It was a dark and stormy morning... Just kidding. But it felt like that. There I was, staring into the void, panicking.
Jason. Yes, Jason would have to be my hero. I’d tell Jason, and he could tell the others. Whatever critical message needed passing along—he’d become my personal messenger pigeon. (Or at least the modern equivalent in cargo shorts.)
For a moment, time stood still. It was eerily quiet. The kind of quiet that sneaks up on you—like when your dogs get super quiet and you just know they're destroying something like your favorite pair of shoes. I wandered outside, bewildered. The world sounded… weird. Birds chirping. Leaves crunching. The breeze whispering. Even the squirrels had a vibe. Music in the background, songs I was familiar with and loved. Feeling the sun and the breeze without distraction.
Soon, I thought, I’d be with people again—actual humans—and I could finally talk to them directly. No help needed from Jason.
How did we get to this? How did we get to the level of disconnect? A level of dependence and obsession. The days are long gone and it’s nearly impossible to remember what it was like before all of this happened. It’s hard to imagine walking through life enjoying the sounds, smelling the roses as they say… taking in the views and being one with nature. Or just BEING.
Even when we are inside and the dark begins to take over the light, we are left with our own thoughts. We are left with a brain that almost cannot seem to function on its own. Where is the crutch? How will we make decisions and where will learn the things we do not know? Who will answer our questions as we awkwardly move through time and space without it? How long will it last? And, will this change us only for a short time or will this be something that sticks with us? Will we beg to come back to this space? Will we wish there were more time here? Will we miss it? Or… will we just fall back in line as if this thing never happened?
"So what IS this?" you ask.
Life. Without a cell phone.
This all sounds so dramatic, doesn’t it? A disease or a syndrome maybe? Being trapped? Lost and alone in a place you have never been? Or, maybe you’ve been there, but you’ve forgotten about it. That’s it. It’s the last one. We have been there. We used to have fun there and now, we don’t even know what it’s like anymore because it’s been so long.
And admit it—we do weird things when we're separated from our devices. The moment we walk through the front door? Boom—bras come off, shoes go flying, pants? Gone. But the phone? Firmly clutched in hand, as if it’s the last piece of dignity we’ve got. Kids? They’ll ditch their backpacks like they’re a rotten sack of potatoes but heaven forbid they let go of that phone.
Is this a challenge, you ask? Maybe. Maybe it should be.
Who in your house can go the longest without their phone—and not turn into a complete asshat? Who’s gonna lose their cool first? Because we all know it’s not about simply putting the phone down—it’s about not becoming a crabby monster while you do it.
We’ve all been there. You try leaving your phone on the counter during dinner. But the whole time, you’re scarfing down spaghetti like it's a contest, just so you can sneak a peek at your Fantasy Football lineup. Or you grin through a dry-as-sawdust pot roast while your mind is screaming, "Just one look at Instagram, please!" And even if you do survive the meal without your phone, there’s a nervous twitch in your leg—because, deep down, you’re thinking: "Did someone text me? Is my phone okay without me? Does it miss me??"
Now listen, I’m not here to judge. I’m one of you. This weekend, my phone betrayed me. It locked me out after I forgot the password (yes, the password I made—and yes, I blamed the phone, naturally). The only solution? Factory reset. And let me tell you—it felt like performing open-heart surgery on myself. It was also an EPIC FAIL.
So, there I was—completely off the grid. Once the initial panic wore off, I realized: How am I going to play music in the garden? Forget social media—the real crisis was the lack of a good playlist. But then something strange happened... I got over it.
By the time my phone rebooted and came back online this afternoon (over 24 hours later), it went berserk—notifications flying in like bats out of hell. Ding! Buzz! Flash! I could practically hear the poor thing scream, "I MISSED YOU, HUMAN!" as it almost vibrated off my desk. And suddenly, I thought: "How do I shut this damn thing off?!"
You know what? It’s not hard. Just power it down. Leave it in the car (in the shade, because we all know the shitshow of overheating phones). Or heck, be a rebel—leave it at home - don't worry, it's not Oregon Trail out there folks. And yeah, it might take a little time to adjust. You’ll probably twitch for the first 20 minutes, and your fingers will reach into your pocket like they’ve got a mind of their own. I know, I know, idle hands are the devil's playground. But you'll be fine.
Soon enough, you’ll start feeling it—that magical, peaceful vibe of just being present. You’ll notice little things, like how the air smells or how funny squirrels look when they fight over a nut. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll remember that life isn’t about notifications, tweets, or the latest TikTok trend. It’s about these tiny, beautiful moments we miss when our noses are buried in screens.
Of course, let’s be real—eventually, you’ll turn the phone back on and dive right back into the chaos. We all need our fix. But maybe, just maybe, you’ll crave those quiet moments again. You might even try to sneak in another phone-free day.
Until then... good luck, fellow screen addicts. May the Wi-Fi always be strong—but may your willpower be stronger.
Love & Light
p.s. Thanks Zac (Appalachian Integrative Health) for being a solid stress reliever and friend. My weeks are much more doable because of you.
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