JFRCalifornia
Keeper of San Juan Secrets
Great discussion, and I agree that being connected is a choice. For many, their job depends on connectivity, or it's necessary to stay in touch with kids, or there might be any number of good reasons, but ultimately people's lives are a series of forks in the road, and you choose your path (or sometimes have it chosen for you). But it is a choice.
Being disconnected sometimes comes with sacrifice, with the trade in this case being an elevated experience (in my view) at Lake Powell. It's a trade I'll make, but fortunately I feel like I can. Not everyone can. I’m lucky, and I know it.
Here's one of the hidden costs of connectivity that's not always apparent until much later. In the past 10-15 years, whenever I've gone on a long trip to anywhere--could be Lake Powell, could be Europe--it's been relatively easy to plan, with phones and social media, and that's the upside. And once you're there, with technology it's easy to figure out where things are, or what comes next, or you can even plan out every day in great detail, and with all that comes some degree of reassurance and comfort. You can even watch your favorite movies or anything else you like. Just like at home. But what can be lost is the sense of "what's around the next corner?", or "how do I deal with that situation?"--that is, the basic sense of adventure we all seek when we leave our normal lives at home, and then come home wondering why we didn't find it.
It's amazing how little things actually change in the outside world in a week when you can get away from it... but how much you seem to be able to do in that same week, how many new experiences you can grab, when that's all you're doing all day long...
For me, here's how I notice it most. When I go on a very structured vacation, or one with lots of nice hotels or amenities and full connectivity, no matter how far I am from home, I can be back home in an instant just by looking at my phone. And on those trips, I come home having enjoyed them, but I sometimes can't remember exactly what made them memorable, because it sometimes feels like you're still at home, only with different scenery and food. I rarely write journals on those kinds of trips. I always love the experience, but there's not enough time and quiet space and uniqueness to reflect upon to turn a journal into a real story.
But at Lake Powell, it's different. If you can afford to be cut off from the outside world, it's a game changer. Now you're out there, just you and your friends or family, stars and water and canyons and... quiet. And suddenly your head really opens up. It's why I've written journals every year there for the past 30 years, maybe 1,500 pages about that one place, and yet every time the experience is different enough to justify doing that. I could watch a movie on Netflix I guess, but there's nothing quite like sitting on a chair on the beach, watching the sun drop, and writing my thoughts on a pad of paper, or as I've been doing in the past few years, on a tablet. As the days go on, the only focus is in the moment, and by the end of each day, there's always a story to tell that I didn't see coming when the sun came up that morning.
And that's why I like to be disconnected at Lake Powell.
Being disconnected sometimes comes with sacrifice, with the trade in this case being an elevated experience (in my view) at Lake Powell. It's a trade I'll make, but fortunately I feel like I can. Not everyone can. I’m lucky, and I know it.
Here's one of the hidden costs of connectivity that's not always apparent until much later. In the past 10-15 years, whenever I've gone on a long trip to anywhere--could be Lake Powell, could be Europe--it's been relatively easy to plan, with phones and social media, and that's the upside. And once you're there, with technology it's easy to figure out where things are, or what comes next, or you can even plan out every day in great detail, and with all that comes some degree of reassurance and comfort. You can even watch your favorite movies or anything else you like. Just like at home. But what can be lost is the sense of "what's around the next corner?", or "how do I deal with that situation?"--that is, the basic sense of adventure we all seek when we leave our normal lives at home, and then come home wondering why we didn't find it.
It's amazing how little things actually change in the outside world in a week when you can get away from it... but how much you seem to be able to do in that same week, how many new experiences you can grab, when that's all you're doing all day long...
For me, here's how I notice it most. When I go on a very structured vacation, or one with lots of nice hotels or amenities and full connectivity, no matter how far I am from home, I can be back home in an instant just by looking at my phone. And on those trips, I come home having enjoyed them, but I sometimes can't remember exactly what made them memorable, because it sometimes feels like you're still at home, only with different scenery and food. I rarely write journals on those kinds of trips. I always love the experience, but there's not enough time and quiet space and uniqueness to reflect upon to turn a journal into a real story.
But at Lake Powell, it's different. If you can afford to be cut off from the outside world, it's a game changer. Now you're out there, just you and your friends or family, stars and water and canyons and... quiet. And suddenly your head really opens up. It's why I've written journals every year there for the past 30 years, maybe 1,500 pages about that one place, and yet every time the experience is different enough to justify doing that. I could watch a movie on Netflix I guess, but there's nothing quite like sitting on a chair on the beach, watching the sun drop, and writing my thoughts on a pad of paper, or as I've been doing in the past few years, on a tablet. As the days go on, the only focus is in the moment, and by the end of each day, there's always a story to tell that I didn't see coming when the sun came up that morning.
And that's why I like to be disconnected at Lake Powell.
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