Disconnected
When the crack of thunder pierced my ears, and the wind roared, shaking the house, I knew. I just knew. My already fragile internet was not going to survive.
Welcome to my horror story of 10 days of no access to the interwebs. Oh, it gets worse, I also live in the country and have zero cell range at my house. And TV is all streaming, so … it was as quiet as an abandoned library here.
You’d think I’d write, but, no. Instead, it turns out that when I am disconnected, I become a Stepford Wife. I was too anxious to focus, waiting … praying … for the light on our modem to start blinking. Instead, I cleaned, cooked and even put sealer on our marble bathroom floor. Something that’s been dropping lower and lower on my to-do list for the past three years.
And when I wasn’t perfecting my DIY project skills, I was dodging my husband since this Dead-Zone Week was also his vacation. Not mine. His.
On July 4th, two days in, we were heading out to see fireworks on a neighboring lake. He listed essential items to bring, “Flashlights, beer, towels … “ and then with a straight face added, “Zip-ties, duct tape and a cinderblock … because one us isn’t coming back.”
Yep. This is what happens in a multi-decade marriage. I mean, is anyone surprised?
We went through the stages of grief together: Denial, frustration, anger … and finally, withdrawal. Because being connected is indeed an addition. Our hands practically shook as we perched on the back porch just praying for a single bar on our cells. We couldn’t even get a text message to go through unless we walked up the street. My waiting workload was piling up, with no relief in sight.
I lost count of the number of times we checked our phones, rebooted the modem, and cursed like truckers. I was a few hours away from making a voodoo doll of a technician. But maybe a phone call was a better idea.
When I first contacted our ISP, my strategy was gentle kindness, but finally, after Day Six, my Sicilian rage hit.
Still, nothing. Day Seven came, and slow acceptance crept in. Or maybe it was realizing we may be mid-life, but we’re both still a little too cute for prison. Yet I did fantasize about how much writing I could do behind bars. Do they have internet there? Yes! I remember seeing a news story about iPads for prisoners! Maybe … no, no, snap out of it!
When you start actually wanting to go to jail, it might be time to shift focus and contemplate how to use this break from the world to my advantage.
So, I read a book in just days. I started jotting notes for my own novel. Dozens of fabulous ideas floated in my head. I walked … a lot. I got eight hours of sleep a night. And before I knew it, I was happily choosing silence, realizing just how much time I wasted doom scrolling and endlessly checking social and emails.
But like any sinking ship, at some point you have to take action and start bailing. I was missing so much work. The time had come to go out and hunt, like the survivalist I had become.
On Day Ten, I drove for hours, going from store to store, until I unearthed a lone Starlink Mini. As I hooked it up, the adrenaline shot through my veins, and we binged on internet in a catatonic, zombie state.
But when I paused to realize how quickly an hour flew by, I thought of my last 10 days and how much I accomplished being unplugged. How liberating it was … once the initial panic stopped.
Let’s be real, I grew up long before there was either internet or cell phones. We didn’t even have pagers and cars didn’t have seat belts! We were free-wielding kids, being pushed out of our houses at dawn and told not to return until dinner. My parents didn’t worry where we were, in fact they wanted us outside, touching grass, exploring … living.
Reflecting on my simple childhood, I actually feel sorry for the generations that’ll never know what a gift those days were. Only three network TV channels (that completely shut down at 1 a.m., by the way) and no social media. No “likes.” No pressure to perform. No one to see us making mistakes. No 24-hour anything.
Was it a perfect world? Hell, no. But it was a forgiving one with no permanent, public record of our stupid, immature and random thoughts being shared with complete strangers.
We were free to mess up, dust off, and try again to do better. Most importantly, there was time to think. So much time. Our brains could relax without being constantly stimulated.
Ponder that for a moment. How full of stimuli our worlds are. Reminds me of the Grinch's famous frustration with Hooville, "Oh, the noise, noise, noise, noise!"
Sure, does connection to the world make life easier? Yes ... and no.
Being inundated from every direction is simply not a good thing. We need to slow down. Especially our creative brains. That’s when we come up with the best ideas … when we’re on a walk, or sitting in silence.
Think about the moments you've conjured an amazing plot point or character motivation. I'd bet the vast majority of those times were when your world was still, even if only for a few minutes.
Peace. Quiet. Freedom. For 10 days, I was practically unreachable. Invisible.
Until … the blinking of the internet returned.
A few minutes ago, my ISP technician left (on Day 13, but I stopped counting after Starlink saved me). I am officially hooked back into the world.
Am I happy about that? Of course, I am. But also … not completely. I worry that in time I'll forget the gift of silence. The drug of being connected is undeniable.
Maybe it’s easy to look back and see blessings in the struggles after they're over. I mean, this is indeed a First World problem, after all.
And that, my dear reader, is the lesson.
You think you can’t live without internet, but without internet, you actually live.
*Feature image by nuvolanevicata (Adobe)
