What happened when I left my phone at home
In the days leading up to vacation, I began noticing something uncomfortable.
My hand kept reaching for my phone.
Not because I needed anything in particular, but because there were small spaces to fill. Waiting for water to boil. Sitting down for a moment between tasks. Feeling the slightest hint of boredom. The impulse was almost automatic.
The more I noticed it, the more it bothered me. Not in a dramatic way, just a quiet awareness that something felt out of balance. I didn’t like how easily my attention was being pulled away from the moment I was already in.
So I made a small decision.
I left my phone at home.
I still brought my laptop and planned to check in briefly each morning and evening. My partner had his phone for photos and calls. Everything important was covered.
But even with the logistics sorted, I noticed anxiety rise as we prepared to leave. Not about work. Not about missing anything urgent.
I was worried about what I would do when I was bored.
No scrolling while waiting.
No checking notifications.
No filling every quiet moment.
Just space.
And what unfolded in that space was something I didn’t realize I had been missing.
I watched the waves. I felt the breeze and the warmth of the sun. I played with Owyn without the subtle pull of divided attention. I read an entire book in two days. I noticed how much more available I felt to the life right in front of me.
Nothing extraordinary happened, but everything felt more vivid.
It reminded me how rarely we allow ourselves to be undistracted.
Not because we don’t want to be present, but because it has become so easy to avoid stillness.
Small phone vacations
Leaving my phone behind for an entire week felt significant, but the deeper insight was that meaningful shifts don’t require drastic changes.
They often begin with small containers of intentional quiet.
A two hour class without checking notifications.
A drive home without filling the space with input.
Keeping the phone outside the bedroom.
Cooking dinner without scrolling in between steps.
Stepping outside without documenting the moment.
The day after I returned from vacation, I taught one of my Begin Within Yin and Yoga Nidra classes. As we settled into the slow rhythm of the practice, I was reminded that Yin yoga is another beautiful way to disconnect from the fast stream of the world and technology.
In Yin, we allow ourselves to move at a different pace. We stay with sensation long enough for the nervous system to settle. We soften effort. We listen more closely.
Without constant input, something begins to shift. Thoughts slow. Breath deepens. Awareness expands.
Just like leaving my phone behind for the week, the practice created space to experience what was already present.
Mini disconnections that support deeper connection.
Ritual as a supportive structure
It can help to create small rituals that support these moments of pause.
Lighting a candle at the end of the day.
Taking a few breaths before opening a laptop.
Allowing the transition from work into evening to feel acknowledged.
Simple actions that gently shift our attention inward.
As a candle maker, I often think about how a flame naturally invites stillness. The soft glow, the subtle movement, the quiet presence of light. It gives the nervous system something steady to rest on.
For centuries, beeswax candles have been used in spaces of reflection, gathering, and intention. Their warm, natural light connects us to slower rhythms and reminds us that presence does not have to be complicated.
Sometimes it is as simple as noticing the breath while watching a flame.
A small ritual that signals to the body that it is safe to slow down.
We do not have to disconnect completely to reconnect meaningfully.
Sometimes it is enough to take small phone vacations throughout the day.
Moments where nothing new is entering our system, and we can simply experience the life that is already here.
Present.
Grounded.
Connected.