Lost & Found

 

They told us it would happen. But there’s a difference between knowing something and feeling it. When the internet went off this week, my initial reaction wasn’t panic it was a strange, quiet disbelief. I’d tap my screen to look something up, text a friend, or ask an AI a quick question… and nothing. The silence wasn’t just in the air; it was in my hands, in my habits, in my confidence.

I realized how deeply I’d woven the internet into my daily fabric. It was my instant map, my research assistant, my sounding board, and my connection to “what’s happening.” Without it, I felt untethered. There were videos I couldn’t watch, updates I couldn’t get, and conversations that simply paused mid-thought. The hardest part wasn’t the lack of a tool; it was the lack of knowing. I had to sit with my own unfiltered thoughts, make decisions without a second opinion, and navigate my day without a digital compass.

But in that void, something else emerged: a profound sense of calm. The constant hum of information stopped. The pressure to be informed, to respond, to know it lifted. I slept deeply. I was present. I remembered that I could trust my own judgment, that quiet isn’t emptiness, and that peace doesn’t require a Wi-Fi password.

It was a conflicting four days. I struggled with the disconnect more than I’d like to admit, yet I cherished the stillness it forced upon me. It showed me my dependency, yes, but also my resilience. I carried on with my work. I enjoyed the lack of noise.

This small disruption was a mirror. It didn’t mean we’re weak for relying on these tools; it meant we’re human adapting to a connected world. The lesson wasn’t to reject the internet, but to build a life where its absence doesn’t feel like a loss of self. To find a balance where we can be plugged in without being dependent, connected yet still whole on our own.

How did you navigate the silence? Did you struggle, or did you find a hidden freedom in the quiet?