Over the years, a lot of what Fourtillfour has evolved into came from one simple idea: creating an intentional space to be present, for shared experiences, slow mornings, and celebrating old things. There’s no doubt in my mind that the aid of technology helped propel this idea forward with the people we hoped it would resonate with the most. However, there were moments along the way where I could feel the friction between doing what was needed for growth and my own beliefs about pursuing an analog way of living. This is a more personal note on something I’ve been quietly thinking about for years and a small experiment that unexpectedly changed my relationship with technology.

Digital momentum 

I remember a time in the late 90s/early 2000s when I’d rush home, check to see if anyone was using the phone, and listen to the sound of static-y dial-up as I got online. Do you remember that? It was the melody of entering a digital world. It felt exciting, new, and different.Over the years, technology grew up alongside me. The iPhone arrived when I was in high school, and little by little, technology started becoming a meaningful part of my life. Around 2012, I began sharing photos of the 356 Porsches I had been collecting for years. That ultimately helped launch Fourtillfour and build a community around a shared passion for old machines and soon, exceptional coffee.

Because of this, I’m forever grateful for what technology has allowed me to create. It’s been a journey to balance these two opposing worlds: the one that allows me to simply be in the analog world of craft, of old things, of real-life moments as they’re unfolding, and the one that compels me to step away from my own experiences to digitize them.

Around 2014, what began as a passion project was emerging into a business. We were selling branded t-shirts and hats, the idea for the Scottsdale café was taking shape, events were growing, and there was momentum around what we were building. And with that came everything else. Posting on social media. Responding to press requests. Collaborations. Emails. Texts. Marketing. Team communication. At first, it all felt exciting and new. But somewhere along the way, something shifted. This thing that once felt inspiring slowly started taking over my life without me even realizing it.

Instead of slow mornings with coffee and solitude, the first thing I’d do was check my phone. Instead of ending the evening with wine, fresh air, and reflections, I found myself compulsively checking emails, texts, and social media without ever questioning my motives. What once felt like a balance was now unsteady. Somewhere in all of the momentum, I was losing touch with the parts of myself that connected me to the analog world I was inviting others to be a part of.

Friction as the feature

It wasn’t until I was racing in the 2019 Peking to Paris Motor Challenge that something really began bothering me. I found myself constantly thinking about how I was going to document the race in order to share once I got back. There was also a conflicting part of me that kept asking: why can't I just experience this for what it is? When I returned home, I became hyper-focused on figuring out a better relationship with technology. Nothing felt sustainable or like it was actually creating a healthier relationship.A couple years later, I was documenting another car build and preparing for the 2021 Baja 1000. This race was faster, more intense. There was no time to journal or thoughtfully document things with a production team. What I was able to capture on my phone was important.

We were on the second-to-final 100-mile stretch of the race and somewhere along the way, my phone slipped out of my pocket and had completely rattled to death. The photos were gone. I remember feeling real frustration. Almost this strange sensation: did this even happen if I couldn’t show proof of it? That thought hit me hard. At the time, it felt like I had somehow missed part of the racing experience because I wasn’t able to show it. And that was the moment when something I had been feeling for years finally became impossible to ignore.

I wasn’t trying to quit technology. I needed it. I wanted it. I just needed a healthier balance with it even more. While I love the idea of willpower, I don’t think willpower alone is sustainable. Too much reliance on discipline usually creates a yo-yo effect. But I was okay with a little resistance in my life. I believe in the time-honored pursuit of things. I think that friction is the feature of life.

So I decided to set myself a challenge for the next two-ish weeks. I needed simple, black-and-white rules. Rules that, if I broke them, I had to start over from the beginning.

The 16-day experiment

The setup was simple.

16 days and two different phones. One phone became my “fun phone”, and that’s where Instagram, internet browsing, apps, and everything else distracting lived. My “boring phone” was an older generation of an iPhone that I carried with me everywhere. I stripped almost everything off it, kept its visual settings in black and white, and left only a handful of practical apps. But the point of having the two phones was simple: if I wanted to scroll, consume, or play, I had to go to a designated area and use my fun phone. When I left the area, all I had was the boring phone.

That was the experiment. The first few days were the hardest. I practically lived in my designated area, scrolling on my fun phone. I didn’t think it was going to work. Every time I left the house with my boring device, I wanted to undo the whole experiment. But I trusted the process. I kept reminding myself that I could always scroll later. 

And then something interesting started happening. My time in the designated area became more intentional. I didn’t feel the need to endlessly scroll. When I was away from my fun phone, I felt at ease. I started to spend less and less time scrolling because I knew I could always return later if I wanted to. I was becoming calmer, clearer, less compulsive. My mornings felt different, now that I didn’t jump to check notifications. I felt more present with people. I was running my business better and with more clarity.

What struck me most was that I was still using technology. My business continued to operate seamlessly. I consumed content and actively participated in the digital world, but in a way where it felt like it was consuming me less. After the 16 days ended, I kept going. That was more than five years ago and it’s still something I do and love.

Revisiting analog

So, why 16 days?

I wanted something that felt like the perfect amount of time to try and genuinely see if it could work. It was long enough to challenge myself, short enough to actually see it through. I remembered my first screen name Samaras16…it reminded me of a time when the internet lived outside of you, versus constantly within arm’s reach. It was exciting. Intentional. You went to the computer, entered the digital world for a little while, and back to living your life. It served as a brief escape, but there’s a reason we built Fourtillfour to be about the simple times, intentional living, craft, community, and real experiences. I know that the biggest, best moments of life happen away from our screens.

For years, I’ve quietly shared versions of this simple 16-day challenge with a handful of people. To my surprise, many have found it valuable, so I wanted to share it here. You might be surprised by what you find on the other side of a little friction.

I’ve put the framework and challenge together at Samaras.co for anyone who wants to give it a try. And if you do, I’d love to hear from you. Revisit the analog world.

Nico
Founder, Fourtillfour