Silence is Golden

I owe a lot to technology; this lifestyle would be exceedingly more challenging without it. Without solar panels, computers and internet, we’d need to be where the jobs are.

But, we’re not totally off grid, are we, if we’re still tangled in the world wide web?

When I get a compulsive need to share – when I want everyone to know how amazing this is – I can. People see it. We’re connected.

It’s interesting to think about the social media aspect, how in my experience, it sometimes lends itself to this weird compulsion to share so other people can see all the cool shit we’re doing.

Of course, that’s in no way is why we’re doing this, obviously. And if we inspire someone to make a change, show them what’s possible, I mean – amazing, right?

But still. How cool would it be to just be here, witness free?

The desire to share ebbs and flows, sure. I haven’t posted to social media in over a week, and haven’t really checked it. But the fact that it’s there, that I still get caught up and spun out on “Insta” – not something I want to be doing with my one wild and precious life –  thank you, Mary Oliver, for your eloquence.

I feel as though I’m in some incredibly large body of water, but am prevented from exploring what’s below the surface because I’ve got these pesky water wings lodged on my biceps, keeping me buoyant. This connection to the internet is keeping me from truly immersing myself into the depths of the experience.

We pulled into our last spot, after driving miles on bumpy backwoods dirt roads. The pine trees towered overhead, some with blackened trunks from a recent fire. The foliage, or “fuel” as those in the fire business call it, was dense, dry, and abundant.

I check my cell, no service.

“The spot I mapped out is on a ridge,” says Chad, “we should get signal there.”

We bump along some more, and then the trees part as we roll out onto the ridge. I hold my phone out the window, arm straight up.

“Anything?”

I retract my arm.

“One bar…the shortest one.”

We park, Mt. Hood towering above, and Mt. Rainier off in the distance. I pause briefly, listening to the sound of the wind whoosh through the pines. Look down at the valley of trees, the sky still blue, an empty sardine can, the lid peeled back into the beginnings of a spiral, abandoned in the firepit.

Check my phone: one bar, promising.

We busy ourselves setting up.

As soon as everything is back in place, I tap the home screen of my iPhone. No signal.

No signal?!

But I need signal! I have to work, how am I going to meditate without my Calm app? How am I going to exercise without my YouTube work out videos? How am I going to…

“Chad? CHAD! I don’t have signal!”

Chad climbs the ladder and starts fiddling and swiveling the Wee Boost around, which he’s attached to the roof.

“Anything now?”

“No.”

How about now?”

“Nope.”

I sit, looking out the window. I feel it, the tug of nature. Pulling me in. Calming me down. I remember my water paints which have come along on this journey, but remain untouched. My banjo. A big writing project that doesn’t require research, doesn’t require internet.

The sun is slowly sinking, and the dry grass lights up, golden and bright, as it absorbs the glow.

I watch.

Sit still and watch, because when you don’t have internet, you can get away with other things. You don’t have to be busy, or distract yourself pretending to be busy.

30 minutes later, it’s over.

We have signal again.