Breaking Up With My AirPods

No more noise. Just the sweet, sweet sound of my own thoughts.

My hoop-clad ear is on its own now.

In the wise words of Gwyneth Paltrow, my AirPods and I “consciously uncoupled” two months ago. After five years of co-dependence, I had to end things.

No matter where I went, my AirPods came with me—serenading music, podcasts, music, podcasts.

The thought of a life without their auditory touch made me shudder. Ride the subway, workout, do the dishes in silence? Endure boredom? No way.

But isn’t boredom natural? And dare I say needed? As a kid, I didn’t need my ears stuffed. I was open to my surroundings and silence. I was forced to think and make my own fun. 

Now an adult, I had gotten too comfortable with the soft embrace of a plastic pod. With my AirPods in, I could always be productive and learning, discovering new music, calling a friend, tuning out the world.

That’s why this relationship needed to end. I needed to start tuning in.

At the beginning of June, I finally put down the pods and said:

At first, my ears felt naked and needy. They craved my “Grooooving Summer 2022” playlist on shuffle. The familiar coo of Tim Ferriss’ podcast greeting. Auditory anything.

But then I started eavesdropping. I laughed at conversations around me (“I LOVE a triple circumcised dick” a man recounted to his buddy as I sat eating penne vodka in the Upper West Side.)

I stopped marching forward to the beat of my own resting-AirPod-face. Unintentionally, I became more open. Without my ears blocked or eyes lit up by my phone, I found myself approached by friendly strangers—including a romantic interest—more than I have ever experienced in New York City.

Free of my AirPod noise, I talked to people! I watched people! I even ignored people!

Most of all, I started listening to what was going on inside as well as outside. That contemplation has been the biggest beauty of this breakup.

I’ve traded hearing the thoughts of others for hearing my own. And boy, have they surprised me. Some have even shook me. This summer, I’ve finally begun tuning into what I want and don’t want.

Another benefit of self-induced boredom? You remember you were always the kid wielding the camera. You start shooting everywhere you go. And you capture your post-AirPod-breakup reflections—all across New York City.

Wander and Wonder : A Photo Essay of Reflections

I feel like an introvert in hiding here. “Good one,” my friend smirked when we discussed our self-diagnosed introversion status earlier this month. “You’re way too outgoing to be an introvert.” She’s half-right: I can be talkative, social, out there. I’m not not those things. But I can also be really quiet, really reflective, and really relieved when I finally get to be on my own.

There’s pressure to constantly be doing things in New York. Seeing people. Going here. Going there. Always planning your next move. That bustle is what makes this city beautiful. I was—and still am!—in awe of New York’s magic. But I don’t know if this place is for me anymore. Or at least for me right now. I think one of the scariest parts of growing up is realizing you’ve grown out of who you once were. And what you once wanted.

When I last lived here in 2019, I didn’t care about having space or a sense of home. The city was my home. Now I’ve realized I need a place that nourishes me creatively. One with natural light. Nature. Kitchen countertops. Space. Solitude. To live in New York City, you sacrifice those things. You cram. You squeeze. All so you can experience the cultural center of the world! And isn’t that worth it? It used to be! I swear, it used to be.

After my trip to Argentina this winter, I planned on moving back to New York City permanently. I wanted to sashay my way across the city streets. I wanted the nonstop hustle and happenings. I wanted the New York life I’ve always worshipped. But then the rental market was too crazy to find my own place. I wound up in a summer sublet. I came back. I had fun. (I feel like I need to defend the summer I’ve had here because it has been fun. But more than that, it’s been transformational.) I stopped drinking. Quit my job. Began a freelance career. Saw old friends. Made beautiful new ones. But I’ve felt drained of space, energy, and solitude along the way.

My summer sublet ends in August. I’ve decided to travel abroad rather than try to sign a lease in New York. When I made that decision last month (as I was toying with the idea to leave my job), I figured I’d be gearing up for my trip, wishing I was staying put in the place that has all my friends, my family, my life.

Instead, I “have the face of someone who wants to get the hell out of here,” as my friend said on a Zoom call recently. I am desperate to get out. Did I just type that? Did I just admit that to myself? To you? I feel like the New York City Loyalists Club and 21-year-old Tatiana are going to knock down my door and smack me with a penalty for treason. But it’s not treason. It’s me being true! I’m grateful I got to have a temporary taste of New York again. But my appetite has been awakened—and it’s hungry for an adventure outta here.

Behind the scenes

• A peek into the process: In my last illustrated story, I wanted to talk about 121,233 things about this beautiful experience without booze. The hardest part was figuring out what key frames to include. Here’s a look at how I storyboarded “Is New York Boring Without Booze?” I always start with a rough sketch of the narrative beats—and then jump into Procreate on my iPad. It’s messy, but this is how my brain works in the what-the-heck-is-the-story-here stage.

• Where I’m headed: In two weeks, I set off for Italy. I’ll be writing more about my plans for this Euro trip soon—but for now, I am going to be revving up for this one-way ticket (!!!!) trip, wrapping up some freelance work, and making zero social plans.

• Where I am now: Candidly, I’ve been a bit conflicted about a Substack paywall. Substack doesn’t tell you about the imposter syndrome side-effect of going paid! Part of me feels weird blocking off my work, but part of me also feels excited about having a private place to be brazenly honest and connect with each of you along the way. I’m currently writing from my teeny tiny apartment on W. 63rd St, wondering: what are you reflecting on right now?

With open, AirPod-free ears,

Tatiana