One Sunday in August I decided to spend the day offline. No smartphone, no tablet, no laptop. Only a Nokia feature phone for company.
It was a hot, sunny Sunday in Glasgow with clear skies. Probably the only time you’ll hear “hot”, “sunny”, “clear skies” and “Glasgow” in the same sentence until next year.
I went to Glasgow Green, surrounding by trees, sat in the shade under a tree with the sound of happy people chattering along with the River Clyde’s rippling waves nearby.
Being offline here was liberating, like shutting the heavy soundproof door on the busy, noisy, fast connected world I’m used to.
Here it didn’t matter about what was on my task list or where I had to be next. Here I can enjoy the moment – something admittedly I try to do more regularly – and enjoy the rare summer weather.
An hour and a half later it was back to the flat to sit in my silent bedroom. Magic.
I enjoyed being offline so much that I decided to make this a fortnightly feat.
In an era of being permanently connected we should be aware of its consequences. We try to drink alcohol or eat chocolate in moderation (with varying degrees of success).
Maybe it’s time to view being connected in the same way.