Why I purge every icon from my desktop, including the Taskbar


Summary

  • App and file icons are visual distractions that draw attention away from the task at hand.
  • Desktop icons and taskbars invite me to attempt, typically unsuccessfully, to multitask.
  • I prefer using keyboard shortcuts and voice assistants to launch apps rather than clicking desktop icons.

If an app icon appears on my desktop—ZAP! Gone. I now even hide my taskbar so that nothing greets me but a pristine wallpaper and my open apps. I don’t plan to be less vigilant any time soon.

I’m easily distracted

And visual clutter doesn’t help

There is something I’ve come to accept about myself: I get distracted easily. I don’t just mean that I am derailed when someone comes by to ask me a question, nor do I mean that I need to enable Do Not Disturb mode to silence all notifications. I mean that if my eyes rest on anything on-screen that is unrelated to what I’m working on, my mind wanders off.

When I think of ways to increase productivity, that also means figuring out how much clutter I can remove from my screen. The two are one and the same.

I know some people work best with complicated software that makes as many features as possible accessible with the least amount of mouse movement. I work best with minimalist software that displays as little as necessary to accomplish the task at hand.

App icons make me want to switch apps

The temptation to multitask

The Samsung DeX taskbar on a portable monitor. Credit: Bertel King / How-To Geek

Desktop icons of all kinds are designed to be pressed. That’s the whole reason they’re there. Applications in particular have icons that are meant to grab your attention and entice you to click them instead of the poor, undeserving apps they’re next to. It’s good marketing. It’s good graphic design. It’s good psychological manipulation.

I find a desktop to be the most distracting place to possibly put these icons. Since I don’t work with windows maximized, especially not on my 4K monitor, my desktop and what’s on it are always visible. It’s hard for me to imagine getting much done when all I want to do is tidy up all the clutter piling up just outside my app window.

Windows 11 and 10 desktop backgrounds.


How to Remove Icons From the Windows Desktop

Organizing a messy desktop!

I’ve removed desktop icons from my background for my entire adult life. More recently, I’ve started to auto-hide the taskbar as well. Now that any distracted time increasingly eats into my income, it is not doing me any favors to see NVIDIA GeForce NOW or YouTube in my taskbar. Even apps related to productivity, like my calendar or reminder apps, aren’t worth keeping visible. I can open those apps when I consciously remember to sit down and manage them, rather than because glancing over the taskbar made the thought pop into my mind.

I prefer searching for apps by name

Less clutter, more precision

Searching for and launching an app using keyboard shortcuts in Samsung DeX.

To a certain extent, desktop icons could make sense if they were my preferred way to open apps. They’re not. I would rather click an app launcher, but even that isn’t something I do often when I’m sitting at my PC. I default to keyboard shortcuts instead.

I use Samsung DeX instead of Windows, but the keyboard shortcut and behavior I speak of is the same. Tap the Windows key, type the first few characters of an app’s name, and hit Enter. I have developed this muscle memory for well over a decade. The mere thought of clicking a desktop icon feels so much slower, which means the desktop icon doesn’t serve any function for me other than being a visual distraction. This is also the case with files, which are just as searchable in a file manager.

I’ve even started using voice assistants

Hands-free control

Bixby performing commands on a Samsung DeX desktop.

Using keyboard shortcuts is a habit I’ve long had, but more recently I’ve started to develop a new way of using my computer. Rather than moving my focus away from typing in order to activate a keyboard shortcut, I’ve started talking to my computer instead.

This is one of the ways voice assistants are helpful. I ask Bixby to open an app using a phrase like, “Hi Bixby, open Slack” or use even less precise guidance like “Hi Bixby, show me pictures” to open my gallery app. Cortana and Copilot used to provide similar functionality on Windows, before Cortana bit the dust and Microsoft downgraded Copilot in 2024.

Voice assistants have also stepped in to manage my music playback. It’s easy to tell them to pause or unpause what is currently playing, helping me avoid the pitfalls of opening the music app and feeling tempted to play a new song or moving my mouse to the system tray, where I might see an onslaught of new notifications.

Samsung Galaxy Z Fold 5 in DeX dock.


10 Reasons Why Samsung DeX Can Replace Your Desktop PC

It has already replaced mine.

Similarly, voice assistants serve as my Pomodoro app. I tell Bixby to set a timer for 25 minutes, and when it goes off, I tell Bixby to set another one for 5 minutes. This saves me from having to find the best Pomodoro app that works the way I like. Whenever I try, I tend to come back to using my built-in clock and timer app anyway.


My setup won’t work for everyone, but it works for me

There is no one way to use a computer that works for everyone. I know that what I’ve described sounds like a complete nightmare for some. I also know that my use of a voice assistant is also a luxury available to someone who works remotely from home that isn’t viable in a shared office.

Yet part of the fun of using computers or any tool is figuring out how to make them work best for us. And for me, that means no icon is ever to occupy a permanent spot on my screen, be that on the desktop or the taskbar.



Source link

Leave a Reply

Subscribe to Our Newsletter

Get our latest articles delivered straight to your inbox. No spam, we promise.

Recent Reviews


Do you ever walk past a person on the streets exhibiting mental health issues and wonder what happened to their family? I have a brother—or at least, I used to. I worry about where he is and hope he is safe. He hasn’t taken my call since 2014.

James and his brother as young children playing together before his brother became sick. James is on the right and his brother is on the left.

James and his brother as young children playing together before his brother became sick. James is on the right and his brother is on the left.

When I was 13, I had a very bad day. I was in the back of the car, and what I remember most was the world-crushing sound violently panging off every surface: he was pounding his fists into the steering wheel, and I worried it would break apart. He was screaming at me and my mother, and I remember the web of saliva and tears hanging over his mouth. His eyes were red, and I knew this day would change everything between us. My brother was sick.

Nearly 20 years later, I still have trouble thinking about him. By the time we realized he was mentally ill, he was no longer a minor. The police brought him to a facility for the standard 72-hour hold, where he was diagnosed with paranoid delusional schizophrenia. Concluding he was not a danger to himself or others, they released him.

There was only one problem: at 18, my brother told the facility he was not related to us and that we were imposters. When they let him out, he refused to come home.

My parents sought help and even arranged for medication, but he didn’t take it. Before long, he disappeared.

My brother’s decline and disappearance had nothing to do with the common narratives about drug use or criminal behavior. He was sick. By the time my family discovered his condition, he was already 18 and legally independent from our custody.

The last time he let me visit, I asked about his bed. I remember seeing his dirty mattress on the floor beside broken glass and garbage. I also asked about the laptop my parents had gifted him just a year earlier. He needed the money, he said—and he had maxed out my parents’ credit card.

In secret from my parents, I gave him all the cash I had saved. I just wanted him to be alright.

My parents and I tried texting and calling him; there was no response except the occasional text every few weeks. But weeks turned into months.

Before long, I was graduating from high school. I begged him to come. When I looked in the bleachers, he was nowhere to be seen. I couldn’t help but wonder what I had done wrong.

The last time I heard from him was over the phone in 2014. I tried to tell him about our parents and how much we all missed him. I asked him to be my brother again, but he cut me off, saying he was never my brother. After a pause, he admitted we could be friends. Making the toughest call of my life, I told him he was my brother—and if he ever remembers that, I’ll be there, ready for him to come back.

I’m now 32 years old. I often wonder how different our lives would have been if he had been diagnosed as a minor and received appropriate care. The laws in place do not help families in my situation.

My brother has no social media, and we suspect he traded his phone several years ago. My family has hired private investigators over the years, who have also worked with local police to try to track him down.

One private investigator’s report indicated an artist befriended my brother many years ago. When my mother tried contacting the artist, they said whatever happened between them was best left in the past and declined to respond. My mom had wanted to wish my brother a happy 30th birthday.

My brother grew up in a safe, middle-class home with two parents. He had no history of drug use or criminal record. He loved collecting vintage basketball cards, eating mint chocolate chip ice cream, and listening to Motown music. To my parents, there was no smoking gun indicating he needed help before it was too late.

The next time you think about a person screaming outside on the street, picture their families. We need policies and services that allow families to locate and support their loved ones living with mental illness, and stronger protections to ensure that individuals leaving facilities can transition into stable care. Current laws, including age-based consent rules, the limits of 72-hour holds, and the lack of step-down or supported housing options, leave too many families without resources when a serious diagnosis occurs.

Governments and lawmakers need to do better for people like my brother. As someone who thinks about him every day, I can tell you the burden is too heavy to carry alone.

James Finney-Conlon is a concerned brother and mental health advocate. He can be reached at [email protected].



Source link