I didn't expect to be completely unplugged for the long weekend. No wifi, that I already knew that the cabin lacked. But that's okay, I told myself, because my phone can do all those things via cell.
At the cabin and all over the town: rushing river, tall pines. Deep quiet.
Wait, no cell? No CELL? But... but...
"You're going to be fine," I tell myself reassuringly, as if addressing a small child who has misplaced a thumb or two. "You can go without cell for a few days."
Days? You want me to go without internet and SMS and email ... and...and...
"There, there," I tell myself, perhaps less gently than I might. "You don't need thumbs anyway, and it's high time you learned to go without. Just for-- " And this next part I admit I say through clenched teeth:"-- a few days. Get a grip."
You want me to grip without thumbs? Without Internet?
My lower lip threatened to tremble.
Many alive today remember a time when most trips to remote areas meant going without communication devices. That's just how it was, and it wasn't a big deal.
But you get used to things. You think of them as yours. As thumbs.
Apparently I was no longer able to make the smooth jump to a thumbless existence.
For three days.
But three days later..
You know what? Being unplugged was some kind of awesome. The quiet wasn't just in the trees, or the river, or the land. It was in me.
No more checking messages in multiple places. No more shredded focus. Just me, the river, and my thoughts.
So if you call me, text me, ping me, chat me, skype me, or some such, and I don't reply, I might be indulging in a little unplugging.
I recommend it. Turns out you get to keep your thumbs after all.
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