Today, a power cut swept across parts of Europe bringing with it an unexpected stillness. At first being completely offline, I found myself instinctively reaching for my phone far too often; the gremlin in my head whispering to check, scroll and refresh. It’s new, this urge. And frankly, it’s annoying. It was like being a teenage girl, waiting by the phone for a call that never comes… old-school? Maybe. Only this time, it was the internet, and it was gone. For me, it felt like an enormous blessing.
Lately, I’ve been more online than usual, tangled up in the buzz and blur of digital connection. I’d almost forgotten what it feels like to be without electricity, without the internet and without noise. But this power cut? It felt like an invitation. A reset.
All the way through the Covid lockdowns, I had the gift of not being tethered to my phone like its an extra limb, life felt so much more expansive. I moved slower, with intention and I got more done. Not only that, but I felt more me.
So now, with everything paused, I find myself catching up on long-neglected odd jobs and simply being. It’s obvious this moment was a long time coming. The world is in chaos. Systems breaking down, truths unraveling, illusions dissolving. What a time to be alive! Some days, I’m unsure what to make of it all.
And yet, right here in this quiet time as dusk is falling, I hear birds soaring into the sky calling each other home. The air is still. The fridge is off. The music has stopped. The silence is not just outside but inside, too. I find it peaceful.
What’s unsettling is how deeply we’re attached; not just to our devices but also to distractions. To the TV, background noise, comfort routines, etc. And not all of it is bad. Attachment, in many ways, is necessary for growth. But when it creeps in silently, tightening its grip around our lives, when does it become too much?
This sudden stillness has nudged me to reflect on what I’m attached to—and why. It’s not just the things. It’s also the routine. The familiar patterns, the groups we belong to, the sense of being needed. Without them, we’re left with ourselves. With full crystal clear responsibility! This is when the call to self-love is necessary, especially when it feels absent.
I’m learning to welcome this discomfort. To see it not as something to fix but something to witness. To explore what it means to connect with what is, rather than obsess over what’s not happening. That’s a challenge—especially when old triggers rise. But for me, it’s also an opportunity.
In this pause, I choose a calm improvisation instead. To be present, to listen and to find creative moments even in the unknown. Maybe this is how we change – not by controlling the outer world but by softening into our own.
Because if the world really is pulling apart, the only way back is inward.