There’s no television in our shared family living areas any more. The imposing screen that once sat at the heart of the home, the altar of sofas and the focus of countless evenings, has been repurposed. It now lives in Matthew’s playroom, where it serves primarily as a large Xbox monitor.
And you know what? I don’t miss it.
Jocelyn and I just don’t seem to watch television these days. It’s not a moral stance or a lifestyle trend, it’s been more of a drift. A quiet migration away from passive consumption toward something else.
Instead of sitting and watching, we do things. Jocelyn listens to podcasts while crafting — quilting, needlepoint, cross-stitch, crochet, always making something tactile and beautiful to decorate our home. I’m more likely to be reading, writing, listening to music, or noodling around with software and side projects. If the house is quiet, that’s fine, we let it stay quiet. If not, well, at least our headphones have active noise cancellation. The TV doesn’t call to us any more.
We still have subscriptions to Netflix and other services. Isla in particular uses them now and again – usually in the background while working on her art. But if it weren’t for that, I think we would consider cancelling it. The monthly subscription often feels less like a gateway to pleasure and more like a nagging digital obligation. So many excellent shows, so much critical acclaim. So little desire to actually watch them. We tried The Morning Show and The Diplomat with some success, but each new season feels like such an undertaking, such a commitment.
I used to love television in my twenties. The West Wing remains my all-time favourite show — with those brisk Sorkin walk-and-talks, and rich characters full of political optimism and snappy dialogue. But the last few years, nothing’s really hooked me. Not because there’s nothing good out there, there’s too much good stuff, and I no longer have the energy to choose. Or the will to sit still long enough.
I don’t even watch rolling TV news anymore. I subscribe to Apple News+ and The Guardian online (the latter partly for the crosswords) and listen to Today or podcasts like The News Agents. If it’s important, it’ll find me. If it isn’t, I don’t need to be unnecessarily enraged about it in real time.
I will concede (because Isla has just reminded me) that I do still enjoy watching the Eurovision Song Contest each May. The King’s Speech on Christmas Day. Perhaps the Vienna New Year’s Concert. But that’s about it, and a laptop or iPad will suffice for those.
Sometimes I do miss the old shared experiences that arose from having a single TV set and limited number of channels. Growing up, Saturday evenings meant everyone in front of the telly. The Generation Game perhaps, with Larry Grayson and Isla St Clair (I wonder if she subliminally influenced my choice of name for our daughter?). Or 3-2-1 with Ted Rogers and Dusty Bin. Times like this gave my family some quality time together, and there was even the sense of being part of a national moment, however silly or small.
But I don’t miss the screen itself. Not its presence. Not its drone. Not the way it became the focus of the room.
Now our evenings have different rhythms. Calmer. More intentional. Less curated by algorithms, more shaped by our own choices and whims. It suits us.
We gave the TV to the Xbox. We got our evenings back.