I am spending two days here to, you know, get away from it all.
To enjoy the peace and quiet.
Away from the crowds and busyness and traffic and chaos.
Away from the noise and stress and rush and press.
Away from the piles and stacks and tasks and lists.
Away from all that is of this world.
All of which sounds prosaic and introspective and intentional and even spiritual…a little time for me and Jesus, me and family, me and I, to do some serious reflecting and resting. It doesn’t require much beyond a good book (check), a decent bed (check), and indoor plumbing (check).
So this should be great in every way. It really should.
Except for this: two words in the top righthand corner of my phone screen –
Nothing. Zip. Zero. Not even half a bar of “can you hear me know now?”
I’m stymied. This has never happened to me before. I’ve always been connected, even if by nothing more than the tiniest glowing arc….just a dot, really, at the base of that rainbow-ish / radiowave-ish / parachute-ish symbol that is the supreme essence of 21st-century existence in a wirelessly connected world.
How, exactly, am I supposed to fully enjoy and appreciate the peace and quiet of this place – away from the chaos and noise and stress of the world – if I can’t, with the click of a button and the swipe of a screen, pull up a minute-by-minute reminder and replay of said chaos and noise and stress?