In a 10-seater plane piloted by Talkeetna Air Taxi, my 6-year-old son and I flew over the rough terrain of Alaska for almost 40 minutes. The world appeared different as it landed on skis on the pure, fluffy snow atop a glacier in Denali National Park.
The moment hit me not just because of the breathtaking sights, but also because of the tranquility. We were surrounded only by the sounds of nature; there were no ringing phones, buzzing texts, or internet access. It was exhilarating to experience a sense of tranquility and quiet.
We spent almost twenty minutes engaging in a snowball war, constructing snow angels, and inhaling the crisp air. I desired to bottle the moment’s unadulterated happiness and take that sense of liberation with me.
During that nature-filled excursion, I discovered that while I had detached from the outside world, I felt more connected to myself and my baby.
I needed a phone-free break.
I decided that after I returned to Arizona I would go without my phone for 24 hours. Jude, one of my closest friends, is an Orthodox Jew who switches off all his devices every week for the Sabbath. How difficult could it be, I pondered.
It was difficult, especially because Apple notified me that I pick up my phone 100 times every day. I felt a little adrift without my leash, as I jokingly refer to my phone, because despite the fact that telephones provide us the freedom to move, people want a response within minutes.
The world could wait, but I warned my parents that I would be unavailable and that they should contact my son in case of an emergency.
As soon as I turned off my phone at dusk on Friday, I felt anxious. What if I were required? What if breaking news were to occur?
However, I calmed my head and quelled these thoughts. After all, I’m not on call as a physician; I’m a mother, and it was a good time to be totally present and attentive.
It felt so amazing to be without my phone.
That evening, I read a story to my son, and it felt great not to check my phone. He went asleep, and I picked up a book to read without interruptions — something that is difficult to accomplish in this age of nonstop email, social media, and texting.
I was anxious as I reached for my phone the following morning. Then, as I saw my sleeping son, I realized that what important was not included in a text message.
I began to breathe. The world was on hold, not disintegrating.
Constantly checking my phone does not indicate control; rather, it indicates the reverse. When you set limits and select when someone can contact you and what fits with your schedule, you have control. A phone is intended to be a convenient tool that enhances one’s life, not a constant distraction.
At the conclusion of my 24-hour separation with my phone, I felt more relaxed and attuned to reality. I was initially relieved to let the world back in, but I later yearned for the tranquility of solitude.
As I had in Alaska, I recognized that you must periodically rise above your world and disengage in order to truly discover yourself and see the big picture.