One of my favorite parts of being at Lost Valley Ranch was the disconnectedness to regular life.  And the lack of cell service.  (That and my bed being made every day by someone besides myself.)

For that one week I couldn’t see the growing number of e-mails I was missing.  My phone was set on permanent airplane mode.  Do they make a setting like that for all of my life?

It was a sort of freedom, for sure.

An intoxicating kind of freedom.  Freedom from not only routine responsibility but from being inundated with the continual hard of the world in which we live.  I didn’t watch any news or check any headlines or see anyone sharing and commenting about mainstream events on Facebook.

There’s a shelf life to that kind of freedom, naturally.  But it was so tremendously glorious while we sat under it.

Going off the internet is sort of like giving up any addictive behavior I suppose.

1. It’s shamefully difficult at first.
2. It gets easier each day.
3. Eventually being free is more attractive than being controlled.

I don’t want to return to my former life.  I like me better in Colorado.  Distraction-less Me is much cooler and much more enjoyable of a human to be around.

London and I both agreed that life without the internet is nicer but I can’t figure out how to make that one really stick since the internet is sort of kind of exactly how I make ends meet.

We are all always being changed.  Shaped.

Every experience is doing that all the time.

Constantly our edges are being softened – or sharpened – against the life we bump against.

Of course the ranch was a literal mountain top experience.  (I practically filled an entire notebook with pen scratches while sitting here on this rock with this view.)

I was more alone on that rock for those few hours than I’ve been in decades.

No one could hear my voice if I hollered.  (Well.  Maybe.  It was kind of echo-y up there.)

I was astonished (and embarrassed) at the amount of extra time I discovered by just leaving my phone.  And I pridefully don’t even view myself as a person regularly attached to the rectangular device.

I finished two non-fiction books.  By Tuesday.

It was a perfectly pleasant clean break from the bonds of Being Accessible.  A welcome departure from scrolling mindlessly through photos each time a text arrived.  Why was I even checking Instagram when I was just responding to a text about dinner plans?

This clean break is encouraging a reassessment of my time management skills. Reminding me that I am not a victim of my phone.  I am the Master of it instead.

I know I’ve used this word in conversation with my friends and I might have used it already here on the blog. I guarantee I will be using it again.  (I repeat myself sometimes, alright.  I’m a mother of six kids.  It comes with the territory.)

The week at Lost Valley is working a bit like a gigantic reset button.

A much needed, deeply desired, reset button.

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