I deleted LinkedIn off my phone this weekend.

Not as a productivity hack. It wasn’t some noble gesture against big tech.
It was survival.

I noticed the pain first.
My shoulder tightening on flights, my neck stiff from that familiar tilt of scrolling.
Then I noticed the pull on my attention.
How often I reached for the app when I felt anxious, bored, or untethered.

“I use it for work, so it’s fine if it’s on my phone.”
Scroll. Scroll. Scroll. Scroll.

The reflex of thumb to screen before I even knew what I was doing.
That reflex cost me more than time. It was draining my energy, hijacking my attention, and keeping me in a low-grade hum of urgency and distraction, mixed with dissatisfaction. The kind that feels normal until one day you snap out of it, and realize.

This isn't by choice.

It was also costing me money. Thousands of dollars worth of my attention handed over to a big tech company in exchange for cheap thrills, existential dread, and low-grade anxiety. What the actual fuck?

Do you know the average American spends over five hours a day on their phone?
How much do you make an hour? I’m not cheap, and I bet you aren’t either. Are you okay working for free 25 hours a week?

I’m not.

Here’s the part we don’t talk about:
It’s not just your job that’s burning you out.

It’s your phone.
It’s the feed in your pocket.
It’s the design of an economy that thrives on your distraction.

Five hours a day. That’s the average.
Five hours handed over to someone else’s bottom line.
Five hours of possibility traded for what? Validation?

I say that’s a cop out. We don’t need it.

We tell ourselves it’s harmless.
“I need it for work.”
“I’ll just check quickly.”
“I’m staying connected.”

But your nervous system knows better.
Your unfinished projects know better
Your unread books know better.
Your wallet knows better.
Your kids know better.

The cost isn’t only in hours. It’s in the lost capacity to be present with your own life. To rest. To notice. To choose.

I’ve lived this pattern before. Thirteen years in big tech taught me how easy it is to trade sovereignty for a urgency. At the height of my career, I was tethered to the same reflex. Checking metrics. Refreshing dashboards. Scanning inboxes that never ended.

The reward for my unwavering attention was status and salary. The cost was my nervous system. Anxiety. Gut health collapse. A double life where I looked successful but felt like I was unraveling inside.

That’s the same economy our phones put in our pockets now. An endless feed, sold to us as connection, engineered to keep us hooked. Survival mode disguised as normal. Except there is no salary for that labor. Just the belief that we’re not enough, and need to keep up or be left behind.

This is why I built the Quiet Rebellion: To reclaim what’s yours.

Leadership isn’t just what happens in meetings or boardrooms. It’s in the choices you make when no one’s watching. It’s in the sovereignty to decide where your attention goes.

That’s rebellion. That’s having a near life moment.

A question to sit with:

If your attention is your most precious resource, what are you willing to stop giving it away to?

For me, this weekend… that was things that scroll.

Rebellion doesn’t have to be about big grand gestures and protests. Sometimes it can be in the simple choice of where you direct your attention in this moment, right now.

Be rebellious.
In Solidarity ✊

Nicholas Whitaker
Quiet Rebellion | Rebel Guide for High Performers at a crossroads
rebellioncollective.co

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