Splinters

I said, “Oh, that I had the wings of a dove! I would fly away and be at rest. . . . I would hurry to my place of shelter, far from the tempest and storm.”

—Psalm 55:6, 8

I’m not antitechnology, but I realized during that week away that vacation isn’t always about a change of venue. We travel a lot for fun and work, and we always have phones, laptops, iPads. No matter where we are, we’re as connected as we are at home, sometimes more so, because we have more free time.

Like more and more people, we don’t have set work hours. There are good things that go with that—flexibility, freedom, lots of time with our kids. But it means we’re sort of working all the time. Aaron will get out of bed to run down to the studio to listen to a mix a producer sends him. I get e-mails about upcoming events while I’m nursing or at a museum or watching Henry’s soccer practice. The best part about blending all those boundaries is also the worst part: we’re always connected to everyone all the time.

In Mexico, the silence let me be completely in one place. I was totally there, without feeling like my mind was divided into a thousand small splinters, spinning out all over the world, leaving nothing but a glassy stare and twitchy fingers always reaching for my phone.