“What the hell am I going to do now? I’ll be bored out of my mind!”
“What if AI takes over in the meantime?”
Those were my first thoughts as I turned off my phone and tucked it into the junk drawer, its resting place for the next five days.
My brain is like a browser with 34 tabs open. 3 are frozen, the cursor is nowhere to be found, and I have no idea where the music’s coming from.
Time anxiety had been gnawing at me for months, which was ironic. I’m as free as I’ve always dreamed of. I make my own schedule, and if I spent a month (or three) doing nothing but perfecting my evil witch laugh, my world would be fine.
And yet, here I was, stressed out about… time? It was entirely self-generated and that much more infuriating.
So, I hit airplane mode on life. Digital Detox. Sleep, Eat, Meditate. Repeat. In silence.
The Rules
- 5 days
- No screens
- No internet
- No speaking
- No tasks
- No inputs, except birds, clouds, and a nightly Eckhart Tolle lecture
The Prep
Achieving this state of intentional “nothingness” required quite a bit of something:
- Meal prep: Oatmeal with prunes and oranges for breakfast (a recipe I learned at a Vipassana retreat). Salads and Madras lentils for lunch. Fixings for avocado toasts, fruit, and chai lattes with whey protein.
- Urgent tasks: Bills paid, emails answered, calls made. Clearing the deck so my brain had one less excuse to stay in “task mode.”
- Structure: My Official Retreat Aid, aka “the hubby,” would wake me at 6 am with a little gong, warm my meals, and start the nightly Eckhart Tolle lecture on the speaker so I didn’t need to touch any technology. His mission: maximum support, minimum interaction.
- Evening lecture: I lined up nightly Eckhart Tolle lessons to mimic the formal retreat’s “dharma talks” and give my mind a gentle guidance at the end of the day.
- People: I notified the necessary humans I’d be off the grid and unreachable.
What Actually Happened
With everything meticulously planned, I expected smooth sailing. What I got instead was a series of surprises.
The Great Sleep Recovery
The first thing I noticed? I was tired.
Not just “I could use a nap” tired, more like my whole body had been waiting years for permission to rest.
So I gave it what it wanted: early nights, long, deep sleep, and plenty of naps.
The Seduction of Technology
The second revelation was more subtle: I’m not addicted to technology. I’m seduced by it.
There’s a difference.
Addiction is compulsive. Seduction is… alluring.
Being able to get an instant, high-quality answer to every single question that pops into your mind is incredibly seductive. But when you remove access, those burning thoughts “arise, pretend to be all-important, and then they move on”, as Tolle would say.
And that’s exactly what happened. On day one, I wanted to reach for my phone hundred times. By day three, I’d forgotten which drawer I’d hidden it in.
The Monkey with a Megaphone
Once the physical tiredness and the digital haze subsided, the real show began.
I’ve always thought of myself as reasonably self-aware. I knew I had a monkey mind.
But I had no idea just how incessant and absurd my thoughts have become.
For example: I’d sit on the patio and bite into a piece of orange, beautifully glowing in the afternoon sun. I’d be fully present, appreciative, fascinated even – for the first two bites. Then suddenly, I’d be mentally rehearsing an argument with my neighbor about overgrown bushes.
When I “came to”, the orange was gone. I’d eaten the whole thing, really tasting only those first two bites.
How much of my life am I missing like this?
If I’m honest, probably 90%.
I turned this into a game I named Catch the Train.
Like a detective, I’d follow the mental breadcrumbs left by my train of thought to discover what had sparked the whole thing. Usually, the original trigger had absolutely nothing to do with where my mind eventually landed. A single stray thought about the color orange might spawn ten carriages of drama ending with an imaginary confrontation about property lines!
It was like playing Telephone… alone. And when caught in the act, my mind seemed almost embarrassed, and let the train of thought roll away.
The World in High Def
The internal chatter slowly (emphasis on slowly) lost some of its power, and the external world began to sharpen. Everything felt more vivid, and the simple details of my immediate surroundings came into high definition.
My desert garden turned into a private National Geographic channel.
The neighbor’s fat cat made half-hearted lunges at a dove. The bird was completely unimpressed. It took two lazy steps away each time and resumed pecking at the weeds.
Sparrows sat just two feet away from my chair, gossiping. Then they stared at me long enough I felt… judged.
I noticed plants I’d never seen before.
Our palm tree had three new babies. Yellow flowers peeked through gravel. The mint had migrated across the sidewalk, like a tiny green rebellion.
My days settled into a simple, almost luxurious rhythm:
6 AM Wake-Up & Breakfast
The hubby woke me up with a gentle gong.
Warm oatmeal with prunes and oranges, surprisingly luxurious in the dawn silence. Avocado toast.
After washing my dishes the first day, I found a little note on the table with my next meal. It read: “Dishes may be left. Your Dharma server will collect them.” My heart melted.
On day 1 and 2, I’d crawl back to bed after breakfast. By Day 3, I was up for a morning Vipassana meditation.
2 PM Madras & The Garden
Lunch was a big, colorful salad and a bowl of Madras lentils so fragrant, I forgot internet existed.
The afternoon was for watching the garden, drawing, and sitting in meditation.
6 PM Dharma & Chai
Steamy chai.
A ripe piece of fruit.
Tolle’s voice drifting through the living room. The evening’s lesson often seemed to speak directly to the day’s internal turmoil.
Patio. I watch every sunset.
9 PM Sleep
Instead of interrogating AI or scrolling through my podcast queue, I just slipped under the covers and closed my eyes.
Three tiny roses on my nightstand, buds on Day 1, quietly opened overnight. They wilted the day I started speaking again.
The Glimpse
One afternoon, sitting on my meditation cushion, I felt completely aware. Present. My thoughts dropped away like a waterfall, and tingles glided down my body, a feeling familiar from Vipassana retreats.
But then, suddenly, a veil lifted.
The fog I’d mistaken for blue skies just seconds ago had cleared.
This new moment was sharper, fresher, deeper. It had brilliance and spaciousness.”This must be what enlightenment feels like,” I marveled, holding my breath. “I literally feel ‘awakened’.” And with that thought – Pop! Like a soap bubble. The moment was gone.
Of course, I tried to recreate it.
But that’s the surest way to chase it away. You can’t grasp water by clenching your fist.
The brief moment of clarity came and went like sunshine breaking through clouds. And that ebb and flow continued throughout my retreat.
The Weather of Thoughts
The improvement wasn’t linear. Rather than my mind growing progressively calmer each day, the inner drama came and went – sunshine, then storms. Clarity, then chaos, completely unprovoked.
I couldn’t force my brain to behave, and this weather pattern was teaching me patience.
Towards the end, I did find myself feeling more joy and stillness, regardless of the thoughts du jour.
Re‑entry
Easing back into the world felt surprisingly sensitive. My first real sounds after five days of silence (not counting sneezes, farts, or that one involuntary “Here, kitty, kitty”) were fits of laughter. I started by playing Charades with the hubby in the evening of day 5. I’d silently mime book or movie titles – Kolya, Look Who’s Talking, The Velveteen Rabbit. His wildly off-base guesses made me crack up.
Tips for Your Own Digital Detox/Meditation Retreat
If this sounds like something you might need, here are a few tips that could help you plan your own DIY retreat:
- Find your number: I carved out five days, but there’s no magic number. Try a weekend, a single day, or a few weeks if you dare.
- Prep is everything: Have meals ready, loose ends tied, and your physical space simple and supportive. Give your brain zero excuses to stay in “task mode.”
- Sleep like royalty: Let your body rest. No guilt trips if a nap wins over meditation.
- Simple structure helps: Create a gentle rhythm. Set wake time, meal times, time outdoors – but be flexible. This isn’t boot camp.
- Enlist support if you can: A retreat aid, even a casual one who brings you tea on schedule, helps immensely. Feeling loved and cared for goes a long way during those potentially emotional, quiet days. If you’re flying solo, take this opportunity to hold that nurturing space for yourself.
- Expect mental chaos: Your thoughts won’t magically shut up. That’s normal. The practice is treating them as something that just appears, like clouds in the sky, not as a reflection of your being.
- Plan re-entry buffer time: Give yourself a soft landing back into the world. Don’t pack the day after with meetings.
The Afterglow
Looking back at my initial panic, it’s hilarious what a big deal five days offline felt like. It turned out to be surprisingly easy and spacious, and much less ‘busy’ than the formal meditation retreats I’ve attended.
Like a warm bubble bath for the brain and soul, a welcome break from years of fragmented attention.
Biggest Takeaway
My mind hijacks beautiful moments and replaces them with unfounded worries and mental rehearsals of conversations that will never happen. Most of the stress has nothing to do with reality.
My practice now is to catch those mental storms mid-brew and choose not to board the next carriage.
Your turn now. Are you addicted or seduced by your phone? Have you ever tried a digital detox or a silent retreat?
What did you discover?
What surprised you the most?
I’d love to hear your version of the silence.
