people, and that justice and/or karma are great concepts but they don’t always work as they’re advertised?

Or is it really the unprecedented time in modern human history in which self-destructive potential is coming from all possible directions? And, because of the nature of today’s world, we also happen to know exactly what is coming and when, all we have to do is to open social media and/or ask our AI bot of choice.

I feel like I know too much to be optimistic. And it’s not because I’m some big brain or something. I am not. I am just a modern person who likes to read and listen and think. And that seems to be enough to exercise optimism with the greatest level of caution.

And, I guess, all there is left is to stay hopeful. Even in the face of f*ck. Especially, in the face of it. Because while optimism needs reasonable grounds to survive, hope does not.

So yeah. Everyone I know is anxious or depressed or stressed as f*ck. And, depending on the day, I fall into one of the categories myself. But in between those long stretches of dark, I choose to seek light.

So twice a week I water my trees (literally). I make sure my family eats enough fruits and vegetables and protein (for god’s sake). I keep my home clean and cozy and warm. I go on long walks with my dog and without my headphones. I read paperback books in the quiet of the night. I watch hummingbirds and bees hovering over flowers on my street. I smell those flowers when I get a chance. I work out because, even if the world ends, I want my butt to look sexy and toned. I kiss my husband at random moments of the day just because. I close my eyes for 15–20 minutes a day to sit still and breathe. I hope to become a parent in the next few years. I keep working through that first novel of mine, hoping to see it published and adapted for the screen sometime before the world ends, just so I can get drunk and dance on the table with my friends to celebrate it.

If this random essay of mine found you when you’re feeling anxious or depressed or stressed as f*ck, please know that you’re not alone. And that I’m sending you a big bear hug. And a gentle reminder that it won’t be like this forever.

It’s not the first time that I find myself standing at a career crossroads, desperate for a sign of where to go next. It’s the first time in my life, though, when the crossroads feels like ones they have in Tokyo — with multiple roads intersecting and a crowd of determined people running in all directions. Everyone seems to know exactly where they’re going and why. And I’m the only one standing, paralyzed by a fear of making the wrong move.

I stepped into 2026 thinking that I finally had it all figured out. I had a nearly full-time job that provided me with financial security, but left me with enough time and energy to spare on my personal projects. And I had two personal projects I needed time and energy for — creating visual content for hotels and writing my first novel. It felt like a perfect balance I was determined to protect. And then, the first week of January, I lost my job. And my balance crumbled like a house of cards. And I found myself in that painfully familiar, anxiety-inducing spot I call a career crossroads, also known as “what the fuck do I do now?”

Should I find myself a new job in tech marketing? I’ve been doing it for almost 10 years, I’m quite good at this, and LinkedIn features 10500390 job openings that are a perfect match for my skillset. It seems like the most stable, most obvious road to take. The problem is, this stability is an illusion. And the obvious does not equal the best. And, besides, more than half of those job listings aren’t even real (there’s a fascinating piece about it in The Wall Street Journal and a great podcast on NPR).

Or should I finally take a leap of faith and turn that hotel photography project of mine into an actual business? I’ve been doing it for some time, I’m quite good at this, and lots of people on the internet seem to make good money from it. It feels like a perfect mix of business and creativity. It is a more adventurous idea with less certainty, but not a completely delusional one either.

Or maybe, just maybe, my layoff is a cosmic sign I should dedicate all my time and energy to finishing my novel? I’ve been working on it for two years, people who read my first draft tell me that I’m really good, and I know that this is who I am at the core, what I’m supposed to do with my life, what I will end up doing eventually. The only problem is, it won’t pay the bills until it’s not only finished, but sold. And sold for good money, to a great publisher, with movie adaptation rights and all. Again, it is something people do. Real people like me. And I just so happen to live in Los Angeles, of all places, where the heart of the industry is. So maybe that’s the way to go?

All roads make sense to me. And I can convince myself to take any of the three and be relatively happy about it. But deep down, I’m terrified of making a wrong choice. I’m scared to bet on something I’m passionate about that might not work. I’m even more scared of choosing a sure thing and regretting the road not taken for the rest of my life.

See? I can be dramatic. Another thing I’m quite good at. Just kidding.

Jokes aside, I know this is the kind of dilemma lots of people struggle with. Painters who happen to work as graphic designers for tech startups. Singers who do voiceover gigs here and there. Movie directors who shot commercials for Ozempic. Writers who type their lives away as copywriters at advertising agencies.

On the bright side, they all found a way to use their creative minds in a materialistic world. On the darker side, I think I know what keeps them up at night — that fear of never mustering enough courage to fulfill their potential.

So, back to the crossroads. I’m in the middle of one. And there are no signs in sight. No GPS. No nothing. My gut feeling isn’t feeling. My intuition is on mute.

I feel brave and optimistic on Monday. I feel insecure and down-to-earth on Tuesday. I spend my entire Wednesday tailoring my resume to every job description with the word “marketing” in it. I spend all Thursday building my hotel photography website and linking it to a custom domain. On Friday, I decide to focus on my novel. And then the weekend comes, and I hate myself for being so indecisive and inconsistent.

And then I go to therapy, ramble about my career dilemma, criticize myself for being so lost, and criticize my inner critic for being so critical. I talk and talk and talk. And my therapist is all ears. And then she finally asks me a question or two.

“But do you really have to choose one thing and one thing only?”

I tilt my head.

“And even if you do choose one thing, does it have to be forever? Aren’t you allowed to try it out, see if it works, choose something else if it doesn’t?”

I blink, lost for words.

“Why don’t you respond to job listings you really like, and also let the world know you’re available for photography inquiries, and also keep working on your novel in your spare time?”

“Oh,” was all I had to say. I felt a wave of relief washing over me, a weight of the biggest mountain off my shoulders.

I still don’t have it all figured out. But there’s something I realized that’s making this period of my life feel intriguing rather than terrifying.

Indeed, we can’t do it all. But we can do more than one thing.

And that’s what I’m choosing for myself.

I am looking for a job in marketing, and I hope to land one that will tick most of my boxes really soon. I love editorial hotel photography, and now I have a website showcasing my work, so the world knows it is something I can help with. And as for writing my novel, I don’t need all the time in this world to work on it; I only need some. And that, I can always find.

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Earlier this morning, as I was coming back home from a coffee shop to begin my working day, I got an email with an “end of contract” in the title. But it’s the first week of January, I thought, how is it even legal to fire people before they even finish making their Pinterest vision boards for the year?

It’s not my first layoff. I mean, I am a millennial. I’ve been working in tech for more than 10 years. I used to be the youngest person in most rooms when I got my first marketing job. And it stayed true for my second and third jobs. And now I’m one of those people who cannot shut up about remembering being the youngest person in most rooms.

All this to say, I know exactly how it rolls. Startups run out of money, big corporations have their priorities shift. Blah-blah-blah, it’s nothing personal baby, just business. One day you have a job that feels stable, the next you’re told to prepare a hand-off document and do your best to wrap up your projects neatly.

Problem is, it feels like there is no such thing as a job that feels stable anymore. Not in today’s working environment, where AI is taking over so many processes freely, with no government regulations whatsoever. If you think about it, it’s kind of amazing so many people still have jobs. And it’s scary to think of what the future holds, and how close that scary future is, and how not enough people seem to be scared enough.

Living in Los Angeles and having friends in the industry, it’s disturbing to hear how many creative roles are no longer and how some crazy-talented people now choose contracts based on a promise of stability rather than interest in a project or a team. Job stability is the new luxury, I guess. And it’s getting increasingly difficult to find.

Living in California and working in tech myself, it’s impossible to ignore all the conversations about AI-related job cuts. A lot of my colleagues stay at their current positions even if those no longer serve them money-/ambition-/interest-wise simply because the idea of getting back on the job market in 2026 sends shivers down their spines. And, honestly, I get it.

There is a ton of material on the topic, like this podcast episode from The Journal or this article from The LA Times.

That being said, my current employer gave me one month to wrap things up. And I give myself a week-long license to mourn and bitch about it. And then I’m going to update my CV, refresh my portfolio, pay LinkedIn my $40 dollars for its premium version that is supposed to make my job search easier and a lot more fun, and start reaching out to all of my ex-colleagues working in companies I’m interested in joining. So if you’re one of those, get ready to hear from me, ha!

Until then, namaste.

Just kidding. I’m not that spiritual (yet).

xx

A couple years ago my colleague Nik asked me how I was managing my relationship with social media. We were having dinner with our marketing team, hungry and tired after eight hours of brainstorming content strategy for Q3 or H2 or whatever we were focused on at the time. Nik’s question caught me off guard.

“Poorly” was the first word that came to my mind. It was also what I said out loud.

Nik chuckled. I shrugged. And then the waiter appeared to ask if we wanted another round of drinks. And then we said yes, and then we changed the subject.

A lot has happened since then. I changed my job a few times. I moved to a different city. I dyed my hair blond and turned back to my natural color. I started working on my first novel. I got a dog. A few of my friends had babies. A couple new wars started around the world. None of the old ones ended. America’s got a new president, who is an old president, in all possible senses of the word. TikTok was banned and unbanned. Los Angeles burned in wildfires. New York City ditched metro cards and discovered the convenience of trash bins.

As I said, a ton has changed. One thing that hasn’t?

My relationship with social media. I still manage it poorly.

I am an addict, like most social media users out there. Even those, especially those, who say otherwise.

And while I’m convinced that eventually governments of most countries will admit and begin addressing the harms of TikTok and Instagram and the likes (props to Australia for leading the game), I’m not that naive to think it’s going to happen soon.

So I decided to be proactive.

As step one, I looked at my weekly screen time report and got seriously disturbed by what I saw. Don’t feel like sharing numbers, let’s just say it was bad.

As step two, I spent a month or so toying with the idea of logging out of Instagram. Not forever, of course, I’m not that evolved. Just for a week, to see what happens.

As step three, I removed the stupid app from my phone on the first day of my Christmas vacation.

I woke up in the most picturesque place called the Sea Ranch Lodge and looked around. We (as in my husband and I) were surrounded by the wildest, absolutely breathtaking nature one can find (think cold waters of the Pacific crushing over cliffs, waterfalls and black-sand beaches, deer and rabbits casually wandering around, the air smelling of salt and pines and wet grass).

We drove for nearly 10 hours to be there.

We paid a bit too much for that hotel.

It would be so stupid and sad, I realized, to spend even ten minutes of my day glued to a screen, watching videos of total strangers filming themselves getting ready for whatever they are always getting ready for.

And that’s when I felt the urge to not just log out of Instagram but to delete the app from my phone. And so I did.

It felt sudden but also long-overdue. Impulsive but also well-thought-out. And most importantly, it felt liberating.

Now here is what happened next.

The first day was the weirdest. Every ten or fifteen minutes, whenever I felt even remotely bored, I would reach for my phone and try to open Instagram.

Muscle memory is a funny thing. My fingers knew exactly where to tap to open the damn thing, only there was no damn thing on my phone anymore. And after who knows how many times of trying and failing to check that endless feed, my brain started to sloooowly come to terms with the new reality.

Second day was challenging in a different way. It was Christmas Eve, and I realized I really wanted to see what my friends were up to that day. Wouldn’t it be nice to just check on people I really care about? See if they posted something? Learn where and how and with whom they are spending the holidays?

And then I realized it was the most natural thing to not know where and how and with whom everyone I know (and some people I don’t even know!) spends their holidays. What was the most unnatural thing? To know it all, in great detail, about everyone I follow (and some people I don’t). Crazy, right?

Day three, I think, was the turning point. I realized I no longer had the urge to reach for my phone for no particular reason. Without an endless scroll and evil algorithm feeding me content it knows I’m going to find engaging, it felt like there was no reason to spend my time glued to the screen. I would still use my phone to take pictures, to Google something, to text my friends and family, but that would be it. I would spend five minutes doing all that and put my phone away. Wow, I thought. So it’s not my phone that’s the problem. Social media is.

I spent the rest of our vacation off social media. Every now and then, I would feel a desire to share what I saw or what I thought online. After a while, I realized there was nothing wrong with a desire to share, so I started posting quick updates to my Telegram channel that has a little over 100 subscribers, no random people, no suggested content, no endless feed or anything that makes social media so addictive.

After a couple days of sharing, I no longer felt like doing even that. Wow, I thought, so it really is possible to get back to a more natural state of being a human, it is still possible for our brains to recalibrate back to a more analogue world. And how quickly, too!

I thought I’d want to get back online the moment our vacation ended, but surprisingly to myself, it took me another day and a half to reinstall the app on my phone and log back in. Unsurprisingly, I didn’t miss much, if anything at all. Influencers were still influencing, algorithms still algorithming, you know the game.

I deliberately checked accounts of my closest friends to see if they posted something during my absence. Some of them did, some of them didn’t. I liked and commented on the content of those who did and, for some reason, felt really happy for all those who didn’t. Maybe, like me, they made a decision to take a break. Maybe they, too, enjoyed the experience just like I did.

As of now, I’m back to Instagram. And I’m probably spending a bit/lot more time there than I should. And I’m pretty sure my life would be much better off without it. But, as I mentioned before, I’m not that evolved yet.

One thing I know, it won’t be the last time I delete the app. Now that I know the world doesn’t end the moment you log out (I mean, who would have thought?!), I think I’m going to make it a regular thing.

And if you’re reading this very first sentence of this very long letter, maybe this is a sign that you, too, should give it a try. Life does exist (and it is so much better) on the other side.

xx