In my basement office, I have about 15 cell phones in various states of disrepair. I review electronics, so most of these are loaners, but sometimes I carry up to five mobile phones with me at any one time. That can’t be good for my genetic structure or my attention span.

To prep for this ordeal, I began noting how I used my phone. I received calls, sure, but I also had my calendar on there and a full phone book, and I used it to receive IMs and e-mails. The calendar and phone book were easy to replace—I printed out an agenda that I carried around. In lieu of getting Google Maps on my phone, I planned ahead and printed paper maps. I was tired of instant messaging people in the street, so that was a feature I thought I wouldn’t miss.

I forwarded all my cell numbers to our Vonage Internet phone. When I left the house for the first time without a cell, it was like leaving without a kidney—something was seriously amiss.

The weeks that followed felt empty. My cell phone was a time waster and a tool. If I was bored on the train, I could whip it out and play a game of solitaire. If I was expecting an important call or e-mail, I couldn’t really leave the house. I was tethered—a strange feeling in this era of wireless communications.

You can leave the house without your wallet and even your keys. There are always ways around those simple logistical issues. At worst, you can use your cell phone to call a locksmith. But try heading for an increasingly hard-to-find pay phone, lifting the receiver to your ear and talking into something that may or may not have been sprayed by a street sweeper in the past half hour. I used to worry about cell-phone radiation. Now I was risking an E. coli infection with every word.

I didn’t receive my wife’s call about our son’s first nine steps. I was late to appointments in midtown because people assumed I was getting their messages. I missed the immediacy of sending and receiving a text message (i’m here, where r u?). I missed my cell phone. You can give up a lot, but communication is such a basic, elemental need that anything that increases connectivity quickly becomes indispensable.

One thing I didn’t miss during the 30 days? Phantom-ring syndrome, that sense that your phone is vibrating or even ringing in your pocket. However, packing three phones into my bag on the first day back among the cell-phone living made me forget all about landlines. Even techno-nostalgia has its limits.—John Biggs