One of my favorite ways to experience nature is on a river trip. When I was in high school, my family canoed the Missouri River for a week with my grandpa and cousins. A few years later, we rafted the Green River through Desolation Canyon in southern Utah, paddling almost 100 miles through 60 class three rapids (I thought they were pretty big at the time). We played “Werewolf” every night, slept under the stars, and scorched our legs in the sun. I remember bleeding from the dryness and donning a life jacket tan for the next six months. It was so fun.
This year we rafted the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon, covering almost 200 miles and more than 80 big-water rapids. We piled into the truck and drove to the headwaters where we met our guides (who looked like they hadn’t been inside for months) and the rest of our 20 person group.
Many people took lengthy flights, traveling from the east coast and midwest to experience the Grand Canyon. Seeing so many people fly across the country to play in my backyard made me even more determined to not take my beautiful home for granted.
Though there were many highlights, the most potent was the complete absence of distractions. Floating the Colorado River brought a rejuvenating sense of slowness and intention that I want to carry into my every day life.
At the bottom of the Grand Canyon, your world is the river. No one knew what they looked like, how many emails they’d missed, or what their friends were up to. Passing the rare canyon traveller was intriguing. We’d stare at other rafters, completely captivated by the sight of people.
My favorite fellow traveler was a stocky Italian man who had come with his wife of 46 years. Raised in the projects on the south side of Chicago, he was the youngest of thirteen siblings. At five years old, his father died of alcoholism. As the youngest, he learned to fight early. He recounted sidewalk fights, butcher knife surgeries, and how he broke his nose three times as a professional boxer. He brimmed with love for his wife, his rafting companions, and God. I loved hearing his story.
At night we watched the clouds move and the stars slowly develop. Everyone effortlessly fell asleep and woke up at the same time. Our last night on the river, a torrential rainstorm swept the canyon. We listened to the smattering of raindrops while trying to sleep under tarps. My mom worried about flash floods and lightning, but sleeping in the rain was still pretty fun.
One day while setting up camp, we noticed a colony of fire ants. We fashioned an ant trap from a cup and some sand, then knelt and watched as dozens of ants fell into the trap. “See what happens when we don’t have our phones?” Someone joked. We watched those ants, enthralled, until dinner.
Though they were joking, I kept thinking about their comment: “See what happens when we don’t have our phones?” After a week of complete separation from technology, I noticed my thoughts were slower and more present. I didn’t ruminate over pop culture or social media. Sensationalist headlines and snappy videos didn’t intrude on my focus.
Returning to town brought mixed emotions. I wasn’t quite ready to open my laptop and rejoin the rest of the world. On the other hand, a long steamy shower sounded absolutely tantalizing.
Though I can’t bring the canyon with me, I want to be more deliberate with my technology use. I’ve found the less I whip out my phone, the better my ideas, connection with others, and mental clarity becomes.
Try paring down your digital life with me this month, and tell me how it affects your work, relationships, and mental state.
Thanks for reading!
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