The National Day of Unplugging is an initiative from the Sabbath Manifesto, a creative project designed to slow down lives in an increasingly hectic world.
Sounds like my kind of project.
I’ll be taking part and if you’d like to join in you can sign up here. I can’t figure out how to sign up if you don’t have a Facebook account. If anyone figures it out let me know.
Recently I found this post on a blog called Last American Childhood after the writer left a comment here. It was Internet serendipity. I just reread the Pressfield book the writer quotes below. I just wrote a few hundred words the other night after closing my Internet browser. I just renewed my commitment to acting with intention and no more Zombie surfing.
Rachel (there are so many of us) writes about her decision to cancel her Facebook account but it could be about anything that we’re giving our time and attention to that isn’t nourishing us in some way. From Don’t be scared at Last American Childhood:
… how to explain to a four year old why you are staring at the computer looking at pictures of someone you just saw that morning who lives across the street rather than playing trains with him. A question I’m no longer willing to put myself in the position of having to answer. It is one thing to bat a child away because you have to work, talk to a friend, make dinner, relax or work on a song or a story. But to do it for no other reason than to find out a friend you haven’t seen in 10 years got a chocolate-vanilla swirl ice cream with too much vanilla is unconscionable. There is no explanation. As Steven Pressfield says in The War of Art, “It’s one thing to lie to yourself, it’s another to believe it.” Am I going to let yet another decade go by without publishing a novel? Yet another 5 years go by before I finish the last Dimestore EP? Another year go by before I put Wally’s baby pictures into something resembling a scrapbook? The first daffodils of the season are in full bloom. There’s opera in the air. I’m canceling my Facebook account, and I’ll see you outside in the world, or in my memories, or in my dreams. (I’m totally fine — this is not meant to sound dramatic, but worse than dramatic is the giving away of your life and your time gradually, by degrees, in a series of tiny, undetectable degrees.)
This is a gifted writer. I’m glad she’s finding more time to work on her art. I want to read that novel. I want to listen to those songs.
Join me this weekend?
Put away your smart phone and shut down the family computer on Friday night.
Take that time you would have spent checking email, browsing JCrew or pinning craft projects on Pinterest and use it to feed yourself in some way. Cook, read, rest or create. Take those tiny undetectable degrees back.
They don’t feel like much in a day.
But in a month, in a year, in a life time, they add up.
Those small degrees are novels, half marathons and vital sleep. They are sex and fun and love and finding something new and wonderful.
They are yours.
Take them back.