Computers once lived in dedicated rooms - the study, office, or classroom. The iMac G3 I used as a child was as stationary as furniture, requiring users to seek them out rather than carry them. Early laptops and smartphones broke these walls, offering unprecedented portability but also constant connectivity. These devices evolved from companion tools to primary computing platforms, fundamentally changing how we interact with technology.

The shift wasn't forced but eagerly embraced. Portable computers enabled work from coffee shops, bedrooms, and commuter trains. Smartphones consolidated dozens of single-purpose gadgets into one pocket-sized device. This convenience came with a hidden cost: digital services gained permanent physical presence in our lives through relentless notifications and addictive app designs. Our brains never evolved to handle this aggressive information environment.

Personal experience mirrors broader trends. I've restructured my setup around a desktop computer in a dedicated room, relegating my laptop to travel use and keeping my phone on a charging stand. Even the Apple Watch proved too distracting despite limited notifications. Switching to a screenless fitness tracker and wearing pocket-less clothing at home helps enforce physical boundaries I once took for granted.

A Gen Z movement toward dedicated devices - point-and-shoot cameras, MP3 players - suggests others crave similar boundaries. By confining computers to one room and one purpose, I've found calm and presence that portable everything promised but never delivered. The walls of the computer room weren't limitations but protections.