I just spent three days in the wilderness, without internet.
And I survived.
Every year my husband and I (and a small group of our assorted closest friends and relatives) head out into the mountains and spend time eating, sleeping, and staring off into space. We occasionally hike, but more often we daze and allow our minds to reacquaint themselves with the rhythm of life, as dictated by the rise and fall of the sun, tummy rumbling, and whatever the dog happens to be doing.
It is well known that our particular spot is outside of the reaches of the 21st century (namely the 3G network, Wi-Fi, and even microwaves), and yet I still find myself compelled to check The Phone. For the first eight hours of our excursion in the wilderness, I find that I’ve got about a three-minute window to think of things other than “did I get a new message yet?” or “I wonder what time it is?” As luck would have it, this is also the amount of time it takes the average hospital patient on pain-meds to avoid pressing the morphine button.
The irony is not lost on me.
When I came to the realization this time that my compulsion resembled an addiction, I did not throw the phone into the river, but I did let it die. I threw caution into the wind and took off my watch, and had to rely on the sky to tell me what I needed to know. Slowly peeling my fingers back from the iProduct of the moment, I let the sun kiss my face and said hello. For once, it wasn’t time for yoga because it was Time for Yoga, it was simply all that needed to be done.
Yoga, on the rocks.