One of the biggest gifts I gave myself this vacation was a technology break.
I love technology – happily refer to myself as a geek/gadget girl, but since adding iPhone to my life a few years ago, I think I’ve become far TOO attached to my tech. On a normal pre-vacation day, I would wake up and check email and Facebook, get lost in my blog reader or Pinterest, and find myself still lounging in bed at 10am, with 50% or less left on my charge from the night before!
Canyon Ranch boasts a cell-free campus, at least in public areas, and I took it to heart by vowing not to even open email, Facebook, Pinterest and the like. Instead, I spent all that extra time getting outside, taking classes, resting/reading, listening, experiencing each moment. I really let myself settle into days that stretched wide and long, days that seemed to let me fit in everything I intended and much that just happened to present itself.
This morning, I caught myself mindlessly watching YouTube videos at 9am and promised to recommit to a goal of minimizing my tech time. As an artist with many long-distance friends/relations, it’s important to me to remain connected; but, I also know it’s important for my peace of mind to be UNconnected a larger percent of the time.
So my goals are to 1) limit my posting to one thing per day – one blog, Facebook update, Instagram photo, OR Pinterest pin; 2) limit my online time to less than one hour per day; and 3) opt out of anything that doesn’t truly fit my values and interests. Instead I’m going to pick up the pen a little more (literally) – explore ALL the ways I might share my voice in more tangible ways.
I think the thing that came back to me this trip is how much I need to sink my elbows into the earnest work, to love again the “oily fur” of my life as Mary Oliver describes in this favorite poem…
“You never know
the body of night opens like a river,
it drifts upward like white smoke,
like so many wrappings of mist.
And on the hillside two deer are walking along just as though this wasn’t the owned, tilled earth of today, but the past.
I did not see them the next day or the next,
but in my minds eye –
there they are, in the long grass, like two sisters.
This is the earnest work. Each of us is given only so many mornings to do it –
to look around and love
the oily fur of our lives,
the hoof and the grass stained muzzle.
Days I don’t do this – I feel the terror of idleness.”