Applying Unix Philosophy to Life

I’ve spent a huge chunk of my life around code. Even when I’m not writing it myself, I’m managing the people who do or designing the systems they build. In that world, everyone respects the “Unix Philosophy.” It started back in the late 60s, and you can boil it down to one main rule:

Make each program do one thing well.

It sounds simple. In software, it means you don’t build one giant, messy app that handles email, databases, and the user interface all at once. Instead, you build small, sharp tools. One tool reads text. Another sorts it. A third prints it. If the printer breaks, the sorter doesn’t crash. They aren’t glued together, so the whole thing is much more reliable.

For years, I’d nod along to this at work, then go home and live the exact opposite way.

My personal life had become a “Monolith.” I was relying on gadgets and services that tried to do everything at once. I was picking “convenience” over quality. The result was a fragile life run by constant notifications and pricey subscriptions. I was trying to run my life like a startup, but what I actually needed was stability.

Over the last year, I’ve been taking that Monolith apart. I’m applying that Unix rule to my pockets, my home, and my mind. I’m unbundling my life. Here is why doing one thing at a time is actually the path to freedom.

The smartphone is the ultimate rule-breaker. It’s a miracle device, but it’s an absolute black hole for your attention. It cramms a camera, GPS, bank, and post office into one slab of glass. Because it does everything, it does nothing with focus. You pick it up to check the time and end up reading a stressful email.

I decided to fire my phone from its various jobs and hire specialists instead.

I used to wear a high-end smartwatch. It tracked my sleep and buzzed every time someone emailed me. But it was rubbish at being a watch. It was like a needy pet that died if I didn’t plug it in every night.

I replaced it with a Casio G-Shock 5610. This thing is the definition of “doing one thing well.” It tells the time. It’s solar-powered, so it never dies. It syncs with radio towers, so it’s always spot on. It doesn’t care about my step count or my inbox. There is a real peace in looking at your wrist and seeing only the time.

Streaming on a phone turned my music into a data-mining project. Spotify doesn’t want you to listen to an album; it wants you on a playlist so it can keep you clicking. Plus, listening on a phone is full of bleeps and bloops from WhatsApp or low signal cut-outs.

I went back to a Digital Audio Player (DAP). It’s basically a modern Walkman. It has no Wi-Fi and no browser. When I want to listen to music, I plug in my headphones and press play. The device just decodes audio. I’m not “consuming content” anymore. I’m just listening to music.

Smartphone cameras are great computers, but they aren’t great cameras. When you use one, you’re already thinking about where to post the photo. I bought a small, dedicated camera instead. It has a much bigger sensor and real dials I have to turn. I have to actually think about the light and the shot. When I put the camera away, I’m done. I don’t immediately check Instagram to see what people think of my lunch.

The biggest change, though, was the bedroom. Using a phone as an alarm is a trap. You scroll yourself into insomnia at night and wake up to stress. I bought a simple analog alarm clock. It has a dial and a button. It wakes me up. That’s it. My phone now charges in another room. That simple split has done more for my head than any meditation app.

The Unix rule applies to tools, too. We’re often sold “smart” gadgets that are actually just clutter.

In my kitchen, the hero is a cast iron skillet. It’s just a piece of iron. It does one thing: it holds heat. Because it does that so well, I can use it on the stove, in the oven, or over a fire. It’ll outlive me. Compare that to a “smart” air fryer. If the circuit board fries or the app disappears, the whole thing is bin-fodder.

I’ve done the same with coffee. I used to have a fancy bean-to-cup machine, but when the grinder jammed, the whole thing was useless. Now I have a separate grinder, a simple Aeropress, and a kettle. If one bit breaks, I can still make a brew.

I work in tech, but I want my home to be “dumb.” A light switch should be a physical click that works 100% of the time, even if the internet is down. I don’t want a fridge with a tablet on the door that will be out of date in three years. I want a fridge that keeps milk cold. Adding software to a door handle just adds a way for it to fail.

Modern cars are becoming iPads on wheels. My old car had the heater controls buried three menus deep on a touchscreen. That’s just dangerous. My current car has actual dials. I can change the volume or the temperature by feel without taking my eyes off the road.

I’ve even started keeping a paper atlas in the car. Relying totally on Google Maps makes your brain lazy. You just follow a voice. Using a map forces you to understand where you actually are. Plus, a map never runs out of battery.

I’ve even unbundled my digital notes. Apps like Notion try to do everything, but they lock your data away. If they raise their prices, you’re stuck.

I’ve moved almost everything to simple text files on my own hard drive. I can open them with any app. The data is separate from the tool. I own the words, and I know I’ll still be able to read them in twenty years.

The world wants us to “subscribe” to everything. You don’t own the movie; you rent it from Netflix. You don’t own the software; you pay a monthly fee. I’ve started buying CDs and DVDs again. When I have the disc, I own the data. No licensing row can take it off my shelf.

It takes more skill to use these single-purpose tools. You have to learn how to season a pan or set the exposure on a camera. But that’s where the fun is. When the device does everything for you, you’re just a passenger. When you unbundle your life, you’re back in the driving seat.

My life isn’t slower now. My “uptime” is actually better because my tools don’t nag me. They are quiet servants, not noisy masters. It feels solid. It’s like the “thunk” of a heavy door on an old car. We have the power to simplify. We can choose tools that do one thing beautifully, and then let us get on with living.