Part of that comes from a lot of experience camping, part from the careful prep before heading out, part from the sheer need to unplug from a vocation that is normally quite plugged in (even moreso during the pandemic!). So, for nearly a week, I had no clue what was happening in the world. (Of course, the lovely folks at the house up the road knew where I was, should contact be absolutely necessary!)
The joy of being unplugged, however, was ample. I walked the dogs and didn’t feel the need to rush back – no one could call. I sat at the campfire and didn’t worry about sending email responses – there was no service. I prayed when the mood struck, and wasn’t concerned about a looming meeting or deadline whooshing past – I was in the most important meeting of all.
In unplugging, I reconnected. Because in the act of unplugging, I gifted myself with the time to focus, to slow down, to be intentionally present. I could breathe deeply, and simply appreciate the moment for what it was.
It’s not to say I needed silence to hear the still, small voice of God: for the noise was constant: the crickets were the evening choir, the birds the morning alarm, the leaves rustled and flapped a staccato rhythm, the dropping acorns an unpredictable percussion throughout the days. But it’s a different type of noise when in the cathedral of nature.
Surely, I missed calls, and my inbox is inundated, and I can imagine a lengthy to-do list waiting for me at the office.
But in this 24/7 world, in these days of unrealistic expectations, I carry with me the small joys of spending time focusing on the real world.
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