Unsubscribing Netflix: Choosing Growth Over Comfort

I recently made a decision that felt surprisingly heavy: I unsubscribed from Netflix.

On the surface, it sounds trivial. It’s just a streaming service. But in reality, it marked the removal of the one habit that quietly filled my empty pockets of time—time that I kept promising myself I would use for self‑improvement. Practising music. Learning a foreign language. Reading books I had bought with genuine excitement, only to let them gather dust.

Making this choice was tough. Almost immediately, life felt emptier than before. When distractions are stripped away, silence can feel uncomfortable. Minimalism teaches us that we do not need much, but it rarely talks about the emotional adjustment that comes with subtraction.

Over time, I have embraced a minimalist lifestyle. I shop less because I no longer seek joy in buying things I don’t truly need. I work out without expensive gym memberships; most days, my only cost is fuel for a ten‑minute round trip to a nearby stadium for a run. I have reduced unhealthy food—sugary drinks, fried food, pastries, and similar indulgences. I don’t drink beer. I don’t go clubbing.

When I looked honestly at my life, it struck me: watching Korean dramas had become my primary form of entertainment.

There is nothing inherently wrong with that. In fact, Netflix had been a loyal companion during meals, offering comfort and escape. But I could not ignore the quiet truth that so many good books had been waiting endlessly for my attention. My musical progress was slow because I rarely clocked enough meaningful practice time. And despite checking in daily on Duolingo for over a year, I would likely stutter badly if I ever had to speak the language in real life.

What made this harder to admit was that I paid RM250 a year for that language app, and it constantly praised my progress—telling me I was doing better than many others. But “better than many” is not the same as “good.” Not good is still not good.

There is a saying that a dedicated learner needs about 100 hours to become reasonably good at something. When I measured my efforts against that benchmark, I knew I was falling short. Consistency alone is not enough; depth and deliberate practice matter.

Netflix was not the only issue, but it was the easiest distraction to remove.

Now, during meals, I turn to documentaries on YouTube. They are quieter, less addictive, and often educational. It is not quite the same kind of joy, but perhaps that is the point.

There was another reason behind my decision, one that weighed heavily on me. During the month‑long school holiday, my 12‑year‑old daughter was glued to dramas whenever she had the chance. Advising her to limit screen time felt hypocritical when I was doing the same thing. It seemed only fair that if I believed excessive drama‑watching could waste one’s potential, I should hold myself to the same standard.

That said, I am not turning this into an exercise in self‑punishment. I am not banning entertainment from my life. Instead, I am reframing it. I have decided to reward myself with an entire Korean drama series each time I finish a book.

This way, enjoyment becomes intentional, not automatic.

Unsubscribing from Netflix did not magically make my days productive or fulfilling. What it did was expose the space I had been avoiding. That emptiness is uncomfortable, but it is also honest. And perhaps, within that space, real growth finally has room to happen.